by Diana Gardin
I look down at my left leg. I’m not even a whole man anymore. I’d been through some shit in the last year that had changed me fundamentally, both inside and out. There’s no way I can be everything to someone else.
I know it in my gut.
I’m going to drive Greta to the doctor and make sure she’s okay.
And then I’m going to walk away.
Because at this point in my life, that’s the best possible thing I can do for a woman like this.
Just walk away.
2
Greta
Grab the turkey bacon. Shred the cheddar. Place the chicken in the baking dish. Season it.
My brain has been taking a vacation all day. First, falling off my board (something I never do) and ending up unconscious in the ocean. And now I haven’t been able to think of much else other than the way Grisham’s intense forest-green eyes practically swallowed me whole when I woke. And the way one of his strong hands remained on me at all times, making sure I was okay. I wonder idly if the skin underneath those hands felt as hot to him as it did to me. And I also can’t forget about the way his thick, dirty-blond hair fell into his eyes as he leaned over me.
So basically, my usually smart brain has turned into a big ol’ dumb-dumb. And although I know the last thing I should be thinking about right now is Grisham Abbot, my dummy brain just won’t let me stop.
So that’s probably the reason I slice my finger open while I’m chopping up the red onions to go on the smothered chicken I’m preparing for dinner.
“Ouch, dammit!” I hiss in pain as the blood immediately begins to seep from the wound. And then, because I’m one of those people who can’t stand the sight of my own blood, I promptly become too woozy to stand and end up on my butt on the kitchen floor. My head is spinning in a complicated, wild dance.
The front door opens with a bang. Somewhere in the back of my fuzzy head I know it’s Mea, because Mea always enters a room with a flourish.
“Greta! Ohmigod, are you okay?”
Mea crouches down beside me and takes my hand in hers. As soon as she notices the blood, she acts like a flash. Grabbing a towel from the cabinet behind, her she wraps it around my hand, applying an almost painful amount of pressure.
“There,” she says. “All covered up. Come on back to the land of the living.”
I take deep breaths. In through my mouth, out through my nose. For some reason, it helps me best when I take breaths in the opposite pattern normally used.
“Better?”
Mea’s voice is full of sympathy as she scrutinizes my face. I nod, and her eyes narrow in on the butterfly bandage covering up the fresh stitches in my forehead.
I sigh, standing up on wobbly legs. “I’m fine. Just...the blood. You know.”
“I know.”
Mea goes to fetch a Band-Aid for my finger. I continue holding the towel on my hand until she returns. My finger is now throbbing sharp beats of pain, but I’ll live. There’s no way I’m going back to urgent care for more stitches today. They’ll assume someone is beating me up on a regular basis. And it’s too difficult to tell them that I’ve just suddenly come down with a case of the klutzes.
When Mea returns, she sweeps gazelle-like into our apartment kitchen like a fierce little ballerina and begins wrapping the bandage around my finger while I avert my eyes.
“There,” she announces. “All done.”
I shoot her a grateful smile as I watch her chuck the Band-Aid wrapper in the trash and leave the kitchen. I get back to fixing our dinner. I throw the raw chicken breasts on the indoor grill and hum with satisfaction as they begin to sizzle. The rest of the ingredients are neatly lined up in little bowls on the counter.
Cooking is one area of my life where I have complete and utter control. I can cook the pants off of any meal, anytime. There are many areas in my life where control is out of my grasp, but usually when I’m cooking and when I’m surfing I’m 100 percent on my game.
Except for today, of course.
Today, I’m off my game in all areas.
“So how’s your sister?” Mea kicks off her shoes and flops onto the couch. Of course she looks like a little winged bird as she does it, where I’d probably look like a stork on skates.
“She was released this morning. It wasn’t anything she hasn’t been through before. With her cystic fibrosis, you know she’s no stranger to the inside of a hospital room.”
Mea nods, sympathy pooling in her deep brown eyes. “Bless her sweet little heart. I hate to see her sick.”
“Me, too. Mom takes good care of her, though. It just sucks that she doesn’t have two involved parents. A sick sixteen-year-old girl would really appreciate having her dad by her side sometimes.”
Mea folds her hands in her lap. I know she feels torn in two directions when I speak ill of my father. It’s not like I don’t love my dad. He’s always been good to me, in his own way. And my mom will never have to worry about my sister’s medical bills, because Jacob Owen has done more than well for himself. As Gemma would put it, he’s loaded. But at the end of the day, a kid just wants her dad to show her love by being there. And that’s where my dad gets it wrong every single time.
“Do we need to let Gemma spend the night here tonight so your mom can take care of Gabi?”
Shaking my head, I turn back to the grill. “No, Gabi’s just going to take it easy tonight. I’m sure Gemma won’t want to do anything besides get on Snapchat and talk to her friends, anyway.”
Mea giggles. “Oh, to be fifteen again.”
My insides melt when I think of my little sisters. They’re the reason I moved back to Lone Sands after college. If it weren’t for them, I probably wouldn’t have moved away from the bigger city. But my mom needs help with my two teenage sisters a lot. Being there for them is as natural as breathing for me. It’s second nature.
“Mea…” I can’t hold it in any longer. I think if I try, my chest will explode. “I ran into Grisham today.”
I keep my back to Mea so she won’t see how thoroughly I blush at the mention of his name.
“Grisham? Grisham Abbot?” She sounds shocked.
I nod. “Yep.” My attempt at nonchalance is foiled by the extra octave my voice reaches.
“Does that have anything to do with the injury you haven’t mentioned on your forehead?”
Now she sounds suspicious.
I busy my hands with adding the smothering ingredients to the tops of the chicken breasts. This time, I leave the lid of the grill open. “It’s no big deal. I fell off my surfboard today and sort of ended up unconscious.”
“What?”
She sounds agitated. Time to turn around.
“It’s fine, Mea. Really. I was just being clumsy.”
She frowns at me. “You’re not usually clumsy when you’re surfing.”
“Yeah, but I was just blowing off steam after seeing Gabi in the hospital one more time. You know? She’s got bronchitis again, and Mom brought her to the ER last night when she couldn’t catch her breath. It’s so hard to see her that way.”
Mea leaps off the couch and hurries over to wrap her arms around me. At five foot eight, I’m a good five inches taller than she is. But she wraps me up like a burrito in her embrace anyway, and I rest my head on her shoulder as I fight the tears back.
We stay that way for a few minutes until I pull away, swiping at my eyes. “I know, I know. She’s okay. But still…she’s the toughest kid on the planet. She never complains. It’s just not fair.”
Patting my arm as I turn back to the waiting chicken, she sighs. “I know.”
“So, anyway, there I am, lying on the beach when I came to, coughing up a lung like a beached whale. And there’s Grisham, leaning over me. He’d just given me mouth-to-mouth. He freaking saved my life, Mea.”
Her eyes widen. “You’re shitting me. For real? Are you okay now?”
She scrutinizes me with a careful gaze.
“Yes, I’m fine. Grisham took me to urgent c
are so I could get stiches. Then he bought me lunch at a drive-through. Then he brought me home. Then he got one of his buddies to meet him back at the beach so he could bring me my car.”
I shake my head in disbelief. I still can’t believe the events of today really happened. Grisham literally rode back into my life like a knight in shining armor. It’s enough to give a girl some kind of hero complex.
Especially when her hero looks like Grisham Abbot does.
Memories of his golden-tan body gleaming in the sunlight cause a gentle wave of warmth to flood through me. His body was sick. His wet suit was pulled down to his waist, and there were just ripples and ripples of abs. I mean, the things seriously went on forever. Right down into the uncharted waters beneath the wet suit. Which I unfortunately didn’t get to see.
He was bigger than I remember, too. When I saw him last, it was right before he entered the SEALs training program. And he had a great body then, but not nearly as ripped and defined as he is now. At least it didn’t look that way before.
Mea’s giving me a slow, knowing smile. I can imagine that my face rivals the color of a strawberry at this point.
Damn Irish skin. I can’t hide anything I’m feeling when I blush like a maniac all the time. Why can’t I have beautiful, toffee-brown skin like Mea?
“Uh-huh. And how is Mr. Grisham looking these days, Greta?”
I groan, forgetting about the chicken and leaning back against the counter. “The same way he’s always looked. Only better. His hair is longer. Sexy-messy. Even when his focus was clearly on Berkeley last year, I always thought he was gorgeous.”
Mea claps her hands together with wild glee. “I know! And now he’s back! So did you get his number?”
My mouth drops open. “No, I did not. And he didn’t ask me for mine, either. So that’s that.”
Mea’s mouth goes all scrunchy, the way it looks when she’s devising a master plan. Mea’s master plans are notoriously devious, and I raise my hands for protection.
“Stop it, Mea. Just stop thinking whatever it is you’re thinking, all right? Grisham isn’t for me. He never has been. I could never be with a guy who doesn’t put me first, and that guy was always all about Berkeley. Now he’s a freaking Navy SEAL. Do you know how dedicated those guys are to their jobs? Just as dedicated as my father was to his. And look how great that turned out for my family. No way. Just turn your brain around and go back to start. I’m not playing this game.”
My voice is firm. But all Mea seemed to hear was Grisham, Navy SEAL, and game. The girl rubs her two dainty hands together like a greedy little goblin.
“You always liked him, Greta. More than you would ever admit. I saw it. And I see it again now. Plus, you owe the man. He saved your life and he bought you lunch. Don’t you at least think he deserves a ‘thank you’?” She shakes her hips, shimmying to demonstrate her point.
My mouth is working to let Mea know that I don’t think this plan she’s hatching is a good idea. But my heart is squeezing so tight in my chest I’m in danger of going into cardiac arrest. My heart is happy at the thought of seeing Grisham again.
It’s a foreign feeling. I’m not sure when the last time my heart felt happy was.
“I did say thank you.”
Mea throws her hands up in the air.
“It’s like I’m always working with amateurs,” she mutters. “Of course you said thank you.” She tugs a piece of my long, inky hair with two fingers. “But now you need to show him thank you.”
I cross my arms in outright defiance. “And how am I supposed to do that when I don’t have any way to contact him?”
Mea smiles an extra devilish smile before skipping back into the living room.
Oh, God. I realize my mistake too late. I asked a question! And that was her green light.
“You just leave it to Mama Mea.”
She tosses a smug smirk over her shoulder at me as she heads toward her phone. Before she makes it to the coffee table where her phone is sitting idle, my own phone dings a text alert on the kitchen counter. I grab it up, still wondering what dangerous machine Mea is about to set in motion.
Hey there. It’s Grisham. Checking to see if you’re doing okay?
A shiver runs through me just at the sight of his name on my phone.
What the…?
“Mea,” I say, my words slow and succinct. “What did you do? And how did it happen so fast?”
She pauses, her hand midway to her phone. “What are you talking about?”
I point at my phone, frantic. “It’s Grisham. How is a guy I didn’t give my number to texting me?”
I’m simultaneously filled with panic and euphoria.
Mea’s full mouth stretches into a slow smile. She bounces on her tiptoes, causing her array of lustrous dark brown curls to shimmy.
“Don’t be silly. I hadn’t even picked up my phone yet! What did he say?”
She flies over to where I’m standing, and I hold out my phone so she can see Grisham’s text.
“See?” Her face is full of mirth. “Text him back!”
I hesitate, biting my lip as I think. Then I send Grisham a response:
I’m hanging in there. A little headache but nothing I can’t handle.
Mea reads over my shoulder. Frowning, she huffs out a disappointed breath. “Boring.”
My eyes widen as I stare at her. “Mea! Am I supposed to sext the guy during our first convo?”
Her nod is solemn. “Absolutely.”
Now it’s my turn to throw up my arms at her utter hopelessness.
My phone vibrates, and I glance down at it with eager eyes.
Glad to hear it. You gotta watch that pretty head of yours when U R surfing alone. Don’t forget to have your roommate wake you up every couple hours tonight for the concussion.
Huh. I’d actually forgotten all about those doctor’s orders. “Mea, can you—”
“Nope!” she sings happily. “Can’t, sweetie. I’m staying at my cousin’s in Wilmington tonight. In fact, I don’t even have time to stay for this delicious dinner you cooked. I have plans.”
I stare at her, my eyes narrowing into suspicious slits. “Since when?”
“Since right now.”
I grab the dish towel and throw it at her head. “You little devil! I need you! I have a freaking concussion!”
She grabs my phone and runs to her room, slamming the door behind her.
“Mea!” I take off after her. My fist thuds against the wood of her door. “Don’t do anything stupid! I am begging you!”
She opens the door a crack and hands me my phone. “I have to pack. You’re welcome, babe.” She closes her door again with a firm click.
“Ohhhhh, you little…” I pull my eyes back down to my phone and they widen at the text I supposedly just sent to Grisham.
Actually I’ll be waking myself up tonight. My roommie is in Wilmington for the night You think I’ll be OK?
Just reading that text is making my skin heat with a furious blush. Why…why is there no way to take back a text after it’s already been sent? I stare in misery at my phone, waiting for his response. If he even—
My phone dings.
And my heart stops beating.
Mea is amazing.
Um, no. Actually that’s not OK with me at all. I’m packing a bag. B there in 30 mins. U hungry? I can pick up dinner.
If he were here, I’d be stuttering my response. But even as my heart is beating a rhythm so rapid it could run right out of my chest, my brain finally kicks into high gear. I type out a response, telling him that I’ve already prepared dinner and that I have plenty to share. Then I hold my phone to my chest and try to tamp down the enormous smile that wants to crack my face in two pieces.
Grisham Abbot doesn’t want me to sleep alone tonight.
He’s on his way over to my apartment this minute.
My stomach sinks with dread at the exact moment that my heart takes flight.
3
Grish
am
In my Jeep driving to Greta’s, I’m arguing with myself like a crazy person.
So much for walking away, half of me is thinking.
But the other half is of a different opinion.
She needs you tonight. Just for tonight. You’d be a jerk if you didn’t help her out.
My head bobs in a firm nod. What kind of guy would I be if I let a girl with a concussion sleep on her own? As someone who’s had plenty of concussions before, thanks to football and active duty military service, I know a thing or two about concussion care. And she needs to be woken up so that someone can check her for signs that her condition is worsening. The doctor said that her concussion was mild, but still.
You can’t take chances with these types of things.
I can’t help it when my lips pull into a small smile at the thought of seeing her again. The last time I saw her in her sleepwear…damn.
That thought goes straight to my quickly hardening cock, and I reach down to adjust myself because that shit hurts.
There’s no doubt that Greta is the most gorgeous girl I’ve ever laid eyes on. Any residual feelings I had for Berkeley died long ago, and I haven’t thought of her that way since she’s been hot and heavy with Dare. But thinking of Greta now…the way her dark hair contrasts so starkly with her milky skin. The way her eyes pierce mine, rather than just looking at me. The way her body is just feminine curves stacked on top of lithe limbs…
I hit the steering wheel lightly, trying to shake the image from my brain. I’m going to her place tonight for one reason and one reason only—to help her. Not to get into her pants like a fucking perv.
When I arrive, I sling my duffle over my shoulder and walk up the two flights of stairs to her apartment. I rap the back of my hand against the door and wait, my hands hanging on to the top of the doorjamb. My heart pounds a little harder when I hear the sound of soft footsteps approaching from inside. The door is yanked open, and I’m suddenly this close to the face that’s been playing on repeat in my mind all damn day.
