desolate (Grace Trilogy, Book One)

by Autumn Grey

  “Sounds wonderful.” I dig around inside my head for something that’ll cheer him up but come up empty.

  He pulls out his phone from his pocket. His fingers fly across the screen before he hands it to me. “Here’s my mom and pop. Most people say I look like my dad.”

  I study the image of the man who’s an older version of Sol and a woman with black hair standing next to him. While Sol is a carbon copy of his father, he definitely got his eyes from his mom. “Yeah, you do.” I hand him his phone back, give his hand a comforting squeeze.

  “What about you?” he asks. “Your dad, I mean?”

  Ugh.

  Talking about my father isn’t easy for me, but Sol opened himself up to me. Plus, he’s looking at me as if he wouldn’t mind spending the rest of the evening listening to what I have to say.

  “Never met him,” I say quietly, folding my arms across my chest.

  The oven timer goes off, signaling that the muffins are ready, thank God. I excuse myself and head to the kitchen. Moments later, I slip back into my seat and swiftly ask, “Weren’t you supposed to entertain me with your guitar skills?” I smile, but I doubt it reaches my eyes.

  He studies me for a few moments. He nods once as if he understands my need to change the subject. “Sure.”

  Grabbing the guitar, he scoots to the edge of the seat, then cradles it in his lap. He loses himself in his own thoughts as he thrums the strings, trying to decide what song to play. Then he stands up, humming under his breath. I catch the familiar notes of “Sweet Child O’ Mine” by Guns N’ Roses. He lifts his chin, his mouth tugged up in that familiar crooked grin as he stares knowingly at me through his lashes. I sit up straighter, my eyes widening.

  I want to ask him how the hell he knows I love this song, but the complete bliss on his face stops me. Right now, Sol looks like an angel with a wicked side but plays his guitar like a rock star, humming the lyrics as if each and every word is precious. I make a mental note to add this memory into my Beautiful Memory Jar when I get home.

  By the time I strum the last note of the song and look up, Grace is leaning forward, eyes shining, mouth gaping, the tiny gap between her two upper teeth peeking. If I keep staring at her face any more, I’m not sure what I might do, so I stand and stretch.

  “Wow. That was incredible! Are you sure your calling isn’t to be a rock star?”

  “Thanks.” I give her my back and head for the guitar case, wearing a grin on my face. “I’m not good with big crowds. I prefer to give private performances.” I steal a glance at her over my shoulder.

  “Oh,” she murmurs, blinking rapidly, then drops her gaze to the table and nibbles the corner of her bottom lip.

  I grin at her bowed head, thinking how cute she looks flustered. After putting the guitar away, I return to the booth.

  “Where did you learn to play like that?”

  “YouTube videos and tons of practice. Luke also hired a private tutor to teach me—a kid who was looking to make money while attending music school.”

  “Playing like that requires dedication. Can you sing too?” she asks, her eyes bright with hope.

  I laugh. “Er, no.” She deflates a little. “It’s only fair, you know. I don’t want to be greedy and hog all the talent.”

  This time, she bursts out laughing. “How very considerate of you.” The laughter fades and she asks, “How did you know? The song, I mean. How did you know it’s one of my favorites?” The wary look I haven’t seen in days is back on her face.

  “You hum it under your breath all the time. Even back in high school,” I say, watching her carefully for any signs of freaking out.

  “Oh,” she says again, dropping her gaze to her hand fidgeting with the fork, and adds quietly, “I didn’t think anyone ever paid attention to me. They certainly spent time talking about me, but it never felt like anyone really saw me.”

  I slide my hand across the table, wanting to touch her. To soothe the haunted look from her features. Instead, I curl it into a fist and place it beside hers. Taking a deep breath, I tell her the truth. “Whenever you and I are in the same room, you have my complete, undivided attention, Grace. You always have.”

  She gasps softly, and her eyes meet mine. We stare at each other in silence, but my skin prickles with a weirdly fascinating sensation.

  “Can I ask you something? It’s totally fine to say no.” She adds the last part quickly. She smiles and looks at the spot over my shoulder, her fingers tapping a quick beat on the table. She looks vulnerable, her eyes wide, allowing me to see how nervous she is. I mean, how can I say no to her?

  “Sure.” I settle back on the seat and stretch my arms along the back of it.

  “Can I . . . can I kiss you?” Her eyes snap back to mine, and she hurriedly adds, “I know you’re heading to Boston in a few weeks and—” She sucks in a deep breath. “I really want to kiss you. I promise I won’t try to do anything else. Just kiss you.”

  Holy. Shit.

  I take a deep breath, letting her words sink in, and realize I’m breathing faster than normal. My gaze falls on her mouth, and I literally stop breathing because that mouth, God help me. It’s like a gateway to a whole new galaxy where secrets and wishes are waiting to be unveiled.

  I need to kiss her. I want to discover the universe beyond those full lips. I’ve been fighting the need to kiss her since I walked inside the diner and saw her wiping down the counter. But my brain is telling me it’s a bad idea and kissing her will irrevocably change me. Change my life. I know I won’t be able to come back from that. But the other part of me, the part that has a hopeless, desperate crush on this girl, just wants to drag her onto my lap and let her do whatever she wants.

  “It’s getting late. We should probably lock up and leave,” she says in a small voice when I take too long to reply. She pushes her hair back before standing up and starting to stack our plates together. Her gaze meets mine briefly. “Look, I’m sorry I made this awkward. It’s not fair to you—”

  I reach out, curling a finger through the belt loops on her jean shorts, and tug. But she doesn’t move toward me. Instead, her grip around the plates grows tighter, and she turns to leave.

  “Gracie.” I tighten my hold, forcing her to set everything back on the table and look at me. “Come here.”

  I pull her close while placing my other hand on her hip. Then, I slide both hands in the back pockets of her shorts, pulling her closer until all I can see is her face and her lips—so close to mine.

  Her chest rises and falls quicker than before, and I realize mine’s doing the same. We stare at each other. I wonder if she regrets asking to kiss me. That thought makes my chest ache. Right now, in this moment, with my face inches away from her boobs, I’d do anything for a chance to know what she tastes like. My fingers skim along her arm and bury themselves in her hair. She trembles against me, so I know she wants this as much as I do.

  Earlier today after leaving work, I drove home. My mind was preoccupied, and I was restless, so after taking a shower, I got into my car. And somehow, I found myself parking the truck outside the diner. Maybe this is why I came here; I don’t know. But I really want to find out.

  “Do it.” My voice is a whisper. I’m almost breathless with want. I want to yank her down and kiss her myself, but she looks like she’s about to flee. So I let her come to me. “Kiss me.”

  She bites her bottom lip as she comes closer. I’m glad I’m sitting down because my knees are shaking with anticipation. Then her lips touch mine, her eyes on me the whole time. Need has my fingers tightening in her hair as she presses her lips more firmly to mine. Her tongue peeks out, running along the seam of my lips. I groan and shift on the seat to ease the discomfort in my shorts. My mouth opens, and the second her tongue touches mine, my body rattles with a shiver. This moment feels sacred. Like a blessing. It feels blasphemous and holy all at once. It scares me.

  Tugging her into my lap, I fist her hair in my hands as I incline her head further, fusing our l
ips together more firmly. But our noses are in the way, and we have to find the right angle to stop bumping into each other. It’s frustrating at first because I want her lips on mine and her breath mingling with my breath. Our heads finally slant in the right positions, and our lips fit perfectly. We both exhale in relief and groan at the contact.

  Something in me breaks loose. Suddenly I’m pulling at her hair frantically, and my kisses become hungry and aggressive. I’m trembling and desperate and all I can think is I’ve never felt anything like this before, and I don’t ever want to stop or let her go. I don’t need to wonder if she’s enjoying this kiss too. Her hands fisted in my hair, yanking me closer and closer are all the answers I need. She’s pressing her chest into mine, and I swear I can feel her heart hammering. Neither one of us wants it to end.

  We break apart and gulp for air, and my hands leave her hair, greedy to explore other parts of her, but they end up on her hips, pulling her further into me.

  “More,” I beg, because right now, that’s all I can do.

  Beg like my life depends on it. At this point, I feel like I’m about to go up in flames.

  “Fuck yes,” she murmurs between my lips, throwing a leg over my thighs and sliding closer.

  I’m hard, so hard, I’m falling apart. My hips jerk, seeking contact with her body. Her hands cup my face, my neck, moving down my body and under my shirt. It’s like they can’t decide where to land. I’m almost coming apart with just her touch. Oh, God. I need to take control of this situation before I shoot my load in my pants.

  My fingers find hers on my chest. I entwine them together and pin them on my lap. She whimpers but doesn’t stop kissing me. It feels so good. Why was I freaking out before?

  Her hips start thrusting back and forth, and she moans softly. She scoots back until my knee rests between her legs. Her sounds become louder the faster she grinds herself on me. She yanks her mouth from mine and buries her face into my neck, jerking faster, moaning louder, and breathing harder.

  Is she doing what I think she’s doing?

  Oh, shit. I swear my dick’s going to hulk out and rip my shorts apart. My boxers are already wet with pre-cum.

  I release her and move to grab her hips, but before I do, her back arches, and she whispers my name with an “Ooh” and it sounds like “Sol-ooohh.” It’s the sexiest sound I’ve ever heard. I hold her close as she comes down from her orgasm until I feel her ass shift. She leans back, sweat beading her forehead, pupils dilated. She looks down at the spot between her legs and shuts her eyes tight as if embarrassed. I’m sure if her skin were a shade lighter, her cheeks would be blazing red.

  I run my fingers through her hair, swallowing the emotion stuck in my throat.

  “You coming apart like this for me is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever had the pleasure of seeing, Grace,” I finally tell her.

  She groans, burying her head in her hands. “I’ve never done anything like this before. Felt like this.” Her words are muffled, but I still understand what she says.

  I grasp her wrists and tug her hands away from her face, then lift her chin with a finger, leveling her eyes with mine. “Thank you.”

  The sound of a phone ringing startles us, breaking the looming silence. Her body jolts up, and she jumps out of my lap, stumbling to the other side of the booth. As soon as she has the phone in her hand, she answers it, pressing it against her ear.

  I exhale deeply and scrub my palm down my face, not sure if I should be grateful or frustrated for the interruption. Will things change between us now?

  Her soft voice pulls me out of my thoughts.

  “At the diner,” she says, peeking at me from below her lashes, a smile curling her lips upward. “I’m almost finished. I’ll be home in twenty minutes.” She nods as she listens to whoever is on the other side of the call—her mom would be my guess.

  “See you in a few minutes. Bye.” She ends the call and looks at me while pressing the phone against her lips.

  Now the air is filled with a different kind of tension, awkward and weird. She’s probably thinking, What now? Because it’s the same thing I’m thinking. It’s like we crawled inside a hole full of awkwardness.

  My fingers play with the beads of my bracelet, and I flash her a smile. “Let’s clean up so I can get you home.”

  “Okay.” She looks relieved and jerks into action as if she’d been desperately waiting for me to say those words. She sprints toward the kitchen, shoving her phone inside the back pocket of her shorts.

  For the next ten minutes, we clean up the kitchen and the booth in silence. I can’t stop looking in her direction. Her curly hair falls around her shoulders in a rumpled mess, thanks to my eager fingers.

  The cute, shy smile she sends me before resuming her work has me hopeful that she’s more embarrassed than regretful. As for me, I could never regret anything that happened tonight. But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t scare the hell out of me.

  Friday morning, I roll out of bed with a pounding headache. I feel like I slept inside a bottle of alcohol. But my mouth feels fine, and I don’t remember drinking last night. Maybe I’m just drunk on Sol’s kisses.

  After he followed me home in his truck and walked me to my door, we tiptoed around a simple goodbye.

  The kiss had been, in one word, phenomenal. It was like kissing in the rain with the sun shining overhead. Kissing Solomon Callan was like being swept away by an unpredictable storm. Then I came on his knee.

  I was so embarrassed at first, but after replaying the moment over and over in my head, thinking about it, thinking how much I loved the feeling of absolute bliss rushing through me and the way Sol watched me with pure fascination and need at that moment, I decided I didn’t have anything to be embarrassed about.

  Four o’clock this afternoon finds me sitting in my usual booth at the diner, unable to concentrate on the task of researching courses and basically doing anything that could possibly help me narrow down what I want to do in college next fall. What I really want to do is throw my laptop across the room.

  My mind replays last night over and over. At some point, I check my phone to see if he’s called or sent a text but remember we haven’t exchanged phone numbers. I keep peeking out the window, hoping to catch a glimpse of him . . . but he doesn’t appear. Eventually, my mom, who’s been watching me like a hawk, walks over and sits across from me.

  “How’s the bookkeeping coming along?”

  “Good, I think.” I glance down at the laptop guiltily and close the document. I’m not ready to tell her my thoughts yet. Not until I have concrete plans. “I should be done in an hour.”

  She laughs softly, and my eyes meet hers. I can’t help but notice how much happier and more relaxed she looks since she came back from the retreat.

  “You’re going to have a stiff neck if you keep twisting like that to look out the window. Let me guess. Sol?”

  My cheeks grow warm. “Not everything is about him these days, Mom.” I ease the harshness of those words with a reassuring smile before returning my gaze to the laptop and pretend to type.

  “He’s in Boston.”

  My head snaps up at the words.

  “What?” Why would he go to Boston this early? Unless what happened yesterday scared him off.

  “I dropped by St. Peter’s to talk with Father about the food drive in fall. He mentioned Sol would be heading there today. He had to take care of some things before school starts.”

  My heartbeat slows down.

  “You two have been hanging out together a lot recently.” She eyes me closely. “Is there something going on?”

  I shake my head a little too hard. “No. Just friends. I promise. Besides, that’s what you wanted, right? For me to find more friends?”

  She nods, still studying me. I squirm in my seat, feeling uneasy.

  “I did. I still do. But I’m worried about you two. The way he looks at you, Gracie. It’s not the sort of look you see on the face of a future priest. He looks at y
ou with eagerness.”

  “Mom—”

  “Just be careful, okay? I don’t want to see you hurt again.”

  I nod, unable to hold her gaze for longer than several seconds.

  Even though I knew well enough that he’d be leaving in a few weeks, I still chose to kiss him. It was a spur-of-the-moment thing. Between him telling me I smelled like vanilla waffles and playing my favorite song, something just changed between us. Something clicked as if pieces of a puzzle finally fell in place.

  “One other thing,” she continues. “I know you said you needed time. But you need to decide what you really want to do, Gracie. College starts soon, and we haven’t even started buying what you need.”

  “Please, Mom. Not now.”

  “Yes, right now.” Her jaw clenches, eyes narrowed. Then she takes a deep breath through her nose and out through her mouth, and I know she’s trying to control her rising temper. “I’ve been patient with you. I’ve worked so hard to get you into Brown. And I know. I know I went about it the wrong way and did some things that made you resent me—”

  “Stop, please.” I squeeze my eyes shut, hating myself, hating that fifteen-year-old brat who despised her mother for things she didn’t understand. “I didn’t . . . I was stupid, and I didn’t understand or see the whole picture until you told me what happened between you and your parents.”

  I open my eyes and find her watching me with a gentle expression. I bite the inside of my cheek nervously. “But I can’t just do whatever you choose for me. Psychology was your dream. Going to Brown was your dream, Mom. Not mine. I love you, but I need to do this my way. And right now, I really don’t think I’m ready to start college this year. I need time. Please. I need you to understand.”

  She opens her mouth to say something but seems to think otherwise. Instead, her lips tighten. She looks angry as hell, but at some point, I need to stand my ground.