Hitting land without warning.
She clicked open the door and started to climb inside.
My fingers twitched with the impulse to reach out and stop her from leaving. Or maybe it was just my dick aching to get messy. Knowing this girl was somehow as wild as I was. Desperate and willing to do whatever it took to get her where she needed to go.
I could see it written all over her.
Determination.
Strength.
Courage.
All of those things made for something I couldn’t get into, and the only thing I was doing was aching to get into it.
Let her go. Let her go, I silently screamed at myself, knowing I was begging for trouble. There was something about her that was too different—too good and fierce—that had me trembling.
She didn’t need my bullshit. The only thing I wanted was to fuck her. Use her up and toss her aside before she got the chance to do it first.
Consume before you’re consumed.
A motto that had served me well.
“How about that number, Grace?” If my conscience could have drop-kicked me, it would have. God, I was just asking for it, wasn’t I?
But I thought the girl looked like she might be worth a little pain.
She paused to look back at me from over her shoulder. If I didn’t know any better, I’d have said it was something close to amusement that infiltrated her tone. “Doesn’t seem much your style. I thought you were more of an ‘in the moment’ kind of guy?”
A gruff sound rumbled in my chest when she tossed my words back in my face. “No. You’re right. It isn’t exactly my style.”
Her voice was a soft surrender. “I’m doubtin’ that I’m much your style at all.”
My eyes roved over that tight, sweet body. Lush curves and full hips and perfect tits. If I had a style—a style or a type or a goddamned heart—she’d be it.
I was pretty sure she saw it written on me, a black emblem that pronounced my shame.
The uptick at the corner of one of those lips was nothing but a somber goodbye. “Thank you for the dance.”
Then she slipped into the driver’s seat, started her car, and left me standing there in the middle of the road watching as she drove away, again fighting that foreign feeling that tugged at my chest.
There were few people in my life who ever evoked any emotion in my mangled, twisted heart. Those who had gotten in through the brittle cracks.
People who I would fight for.
Die for.
Kill for.
Jace and his family and my best friend Mack.
They were only there because they were the only reason I was still living in the first place. Because they’d proven time and again that they could be trusted.
That they would do the same for me.
The rest of the world?
They could go fuck themselves.
Lies fell from people’s tongues so much more often than the truth. Betrayals cast far more often than loyalties.
I wasn’t pretending to be any different.
My gaze moved back to the vacant space where she had just been.
I didn’t know why it felt like she was different. Why it mattered. I’d only met her. Sure as hell didn’t know her.
Shouldn’t, either. Chase it. That feeling. It was nothing but a fool’s game.
A tumble over the edge of oblivion.
A freefall into ruin.
But there was something about her that whispered and soothed and sang.
Or maybe what I was really hearing was her soul screaming for help.
I roughed a frustrated hand over my face to break up the clusterfuck of stupidity that was trying to climb into my mind and started to head back for the party. Then I tripped over my own damned feet when I caught sight of the two objects that were on the ground up close to the curb where they had been concealed by her car.
Left unnoticed when we’d collected the rest of her things.
It was a small wallet and a piece of jewelry.
Stooping down, I picked up the wallet, and then moved to grab the metal that glinted in the hazy glow. I rolled it around my fingers. It was a silver bracelet, cheap and banged to shit. Dangling from it were three stones that as far as I could tell were fake.
I frowned, straightening as I held the two offending objects.
At war with what to do, not sure how to handle this bullshit raging inside me.
I should toss them. Or maybe turn them in at the front desk.
Just a regular ol’ Good Samaritan, right?
Or I could dig into the wallet like I was itching to do and discover who she was. Return them myself. Maybe in return, I’d get a reward.
Thing was, I got the crazed sense that if I took a step that direction, I’d regret it. Could feel myself getting sucked into the girl’s business that wasn’t mine. Needing to know what had dimmed the intensity of those sea-tinged eyes. The magnetized vortex I could feel swirling around her.
Dragging in everything in her path, swallowed where it would be emptied in her depths.
A fist gripped my heart as my mind was struck with the memory of the voice I wished I could erase. Purge and pummel and eradicate. A voice that shouldn’t fucking matter, the soft lull of the song she had sang.
Forever and ever.
Hatred tumbled through my consciousness, all mixed up with a howling whirlwind of grief. Memories forever fresh and raw and grating. It didn’t matter how much time had passed.
One day . . . one day I’d outrun them.
One day, I’d get so far that her ghost wouldn’t be able to touch me.
And still, there she was, prodding at my conscience to do something right.
“Shit,” I grumbled, unable to do anything but stuff the wallet and bracelet into my pocket. Then, like a fool, I reached down and wiggled the girl’s shoe free from where it was wedged.
Holding it, my gaze was pulled down the vacant road where she’d just sped off.
Motherfucking Cinderella.
Four
Grace
I pulled into the short driveway in front of the tiny house and killed the engine. It cast my world into silence. Into darkness.
Shimmers of despair flashed at the outside of my eyes.
Worry.
Dread.
Fear.
How in the world was I supposed to beat Reed when it felt as if the world was against me? Or really, it was the world that stood at his side. Blinded by the façade that he wore. Reed the ruler of his own world. The empire that he and his family had built.
It wasn’t as if I hadn’t been blinded by it, too. But that was a long, long time ago, and it was already far too late by the time I’d realized it. Before I’d unknowingly allowed myself to become a prisoner to it.
Blowing out a sigh, I flipped down the sunshade. The glaring light burst to life around the tiny mirror, and I cringed when I saw my reflection. Blood smeared on my face, streaked by my tears with an added slick of mascara for good measure.
Eyes haunted and wild at the same damned time.
I was a mess.
Most unsettling was what that stranger had whipped up in the middle of me.
I was still feeling a little shell-shocked at the reaction he’d evoked, at the fact he’d managed to pry that feeling out of me at all.
Pushing open the door, I stumbled out into the vacant, chilly night. The modest neighborhood was sleeping, porchlights glowing and the windows blackened along the narrow street.
It was as if I were a refugee in the middle of it. A stranger who’d sought asylum. The hope and the peace where I might be reinvigorated, infused with the hope and courage that I was going to need to win this battle.
It made it difficult when everyone kept telling me it was a losing fight.
Here, the houses looked as if they’d been stamped out by the same mold and deposited in a perfect row on each side. People might actually get confused which one was theirs if it weren’t for the different colors they’d be
en painted, the additions and renovations made through the years.
Standing on the concrete driveway in front of the single-car garage, I wiggled off my remaining shoe, gaze dropping to the beige suede pump.
The beautiful stranger infiltrated my mind.
His rough, rugged care.
That polished, sophisticated seduction.
He made me feel things I couldn’t feel. Made me contemplate things I couldn’t contemplate. Made me want to dip my fingers into that feeling that washed over me.
That hot, hot energy that had blasted and seared and crashed against us like waves slamming against a break wall down at the marina.
Attraction.
So fierce and instant I’d known it could lead to nowhere good. I had a path I had to take. One that couldn’t be diverted. Detours down a road with a scenic view included.
Leaving him standing there was the only choice I could make. It wasn’t as if I could just hand over my number.
A guy like him wouldn’t understand, and even if he did, the last thing I needed to do was add another complication to this catastrophe.
The last thing I could afford was a fling concealed by the darkness of night.
My heart couldn’t take it, and I wasn’t close to being that reckless.
I trudged up the sidewalk, trying to remain as quiet as possible as I slipped my key into the lock. I turned it quietly, wincing at the sound of the metal giving as it was unlatched.
Old hinges creaked as I pushed open the door. Silence echoed back.
Carefully latching it shut behind me, I turned the lock before I tiptoed through the foyer and toward the hall, only to freeze when I got to the arch at the living room.
A gush of regret got free of my lungs when I saw the small lamp glowing from the coffee table.
Gramma pushed to her feet when she saw me, and I swore, I could hear all of her joints groaning as she did, my rock wringing her hands together in the worry she’d clearly been swimming in since I’d walked out the door earlier. “Well? Tell me how it went.”
Disappointment throbbed everywhere, as if I could feel my heartbeat in my face and my fingers and my toes.
I inched into the room.
She gasped and pressed her fingertips to her weathered face when she saw my appearance. “Oh my, child . . . what on God’s green earth happened to you?”
Instantly, her face went red with anger.
“Tell me he didn’t get to you.” She limped my way, hostile rage pulsing free. If I was looking for an army, the old woman was an entire fleet.
She’d had her own share of battles and wars, and she might be broken down, but she was stronger for it. I hadn’t hesitated when I’d shown up at her door asking her to be strong for me four months ago.
“I swear on all things holy that I’m not gonna let him get away with it. I’ll string him up so fast he won’t know what hit him.”
The last had become a rumbled threat.
Blowing out a breath, I tossed my clutch to the couch and pulled off the teardrop earrings she’d let me borrow. As if looking pretty was gonna make a lick of difference. “You know he has better ways of getting at me than making me bleed.”
Well, at least not the parts that were exposed.
“Then what happened to you?” She searched my face with her blue, aged eyes.
I shook my head. “I fell.”
Her brow rose, digging for more, knowing there was a whole lot more to the story than I was letting on.
My grandmother knew me better than anyone.
I huffed out a breath of concession and let my shoulders sag. “Reed was there. I took off the second I saw him. Just as I was getting to my car, I felt someone behind me. I started running, afraid it might be him.”
Except, I hadn’t really thought that, had I? It was that energy zapping like electricity through the air that had sent me running for my life. The feeling that if that stranger got too close, he was going to trip me up, have me falling into something that my shattered heart would never survive.
Oh, and trip I had.
Worry had her gnawing at the inside of her lip. “Did Reed see you there?”
Sinking down on the edge of the loveseat, I bent over into a huddle and started rocking, like that motion might keep all the pieces together. “No. I don’t think so, but I’m sure it’s gonna get back to him that I was there.”
Or more importantly, what I was there sniffing around for.
I looked up at her. “It was stupid going there. I knew better. Should have known he’d show up to an event like that. What in the world was I thinking?”
She moved to cup the side of my face.
There were few people as tender and fierce as my grandmother. So staunch and understanding.
The woman had held me up in my darkest times, and she also didn’t hesitate to knock some sense into me when I was being crazy.
She brushed her thumb across my cheek. “You went there because you’re brave enough to show your face. Making a claim that you’re willing to do whatever it takes to fight that monster. That he doesn’t scare you and you aren’t going to back down.”
A puff of discouragement blew from my nose. “And the second I saw him, I went running.”
She grinned. “Galas aren’t meant to be battlegrounds. You were gathering ammunition. It wasn’t time for the attack.”
A grin played around my face.
Only my grandma.
She lifted my chin higher, forcing me to look at her. “And believe me, sweet one, this is a battle that will be worth fighting. It’s one worth getting torn up over. One that’s worth every bullet and every scar. One you’ll fight to the bitter end.”
I stared up at her, hope a blister of energy glowing firm in my chest. Pulsing and pushing. “I won’t stop, either, Gramma. Even if it costs me everything, I won’t stop.”
“That’s right. Because the important things in life are worth everything. Everyone’s fight is different. But believe me, it’s always a fight. And we fight for what’s most important to us.”
Fear and hope swung like a pendulum inside me.
“But what if I lose?” I could barely choke out the question, the idea of it something I couldn’t entertain.
“You won’t, sweet thing, I promise, you won’t.”
“I’m scared,” I told her, my admission floating into the dense, brittle air. I didn’t want to confess it. To put it out into the atmosphere.
I wanted to cling to her belief in me. Cling to the idea that I was brave and a fighter.
But the truth was that I was terrified.
Each day that passed, it just got harder and harder when he didn’t back down. I’d thought he’d eventually concede. Decide it wasn’t worth it to him. But I should have known better, the way his giving up would look, the man refusing to have his perfect reputation tarnished.
What bullshit.
Gramma squeezed the side of my face with her bony hand, and still it felt like the most comfortable thing. “It’s okay to be afraid. The times I’ve fought hardest in my life are the times I’ve been most scared. Only because I was afraid of losing. And that’s what makes us fight all the harder.”
I set my hand over hers, pressing her closer, savoring the warmth. The comfort she’d always given. “I love you. So much. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
She sent me a grin. “Well, you’d probably starve. We could start right there.”
A shot of laughter escaped me. “Are you telling me I’m a bad cook?”
She cocked a brow. “What I’m telling you is that you’re a terrible cook.”
“So much love, Grams. So much love,” I said, voice wry.
She chuckled. “Well, we all have our strengths. It’s not your fault that you could burn the house down tryin’ to boil a pot of water.”
I feigned a gasp. “I take offense to that. I’ll have you know I’ve been told I make a mean pot of mac and cheese.”
She patted my arm. “I’m so
rry, sweet thing, but this is where that delusion needs to end. Only thing a person can do is choke that rubber down and hope they don’t up and die trying. You’re lucky you have me around.”
A pout formed. “How’d I spend my entire life with you in the kitchen and not learn a single thing?”
“Like I said, we all have our strengths. I filled your belly to show you my love. Tucked you in at night.”
“Read me stories,” I supplied, my heart pressing full at the memories.
“That’s right,” she said.
“That was my favorite,” I told her, wistfulness winding its way into my tone.
She brushed back the hair matted to my forehead. “And you show yours by writing them.”
My throat clamped up. Overcome. Love and adoration and gratitude threatening to spill out.
She cleared her throat and inclined her head. “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up. You’re a sight.”
She led me into the kitchen. She went to the sink and turned on the water. When it warmed up, she ran a cloth under it and then pulled out a stool from the small table in the center of the old kitchen.
“Sit.”
“Bossy,” I told her.
“Don’t you know it.”
“That I do.”
She’d been as strict as they’d come when she’d been raising me, but not even close to clipping my wings, the woman always there believing that I could go soaring.
When she dabbed the cloth on my face, washing off the blood and the dirt and the tears—so softly, so gently—I almost felt like that same little girl she’d taken in when I’d lost my parents.
My mind drifted back to the day that she’d tended to me in this exact same spot when I had scraped my knee after falling off my bike.
I wondered if she were remembering the same thing because the hint of a smile played around her mouth. “Let me see that knee. Looks like you did a number on it.”
I gathered the fabric so she could get a better look. It wasn’t all that hard to do considering the dress was shredded, a rip running up the opposite side of the one where the slit was actually supposed to be.
Damn dress.
Gramma whistled low. “Look at those gams.”
I tried to spread the material back out. “Gramma,” I chided.
All of Me: A Confessions of the Heart Stand-Alone Novel Page 4
