desolate (Grace Trilogy, Book One)

by Autumn Grey

  Once pleasantries have been exchanged, Debra invites Ivan and Levi for dessert, then she stands up and walks to the kitchen.

  Ivan nudges me on my arm with his elbow. “So how did it go?” he asks quietly, subtly nodding in Grace’s direction.

  I steal a gaze in her direction, and my nostrils flare in irritation when I notice the way Levi’s upper body is twisted toward her, giving her all his attention. Ivan seems to sense the epic emotional state I’m currently in. He nudges me harder and whispers, “Stop this, man.”

  “What?” I turn to face him, feigning innocence.

  “Whatever’s going inside your head, just stop. Okay? It’s not healthy.” His eyebrows rise meaningfully.

  I sigh wearily. “I know. I just didn’t think seeing her again would be this hard. She seems happy . . .”

  “There’s nothing going on between them, I swear. So don’t Hulk out, okay?” Ivan rushes to reassure me. “At least nothing I’m aware of.”

  I drag my fingers through my hair, frustration burning inside my chest.

  I need air. I don’t think I have the strength to sit here any longer because I can’t stop looking at her like she’s a glass of water and I’ve been trekking the Kalahari for the past three weeks.

  Setting my napkin beside my plate, I push my chair back and excuse myself to go to the bathroom. I lock the door and turn to face the mirror, my fingers curling around the sink in front of me. I stare at my reflection while taking deep breaths.

  You can do this. Just go back out there, try and behave like a normal person, and attempt to contribute to the conversation for the next ten minutes. Then excuse yourself and thank Debra for the wonderful dinner, which you hardly even touched—and Grace for the stunning visual—then leave with your uncle.

  Easy.

  Right?

  The thought of spending even one more minute with Grace sitting directly across from me sends a tremor of need down my spine.

  Flipping the faucet on, I splash cold water on my face until my skin feels numb. I turn it off and grab a few tissues and pat myself dry. I’ve been in here for too long. I’m sure everyone is wondering what’s going on.

  Taking a deep breath, I leave the bathroom and pause in the hallway, trying to listen to the conversation from the dining room.

  “Hey,” a soft voice whispers, and I jump ten feet high at that sound.

  I spin around and come face-to-face with Grace. My heart pumps hard in my chest, and I’m sweating more than a sinner at confession.

  I clear my throat. “Hey.” I stare at her, trying to come up with a good conversation starter and end up saying, “You look beautiful.”

  A smile curves her lips, and she murmurs, “Thanks. You look”—she looks me up and down—“amazing.”

  We stand there, staring at each other. I should turn on my heels and join the others at the table, but there’s this energy tethering me to the ground, and I can’t move.

  Finally, she sighs and turns to leave, and I panic. “H-how are you?”

  Grace stops in her tracks and turns back to face me. “Good. You?”

  Man, this is awkward. Instead of answering her, my gaze roams her face, so many questions flashing in my head. I don’t even have a right to think about some of them, but I can’t stop myself. I shove my hands in my pants pockets and rock on the heels of my feet. She sighs again, sounding defeated before turning around to leave for the second time. Something inside me snaps, and I pounce forward. I don’t even know what I’m doing until I realize my fingers are wrapped around her wrist, and I’m dragging her to her bedroom.

  Once we are inside the room, I release her arm and close the door behind me. Slowly, I spin around to face her. Her eyes are wide, and her chest is heaving.

  “Are you crazy?” she hisses, her eyes darting around the room as if she’s looking for an escape route.

  She takes several steps back, keeping a healthy distance between us, and I find myself sighing in relief. Being near her activates that part in my brain that is only reserved for Grace. I have no idea what I might do if she’s within arm’s reach.

  “What are you doing?” she asks softly.

  Good question. What am I doing?

  “Sol—”

  “Are you happy? Are you, uh, you know, seeing . . .”

  Understanding makes her eyes widen even more. “You can’t be serious—”

  “I know I don’t have the right to ask, but just answer me, please. Please”

  We stare at each other, the sound of our ragged breaths filling the quiet space. Debra’s laughter drifts into the room through the closed door. Outside the window, the sound of a car honking fills the silence thrumming with tension.

  “How can I entertain the thought of being with someone else when you’re the only one I see? You’re everywhere, and I can’t shake you off, Sol. I can’t . . . I can’t . . .”

  “I know what you mean, Gracie. I really do.”

  I lean back on the door and shove my clenched hands inside my pockets because they are shaking so badly with the need to just hold her.

  “How am I still like this? Like my heart will burst out of my chest with what I’m feeling?” I mutter, shaking my head.

  “Love is a bitch, huh?” she asks, her lips twisting in a bittersweet smile. “Welcome to Hell, Callan. Anyway, we have to go back before they come looking for us.” She straightens, smoothing her hands down her dress, then throws her shoulders back.

  Why am I more worried about losing her once we both go through that door than I am about being caught?

  “Sol?” she asks, a frown on her face. “You actually need to step away from the door for us to leave this room.”

  “I’m not sure I can do that, Gracie.”

  “Why?” It’s a breathless whisper.

  “Because.”

  “That’s not an answer.”

  Looking around the room, I breathe through my nose and exhale through my mouth before focusing on Grace again. “I’ve tried so hard to forget this.” I wave at the space between us. “Forget you, forget how you make me feel. In the two months we’ve been apart, I prayed. I promised God that if He gave me the peace I craved so badly, I’d dedicate my life to Him and only Him. I succeeded, living one day at a time. I was in control of my life and my emotions until I walked in this place and saw you.”

  She sucks a deep breath and crosses her arms on her chest.

  “What are you thinking?” I ask, trying to read her but failing miserably.

  “I’m waiting for your answer.”

  Shaking my head, I say, “Meet me in Old Orchard tomorrow afternoon at three o’clock.”

  She blinks several times, her mouth opening and closing. I’m so desperate to hear her response, every part of me is trained on her mouth, waiting. All of a sudden, her eyes fill with panic, and she grabs my bicep.

  “Someone’s coming,” she whispers urgently, pulling me toward her closet, and shoves me inside before slamming the doors shut. The space is so small I have to curl my shoulders around me to fit without knocking the clothes off the hangers. In the eighteen years of my life, I never thought I’d find myself hiding inside a closet.

  When I was fifteen, Ivan had this girlfriend whose parents were extremely strict. They were only allowed to hang out in the living room sitting across from each other. Then one day her parents weren’t home. Ivan snuck into her room, but unfortunately, her parents returned before they could reach third base. He spent four hours in the closet, hiding, until her parents went to bed, and his girlfriend finally let him out. I imagine this is how he felt—trapped and scared. And slightly embarrassed.

  I hear the sound of a door closing out in the bedroom. Seconds later, light filters into the closet. I peel my body off the clothes and step out.

  “My mom went to her room to grab some stuff. She’s back in the living room now. Come on, hurry up!”

  I stride to the door, but before I can exit her room, she grabs my wrist. I turn to face her.

/>   “I’ll be there.” She drops my hand, and with a soft smile, she makes a gesture to let me know it’s time I go back to the living room.

  I’ll be there.

  I’m terrified and excited at the same time. I hate myself for being weak and greedy, but I can’t stop feeling like I won the lottery.

  God, I’m such a mess.

  I return to the dinner table, forcing a reassuring smile when Luke looks at me oddly. Ivan frowns at me, his gaze darting in the direction I came from before settling on me again. I avert my eyes on the table to avoid the questions simmering in his. I hear Levi ask if he can help Debra pack the food to take to the homeless shelter. Grace doesn’t come back until it’s time for Luke and me to leave.

  After saying goodbye to everyone and thanking Debra and Grace for the wonderful meal, we head to the truck.

  That night, I get down on my knees next to my bed and pray. And for the first time in a long time, I don’t have words to offer to God. My head is still full of thoughts of seeing Grace tomorrow. And when I climb between the sheets, I spend half the night counting the hours and minutes until I see her again.

  The following day, I arrive in Old Orchard twenty minutes before three o’clock. I shiver and pull my jacket tighter as a chilly breeze blows around me. According to the thermometer in my car, it’s nine degrees. The temperatures are going to drop by nightfall.

  Sol is already there waiting for me, though. He’s standing a few feet from the shoreline with his back to me.

  I stop to take in his strong stature, marveling at the way the black jacket clings to his broad shoulders perfectly, and the way the dark blue jeans hug his backside is pure sin. He’s wearing his favorite cap, covering his short hair. He’s been keeping it short and groomed since he started at the seminary.

  He looks over his shoulder as if sensing me, his eyes widening as though he’s surprised I showed up.

  “Hi,” I greet him, coming to a stop in front of him. My breath comes out in puffs.

  “You came.” His voice is husky, full of emotion.

  “Of course. I said I would.”

  His lips quirk at one side, and my heart flips happily inside my chest. My favorite smile. “Thank you.”

  I turn to face the ocean, watching the waves. We’re standing so close, I can feel the heat from his body enveloping me. Another cold breeze sweeps across the water, and I visibly shiver. I step closer to his warmth.

  “Better start talking before we freeze to death.” I snag my bottom lip between my teeth, feeling worried. I spent the night tossing and turning in bed, wondering if he would regret asking me to meet him here. “And if you say asking me to meet you here was a mistake, I’m going to drown you.”

  His entire body shakes with laughter, and he wraps his strong arm around my shoulders, tugging me to him. I can’t stop the blissful sigh that leaves my lips.

  He kisses my hair. “I wasn’t going to say that. I just wanted to see you again. Alone.”

  I duck my head and smile. His arm tightens, and I snuggle deeper, enjoying being like this more than I probably should. We start to walk slowly with no destination in mind. I revel in the silence. I know we should be talking about why we are here. I sense he wants to say something, so I give him time. I don’t want to push him to discuss whatever it is that’s bothering him, just in case it’s not something in my favor. I know, I know. I’m such a chicken.

  We’ve been walking for about ten minutes when the wind changes and the temperature drops further. He steers me back toward the parking lot and to my car.

  He shifts his weight from foot to foot and tugs down the brim of his hat. “Maybe we don’t have to stop this . . .”

  I know what he means. This—us.

  I shake my head, shrugging his arm off and stepping back. “We ended this the second you left for the seminary. We had closure when I drove to Boston to see you , Sol. Starting all over again will only end up hurting us. I’m trying to move on with my life.” Even though I haven’t figured out yet how to do that.

  “You are?” He moves closer, invading my personal space. His Adam’s apple bobs as his head lowers a notch, his gaze anxious and hopeful at the same time. He asks in a soft voice, “You don’t miss me?”

  If Sol is the sun, then I’m a sunflower. His words, the way he looks at me, pours warmth in me, making me thrive with false hope. I love and hate myself for being this person. Why am I wired this way? Why is it so hard for me to resist him, huh?

  Where is your pride, Grace Miller?

  All of a sudden, the knot of anticipation in my stomach uncoils. Anger burns through me, anger at myself. My inability to walk away.

  I lift my hands and slam them into Sol’s chest. Caught off guard, he stumbles back, his eyes wide with shock.

  “You want to know if I miss you, huh?” I shove him with my hands again. This time he’s expecting it. He doesn’t move, but the startled look on his face deepens. “I miss you and I hate myself for it. Is that what you wanted to hear?” I lift my arms, intending to push him, slap him, punch him. . . I don’t know. All I want is for him to feel the pain I’m feeling.

  He grasps my wrists with his hands, then stares down at me. His mouth opens, but no words come out. He licks his lips, then tries again, shaking his head once. “Yes—no. I don’t want you to hate yourself because of me.”

  I laugh, but it sounds bitter in my ears. “So what do you want?”

  He stares at me for several seconds, drops my hands and steps away from me. My body sways, missing its anchor. I almost beg him to put his hands on me again.

  Almost.

  “I want you to be happy,” he mutters.

  “I am happy. Can’t you tell?” I quip.

  He eyes me doubtfully and says, “Um, you look pissed off.”

  Ugh.

  “Look. You need to focus on being a priest and I need to—”

  All of a sudden, his hands are gripping my shoulders and his lips mesh with mine, cutting me off. I didn’t even see him move, which is quite a feat considering how huge he is. My hands move, ready to shove him away. Instead they curl around his jacket, because my knees feel weak and I’m afraid if I left go, I’ll drown in euphoria.

  The weird thing is that he’s not even kissing me. Our lips are only pressed together. Yet, my heart is beating faster than before. I feel alive.

  Oh, God.

  Sol pulls back, still holding me as my resistance starts to wear off. “You and your mouth. You shouldn’t put it anywhere near me when we’re arguing.”

  He laughs. “Sorry.” He doesn’t look sorry.

  We stare at each other for a few moments as our breathing normalizes. Sizzling chemistry or not, we’re playing a dangerous game. My heart has already been a casualty of war once. Am I ready to risk it again?

  No.

  Yes.

  No.

  “But how can we continue?” My mouth opens and the words pour out. “When will I see you again?”

  I sigh, the weight of what I’m asking for settling in the spaces between my soul. This imprudent, bold, stubborn, untamable soul of mine willingly jumping into the fire, just to feel the heat of the flames once again.

  His chest deflates as breath rushes out of his mouth as if he’s been holding it for a while. “I still haven’t figured it out yet. All I know is I’ve missed you so much, Gracie.”

  My eyes drift closed, and I blow out a long breath. I can’t believe I’m considering this because it seems wrong, yet it feels right at the same time. The thought of not seeing him again makes my heart twist painfully in my chest. I suck air sharply and nod before I can change my mind.

  “So I’ll see you soon?” he asks, with hope in his voice.

  “Yes. I mean, unless you change your mind once you get to Boston . . .” God, Grace. What the hell are you doing? “You won’t change your mind, will you?” I ask as I get in my car. It’s a plea. A warning.

  He ducks his head into the car so we’re at eye level and cups my face in hi
s large hands. “No, I won’t.” He leans forward and smashes his mouth to mine in a quick, hot kiss. Then he pulls back. “Go on. I’ll follow you with my truck.”

  “So creepy,” I tease him and laugh when he looks at me confused. I roll my eyes and nod.

  After he slams my car door shut, I watch him jog to his truck and jump inside. Within seconds, we’re driving back to Portland.

  When we arrive, I glance up at the rearview mirror and see Sol waving before making a left and heading toward the rectory. Once I get home, I start dinner for my mom, wondering when I’ll see Sol again. That thought makes my heart beat faster. It’s so wrong, but it feels right.

  I think back to the day I drove to Boston, intending on finding closure and moving on with my life. Watching Sol leave was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. I thought I’d be okay and that time would heal my broken heart. What I didn’t count on was what would happen if I ever saw him again. And then he was sitting across from me at Thanksgiving dinner, looking at me with those eyes that said everything his mouth couldn’t. I felt a rush, the kind of rush I hadn’t felt in so long. There was so much love and heat in them it took all my power to hold on to my cutlery. My blood roared in my ears, and my heart raced so fast in my chest I thought it’d rip through. It was the kind of high I’d been craving since he left for the seminary. I was addicted. I wanted more, and at that point, I would’ve done anything to keep feeling like that.

  Then his lips on mine a few moments ago sent my craving for him and resistance colliding into each other. They crashed and burned, and the end result is a woman who’s more than ready to accept the little slice of Heaven she can get from the love of her life. Pride and caution take a back seat. I’m a slave to my heart. Now I understand why some women willingly enter into a relationship with a man who is committed to someone else, yet they risk everything just to be with him. I never thought I’d fall into that category. Love makes us stupid. Love makes me stupid.

  What does that make me? A sinner, a woman in love, or both?

  It’s been a week since Thanksgiving. I still haven’t heard from Sol, and I don’t even know what’s going on. His Facebook page hasn’t been updated in ages. Did he change his mind? I shouldn’t have gotten my hopes up because it only leads to disappointment.