Her body jolts, her face crumbling. My blood starts to boil with hatred of myself.
“Lies, it’s all been lies. None of this was real?”
“I have feelings for you, Grace. That’s not a lie. You’ll always be my Sweet Peach. Like I said, let’s step back and give it time.”
“Okay, Nick. If that’s what you want,” she finally relents.
I have to get out of here before I collapse at her feet. This is by far the stupidest thing I’ve ever done, and the worst thing about it is she believes me. There was a small part of me that hoped she’d laugh in my face and call me on my shit. But the way she’s focused on me tells me I’ve accomplished my goal. The only upside is that she looks as crushed as I feel.
God, please let her forgive me.
I knock my hand on the counter a few times, trying to act casual about my mood. “I’d better get going. I’ll call you later.”
“You have MDN tonight,” she reminds me.
Fucking monthly dinner night. The same dinner I insisted Grace attend. Bizzy is going to kill me. I deserve it.
“I’ll touch base then tomorrow. See how you’re feeling.”
“Okay.”
With nothing left to say, I go to her room and dress, the entire time eyeing her bed. She hasn’t moved when I get back to the kitchen, still staring into space.
“Sweet Peach?”
Her eyes fly to mine at the use of her nickname.
“I’ll call tomorrow. Let’s do lunch or something. Taking things slow doesn’t mean we can’t hang once in a while.”
Her only answer is a nod.
I leave her apartment with so much regret and self-hatred it starts to suffocate me. I’ve been an athlete all my life, but no loss will ever compare to walking away from Grace.
Chapter 26
Grace
Once I got over the initial shock of everything, I became angry. Then fury turned into sadness, humiliation, rejection, devastation, and every other emotion one person could carry around at once.
The instant Nick walked out, my knees buckled and all my strength gave way. I crumbled to the floor and cried until I was sick. Then I crawled back in bed for the next twenty-four hours, not caring that Logan would be left alone at the gallery. I dissected every word, every look, and every movement from Nick, trying to make sense of it.
Logically, it was too coincidental he decided to end our relationship hours after speaking to Logan. But any way I tried to justify it, I kept thinking back to his attitude and actions the week before. He had started acting different way before he found out. Maybe it was just awful timing as he had put it.
Was it?
Regardless, the fact still remained that he wanted space, and I was going to give it to him, even if he was sending me mixed signals throughout the entire conversation.
“I have feelings for you, Grace. That’s not a lie. You’ll always be my Sweet Peach. Like I said, let’s step back and give it time.”
Grandma Kayla taught me a lot of things, and one of them was that when things got rough and seemed to spiral out of control, it was time to take a good look at the facts.
And that’s why I’m in my car, driving up to my childhood home. Being away from Miami is exactly what I need right now.
My phone starts ringing again, and I regret turning it on after the flight. I haven’t spoken to Logan all week, so why the hell does he think I’ll answer his calls? Ignoring him is the best option.
A text dings, and I’m pleasantly surprised to see it’s from Bizzy, ten minutes ago.
Bizzy: Your voicemail is full. Can you call me as soon as possible?
I park the car and call her, waving at my mom who’s waiting on the front porch.
“Grace, where are you?” Bizzy asks breathlessly.
“In Thomasville. Are you okay?”
“Yes! I was rushing to answer before Nick seized my phone.”
“Why would he do that?”
“Logan called and said you took off. Then you haven’t been answering your phone. We were all worried.”
“Well, Logan is a douchebag, and I sent him an email before leaving. I flew home to my parents’ for the weekend.”
“You’re not coming to the game?”
“No.”
“Why didn’t you tell anyone?”
“Who was there to tell?”
There’s a mumbling on her end, then the sound of a door closing. “Grace, I don’t know exactly what’s happening here, but I’m your friend, no matter what Logan said. Don’t shut me out.” She sounds so sincere, I feel guilty.
“I’m sorry, Bizzy. It’s been a horrible week.”
“I know. I’ve heard. Nick isn’t himself. He says you two needed space, which sounds like bullshit to me.”
“It’s his call. He thinks I lied to him, he thinks I gave up an opportunity for him, and before all that, he freaked out. I’m not the kind of woman who begs for a man to love me, so I’m taking some time to myself.”
“He’s an idiot. I’ll try to talk to him, get more details.”
“Don’t you have that ESP thing?”
“Yes, but mine is messed up lately. I’ve been feeling off a lot. I think I caught something at the hospital last week, so I don’t even have the energy to fight with Shaw about being overbearing.”
I smile to myself, picturing Shaw’s irritation at Bizzy still taking PRN shifts at the hospital.
“Anyway, can we have lunch next week?” she asks.
“I’d love to. Pick a day Claire’s off and let’s do it, but promise me something. Talking about Nick is off limits. I’m not sure my heart can take it.”
“Hmmm…” I hear her fingers tapping on the phone. “I promise I’ll try. How’s that?”
“The best I can ask for. I need to go. My mom is waiting in the cold for me to come in.”
“Okay, let me know when you get home. Be safe.”
“Bye.” I power my phone back off, drop it in my purse, and get out, rushing to my mom’s outstretched arms.
“Hey, baby.” She hugs me tightly.
“Hey, Mama.”
“Let’s get you inside.”
I let her usher me into the house, tucked close to her side. As I should have expected, Dad and Grandpa are waiting for me in the living room. I take a glimpse around, smelling the freshly baked scent of pie.
Memories assault me, and I lean into my mom, a sob escaping. Then another. I can’t stop them, openly weeping, clinging to my mom. The emotions of the last week take over.
She gets me to the sofa where she and my dad crowd me, rubbing my back with soothing ‘shhh’ sounds. I don’t know how long I cry, letting it all out, but a glass is shoved in my hands, and I calm down enough to see the pink liquor.
“What’s this?” I stutter, looking at my grandpa.
“Moonshine! Drink up.”
My tears start to dry up, and I let out a little giggle before taking a sip. The liquor is strong, scalding my throat and landing in my empty stomach. Grandpa hands me his handkerchief, and I gladly take it and wipe my face. When I’ve regained my composure enough to talk, I scoot back, laying my head on my dad’s shoulder.
“I’ve had a bad week,” I tell them.
“Obviously. Logan said you aren’t talking. You left without telling him anything,” Mom says worriedly.
“I sent him an email.”
“What’s going on?”
I glance at each of my family and exhale loudly. “Y’all may want to get comfortable. This is a long story.”
I take another swig and start from the beginning. I tell them about falling in love, which they already know, then about the program, the acceptance, my decision to decline, and I finish with the details from Monday night and Tuesday morning.
None of them interrupt; even when my voice cracks and I cry through parts of the story, they listen intently. When I’m done, I raise my eyes to my grandpa first.
He’s standing tall, his feet planted firmly, his arms cros
sed, and a murderous look on his face. I slink back as his eyes pierce into mine. I recognize the stormy gaze and fear for Nick’s life.
“Your brother is about to eat shit. When I’m done with him, he’s going to regret every vile word he spewed to you.” He surprises the hell of out me when he reaches in his pocket, takes out his phone, and slams the front door on his way outside.
“Uh oh,” I whisper.
“It’s the truth, Grace—Logan was out of line. However, this thing with Nick is certainly surprising, too.”
I nod sadly, trying to shove the thought of Nick away. “Are you two mad at me?”
“Hell no, why would we be?” Dad tucks a stray hair behind my ear. The gesture makes my eyes sting again. Another reminder of Nick.
“Because everyone else seems mad that I turned down this damned opportunity.”
“But, baby, you explained yourself. The timing wasn’t right. You aren’t excited. Why do something you’re not passionate about?” Mom pats my knee gently.
Dad stays quiet, too quiet. The expression on his face can only be described as pained.
“Dad?”
“Grace, this may be my fault.”
“How?”
When he tells me about his conversation with Nick, and making Nick promise to encourage me to go away, my sadness fades and is replaced with resentment.
“You did what?” my mom screeches. “Carl Monroe, I told you to stay out of it!”
He throws his hands in the air defensively, leaning far away from us both. “I only meant for the boy not to hold you back, not to guilt you into staying.”
“That ‘boy’ is a man, the same man who seconds before told you he loved our daughter. I warned you to walk a straight line, to keep your overprotective attitude in check. Grace is a mature business woman. She can make her own decisions.”
“It was a friendly talk.”
“Friendly talk my ass.” She’s stabbing the air aggressively, trying to reach his chest. Lucky for him, he’s out of range.
I suck in a breath, waiting for her to spit fire.
“Get out and take Roy with you. Both of you go think about what you’ve done. You can call me in the morning, and I’ll let you know if it’s safe to come home.” She slings her arm in the direction of the door.
“You can’t kick me out of my own house,” he sputters.
“Hell yes, I can. Maybe you’ll learn a lesson.”
He stands, running his hand down my arm and linking our hands. “I am sorry, Peach Princess. If I had anything to do with all this, I’m terribly sorry.”
“Dad—”
“Nope, nuh-uh, don’t be sweet,” my mom orders me.
I snap my mouth shut but give my dad a wink before he walks out the door, muttering under his breath.
“I can’t believe you did that.” I gulp the last of my moonshine.
Mom takes my glass and tugs me off the couch with her. “We’re going to do something very long overdue.”
“What’s that?”
“We’re going to finish this moonshine, get drunk, and talk about boys. Maybe somewhere in there we can figure out what to do about Nick, because I can tell you right now, he doesn’t want space.”
“I’m pretty sure, if I had the energy, I’d throw up right now,” I tell my grandpa, moaning into the sofa cushion. “That was one of the most awful programs ever.”
“You said that about the last one.”
“Because they’re all awful. How do you watch this? I think my eyes are bleeding.”
“You may want to get that checked out.”
“Can you please find something decent to watch?”
“We could watch football.” He takes a bite of his sandwich, making my stomach rumble in disgust.
The thought of food mixed with the thought of watching football sends waves of nausea through me. My mom was smart enough to know her limit, but apparently, days of not eating much topped with endless moonshine was my undoing last night. I continued to drink until she hauled me to her bed.
There was a trashcan on the floor and a bottle of water on the nightstand when I woke up at noon. She was long gone, deciding to forgive Dad and attend a christening event in town. When the room stopped spinning, I crawled to the bathroom and cried in relief when I saw the fresh clothes she’d laid out for me.
Taking a shower was an effort, but I made it through and stumbled to the sofa, which is where Grandpa found me a few hours ago. He took one look at me and sunk down in the recliner, happily taking over the remote.
“If you want to watch football, you need to go home,” I reply grumpily.
“Nah, I want to spend time with you.”
“Can you at least find an NCIS marathon?”
His eyes light up, and he does as I ask, smiling. This was our thing when I lived here. He and I were NCIS junkies. There probably isn’t an episode we haven’t seen up to this season. This time, he surprises me with NCIS LA, which means hours of enjoyment with Chris O’Donnell, LL Cool J, and Eric Christian Olsen.
I snuggle deeper into the couch, curling a blanket around me, and sigh contently. We watch in silence, except for the sound of Grandpa munching on his chips. For the first time in over a week, I feel at ease. Besides the raging hangover, I’m in a good place.
“He doesn’t want space. He wants you.”
I should have known the peace wouldn’t last long. “He says differently.”
“He was too influenced by us. We did that to him. He thought he was doing the right thing. You need to go home and straighten him out.”
“Monroe women don’t beg.” I mimic Grandma’s phrase she used so many times during my life.
He looks at me with one eyebrow raised, a smirk on his lips. “No, Monroe women don’t beg. But I bet he’ll have no problem begging.”
“We’ll see,” I reply non-committedly.
“I straightened Logan out, too.”
“Doesn’t matter. Besides work business, I don’t have anything to say to him either.”
“Lick your wounds, Peach Princess, but always mend your fences. Life’s too short.”
This time when I look at my Grandpa, he’s turned serious and a bit nostalgic.
One story I’ve heard over and over again growing up is that he and Grandma had a hard time when their parents didn’t forgive them for eloping. It plagued Grandma almost to the point of depression, and he felt hopeless. She used to say she was going to be okay, that his love was enough, but he wasn’t convinced.
He once told me he didn’t regret much in his life, and never a day he was married to her. But one regret he did have was the pain their marriage caused.
“Grandpa, this is a different situation with both Nick and Logan. I can’t explain how it felt.”
“Why don’t you try?”
“You really want to know how I felt when my boyfriend dumped me and my brother berated me?”
“Have at it. Let it roll.” He spreads his arms wide, flapping his fingers to his chest in a ‘give it to me’ motion.
So many words run through my mind, but after spilling my guts to my mom last night, only one stands out. “Unwanted. I felt unwanted. Logan wouldn’t listen to me, already on the warpath. He wasn’t fazed by the thought of running the gallery alone, never once saying I was an essential part of the operations. Then when Nick hit me with wanting space and how we should slow things down, I was defeated.”
“I can’t speak for Nick, but I suspect he’s rethinking his stupidity. He listened to us old men. We’re at fault, too, but when I got a hold of Logan last night, I told him to pass along a message to Nick. I told him to tell that man we made a mistake and we were wrong. You have all your dreams right there in Miami.
“As for Logan, we know he’s an asshole. He’s a Monroe man, and it’s a characteristic we carry proudly. But be assured, he’d lay down his life for you. He appreciates and respects you more than he lets on. Once again, I think you’ll have an apology waiting when you get home.”
“Listen to your grandpa. I’m right.”
He unmutes the TV, putting an end to our conversation. We watch in silence, me snoozing on and off until my parents come home and we all spend the rest of the day together, doing nothing. Our conversations are safe, staying away from anything in Miami. My mom catches me up on all the small town gossip and upcoming Christmas festivities.
I go to bed early, knowing I have to leave at the crack of dawn to return the rental car and catch my flight. When I lay in bed, I think about how coming home was a good idea. Besides my initial breakdown, my head is clearer.
I’ll forgive Logan… eventually.
But dealing with Nick is a puzzle. Does he really want space? Does he seriously want to slow down and take a step back after all we shared? Or was Grandpa right? Was his whole spiel a charade in an attempt to keep his damn word to my overbearing family? If that’s the case, he needs to talk to Shaw about a career in acting when his football days are over. I may have agreed with him that morning in my kitchen, but I know there’s no going back for me.
Thinking about Nick has me reaching for my phone. It’s been turned off since I got here. When I power it up, there are a few missed calls, but mostly text messages.
Claire: Just so you know, I miss your artsy ass. This game sucks balls without you.
I love Claire.
Bizzy: Your brother’s here at the game with Melanie. I sent him a death glare, but Melanie looks super cute.
Typical Bizzy.
My pulse starts to race when I see Nick’s name.
Nick: I heard you took off for the weekend. Have a good time. Let me know when you get home.
Completely bland, devoid of any emotion. No Sweet Peach, no mention of my absence at the game, nothing.
Curiosity gets the best of me, and I Google Nick’s name to check if they won the game. The search produces hundreds of results, but the one that catches my eye is from one hour ago. I groan when I see it’s a blog post on Shannon Says. I’m tempted to close out of it when the screen fills with a video that resembles a celebration. Stupidly, I press the play button and wait.
The scene starts off with so much cheering and celebrating, it’s hard to hear. Shannon flips the recording to her and starts yelling.
Sexy Six Page 24
