There was no reason to stay.
She rummaged through her purse and grabbed up her cellphone. But nothing had changed since she’d checked. No missed call. No text message. Just nothing.
“Okay, then.”
What was her plan exactly? She searched on her phone and found Bud’s Taxi Service. Bud himself answered. He informed her that he was all the town had tonight, as his only other employee, his son, Bud Jr. was down with the flu. So no, he couldn’t drive her to the city where the airport was located, but he could certainly come get her from Matt’s and get her back to town. Oh and she’d have at least an hour wait for that.
Apparently nothing was going her way.
With no choice, Grace arranged for a car service to drive out from Detroit. That was the good news. The bad news was that she had a few hours to kill before the limo got to New Waterford.
Bud made it out about forty-five minutes later and Grace had him drop her at the Roadside Grill. She had no other place to go really, and after eating nothing but the few slices of apple at breakfast, she was not exactly hungry, but knew that she should eat.
The place was busy, with a thirty-minute wait for a table, so Grace opted to sit at the bar. Aware of the many eyes on her, she kept her head down and took the last stool in the far corner.
“Would you like a menu?” It was the man she remembered from when she’d been in before.
“Yes, please.” Mustache guy nodded and grabbed one from under the bar.
“Anything to drink?” he asked, throwing a towel over his shoulder and offering up a kind smile.
He was big, muscular and burly, and not really what you’d expect a bartender to look like in a place like this—a biker bar maybe, but not a roadhouse style eatery.
“Sure,” she replied. She wasn’t driving so what the hell. “Surprise me.”
“Surprise you,” he repeated. “I’ll see what I can do.”
Grace turned slightly so that she faced the window and could ignore the curious looks thrown her way from the main room of the bar. She took a few minutes to study the menu and found that it was surprisingly varied—from salmon and steak to burgers and deep fried pickles. The only problem was that nothing stood out to her, and she was going to assume it had more to do with the state of her head than the fact that she wasn’t all that hungry.
The bartender approached and she glanced up with a shrug. “Can you recommend something? I’m not sure what to order.”
He placed a cocktail in front of her and frowned. “Seems you’re not sure about much tonight.”
He was right on the money. “And that’s why I have you helping me out.” Grace grabbed her drink and took a sip, surprised at the sweet and tangy taste. “This is good. What is it?”
“Family secret I’m afraid.”
“Just my luck.”
“I’m Duke by the way. I own this place.”
Now it made sense. Biker guy wasn’t really a biker guy after all.
“Grace.”
“I know.” But that shouldn’t surprise her, should it? It was a small community and it wasn’t as if any of the Simons were exactly low profile—even when they tried to be. Heck, everyone in the damn place probably knew who she was and where she’d been spending her time.
Just thinking of Matt made her stomach churn and she reached for her glass. She needed a distraction.
“He’s a tough nut to crack,” Duke said slowly.
She took another sip. “Malibu rum?”
He shook his head. “Nice try though.” He paused. “You okay?”
Grace shrugged and pushed a napkin around for a few seconds, wiping up some of the moisture from her glass. “Have you known Matt long?”
“His whole life.”
She took another sip and let the cool liquid settle over her taste buds. “Are you sure there’s no Malibu rum in this?”
He shook his head. “No Malibu Rum.”
“Has he always been so…so hard?”
Duke was silent for a few seconds. “Matt is not easy. Like I said, I’ve known him his entire life, but I don’t know him. He doesn’t let folks in. I doubt even Betty Jo Barker could tell you what really makes the guy tick.” He wiped at some invisible spot of grime on the bar. “My experience with people like Matt is that usually there’s a reason why they are the way they are.”
Grace exhaled and grabbed up her glass. “So, is that pineapple juice I taste?”
“Close,” Duke said with a smile.
She took another sip and considered her next question. Considered if she should ask it. And before she could stop herself it sort of slipped out.
“A woman came to his place today. Her name is Delilah. Do you know her?”
“I do.”
Grace watched Duke closely, but the man wasn’t giving anything up. This guy was good, she’d give him that.
“Who is she?”
Duke grabbed the menu off the bar. “What did Matt say?”
“Nothing,” she replied. “Not a damn thing. He refused to tell me anything about her and got angry when I asked.”
Duke’s eyes softened. “He’ll tell you who Delilah is when it’s right for him.”
“But what if it’s never right?”
“Then it’s never going to be right. That’s all. Sometimes situations or people are just never going to be right. Doesn’t matter if it’s what we want or what we crave or even if it’s what we need. That’s the thing about life and relationships. They’re messy and some of us don’t come out of them whole. Some of us spend our entire lives searching for the one thing that can plug the holes. Stop the bleeding. Some find it and others don’t.”
Grace’s throat tightened and she pushed the glass away. No way could she have any more of it—not right now. She’d choke for sure.
“I think you need a bowl of my wife’s homemade chicken soup.”
“Yeah?” She managed a smile.
“Greek salad?”
She nodded. “Sure.”
“Okay. I’ll put the order in.” Duke paused. “You seem like a real nice young woman with a lot to offer the right man. I can’t tell you if Matt Hawkins is that man or not. But I can tell you that lately he’d been different. Something about him has changed. Maybe it’s you. Maybe you plugged one of those holes. Give him some time, but know that you might not have enough of it. Time I mean. Know that he might not ever be right.”
Grace’s eyes welled up. “Who knew that I’d find the smartest man, ever, right here in New Waterford.”
Duke grinned at that, his handlebar mustache, quivering. “Don’t be spreading that information around. I need to be serving drinks and not doling out advice.”
“So why’d you take the time with me?”
He winked. “Because you’re a pretty lady. And I like pretty ladies.”
Grace didn’t finish her drink after all. She filled up on soup and the most delicious Greek salad she’d had in a long while. By the time she was done, her belly was full and her emotions were a little more stable.
“Anything else?” Duke asked as he cleared her dishes.
“I’m good,” she replied, eyes moving to the floor and her bags. It was almost nine and her driver would be here soon. “Thanks for everything, Duke.”
“Not a problem. I hope things work out for you.”
She stared into his soft blue eyes for a long time, thinking about his words of wisdom and about what she was going to do. “I do to.”
Grace paid her bill. She called the car service and cancelled it. And then she called Bud. The old guy had to do a run out to the Bingo hall before he came for her.
Grace was fine with that. She would wait.
22
Matt sat in the parking lot of the hotel for nearly three hours. It was cold as hell, a bitter November day, and the gray, overcast skies did nothing to improve his mood.
The old Matt wouldn’t have waited, but he knew he needed more time. He needed his anger to dissipate because, like an old fri
end, all the bad shit from his past was stirring things up, and Matt knew that if he went offside, even just a little, things could go bad.
Outside, dead leaves blew across his windshield, twirling mini-tornadoes that disappeared from sight to scatter over the ground. He was parked in the far corner of the lot where the employee vehicles were, but his eyes were glued to the older SUV fifty yards ahead, right in front of unit thirty-three.
The Arizona plates told him they belonged to Delilah, and he swore, rubbing his temples as pain radiated along his skull. His jaw was clamped so goddamn tight, it was no surprise that his head hurt.
He wondered if she was alone or if his old man was with her. He scowled at the thought, pushed away some of that anger.
Shivering, Matt started the engine again, looking for some warmth, though his eyes never left the unit. Someone passed in front of the window and he froze, even though he knew he was hidden in the shadows. The curtains rustled a bit and then settled.
Matt exhaled and sank into his leather seats, considering his options. He knew there was nothing Delilah had to say that he cared to hear. Nothing at all. So why had he come? Was it curiosity? Or something else?
He hadn’t laid eyes on Delilah in nearly twenty years. Not since that last time. Not since he’d been as low as a man could get.
Anger burned through him—anger and a whole lot of other stuff. Stuff he thought he’d buried deep enough. Damn Delilah for bringing it all back.
He hit the steering wheel and swore. To think that she’d been to his home. Talked to Grace. Maybe said some things. Stirred the pot.
“Fuck it,” he muttered, killing the engine and reaching for the door handle. He knew Delilah. She was stubborn as hell and if she said she wasn’t going anywhere until she saw him, then she damn well wasn’t going anywhere.
Matt hiked up his collar and strode from his truck, his face as dark and stormy as the gray sky above him. Once he reached her SUV, he took a moment and got his emotions in check, and then pounded on the door.
The sound of the security chain had him tensing and when the door flew open, his world went silent. There was nothing but Matt and Delilah, and a whole lot of that stuff he wished was still buried.
It took some work, but he kept his cool. No point in giving her the satisfaction of knowing she could still press his buttons.
Delilah had aged and she’d not done it well. All the booze and drugs and smokes had finally taken their toll. It must kill her. A woman who’d traded on her looks for decades, finally cut down by something as inevitable as time. Maybe it should have given Matt some kind of satisfaction, but it didn’t. Aside from the initial anger, he had nothing.
She licked her lips, a practiced move he remembered well. “I’ve been waiting all day, Mattie. I’m sure you remember Delilah doesn’t like to wait.”
“Delilah still speaks in the third person. Some things never change.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Don’t be rude, Mattie.”
“It’s Matt.”
A small smile played around her glossy lips. “Well look at you,” she said softly. “All grown up and handsome and in control.” She paused. “Are you going to stand outside all night or are you coming in?”
He didn’t bother to hide his hostility. “Is he here?”
Delilah didn’t like to be dismissed and she was angry. The telltale tick near the corner of her mouth pulsated, and she tapped her toe aggressively.
“I’m assuming we’re talking about your father?”
“Who else?”
She moved aside. “We need to talk.”
Matt strode past her. The television was on—college sports—but there was no sound. A sweater was tossed onto the chair and a pair of boots lay in the middle of the room. He noted a small suitcase, a laptop, and nothing else.
“I’ve got five minutes,” he said, turning back to Delilah.
The fact that she looked shocked was comical. “I think after nearly twenty years, I deserve more than five minutes.”
He shook his head. “No. You don’t.” He looked her in the eye—made sure she saw he wasn’t playing games. “Why are you here?”
She smoothed her hair and walked to the small bar fridge. “Want a beer?”
“No.”
“You sure?” She grabbed one for herself and peeled back the tab. Leaning against the table, she raised the can into the air—a mock toast. “I bought your favorite. Bud.”
That hot anger that rumbled beneath his skin began to radiate, filling him with a heavy surge of energy that wasn’t going to do anyone any good.
Keep it together, he thought.
“I’ll ask you one more time. Why the hell are you here?”
Delilah took a long sip from the can and set it on the table. She leaned her hands there, arched her back slightly and smiled at him. Matt didn’t say a word. He looked her in the eye and made no effort to hide his dislike. When the moments ticked by and the silence became uncomfortable, she cleared her throat and pushed away from the table, grabbing her beer. She moved to the bed and sat down.
“I told you. We need to talk.”
“You drove across eight or nine state lines in that piece of shit truck because you want to talk to me? What the hell could you possibly think I’d want to hear?”
“Don’t you dare talk to me like that. I deserve some respect.”
“Respect?” He laughed, a nasty, cold sound. “That’s something that needs to be earned. Something that needs work. There is not one thing about you that I respect.”
Her mouth opened and then clamped shut. Blotches appeared on her neck, nasty little patches of red. She thrust out her chin and got to her feet.
“If your father was here, he’d knock some respect into you.”
Matt clenched his fists together and the look in his eye must have been deadly—she sank back onto the bed and reached for her beer. She finished the can of Bud and then tossed it into the bin beside the bed. It wasn’t the first.
Silence stretched between them, a long thin line that pulled at him something fierce. He had to unclench his fists because the muscles along his forearms began to ache. It went on for another minute or so and Matt took a step back.
“I’m not doing this.” He reached into his coat pocket and retrieved his keys. “I have no idea why you’re here. But you need to understand there is nothing you have to say to me that I’m remotely interested in listening to.”
She didn’t move and for a second he wondered if she’d heard him. Matt decided that he didn’t care about that either.
“I’m done.”
She glanced up, mouth narrowed into an unattractive thin line. The gloss was gone and her colorless mouth had a cruel bent. “Who’s the girl?”
“The girl is none of your business.”
Delilah’s eyebrows shot up and she got to her feet. “Since when do you get worked up over a piece of ass?” The rasp in her voice was more pronounced and the color was high on her cheeks.
Matt glared at her. “Women like you are nothing more than a piece of ass, and being nothing more than a piece of ass gives you no right to comment on Grace.”
Her face whitened at his insult and her chin trembled. “I can’t believe you just said that to me.”
He turned to the door and was reaching for the knob when she spoke again. “Your father is dying.”
Matt went still.
“Benjamin is dying. The doctors think if he lasts until Christmas, it will be a miracle.”
He opened the door.
“We need to talk about Justin.” Delilah grabbed his arm. “Matt.”
He went cold. And then hot. “Let go,” he snarled.
“Mattie.”
He yanked out of her grasp and slammed the door shut behind him. His only thought was to get home to Grace. To walk into his house and hold onto someone good and kind and compassionate. To breathe in the essence of a woman who wouldn’t do what he’d just done.
He was walking away. The reasons wh
y didn’t matter. None of it mattered. Because he was no better than his father.
23
If Bud thought Grace Simon was crazy, he kept it to himself—and Lord knows he had every right to. He showed up with a smile, grabbed her bag and tossed it into the back of his van. He didn’t mention the fact that he’d dropped her off less than two hours earlier. Maybe he didn’t like to gossip. Maybe he wasn’t all that interested in the reasons why a person would decide to leave town and then come back without leaving.
Whatever it was, Grace was grateful that he made no mention of any of that and she settled in for the ride to Matt’s. They chatted about the things that interested Bud—the weather (cold as hell for this time of the year); the Buffalo Bills (an ongoing concern); the state of the economy (doing better in Bud’s opinion) and the fact that the Grill served the best damn chicken wings in all of Michigan.
Bud was horrified to learn Grace hadn’t had the pleasure as of yet, and she made a promise to him that she’d rectify her mistake the next time she was at the Grill.
“You do that,” Bud said with a grin as he pulled into Matt’s driveway. “Trust me, you won’t be disappointed.”
Grace slid from the van and walked around back to retrieve her luggage. She paid Bud, he thanked her profusely for the generous tip, and then waited until he left to turn back to the house. Matt’s truck was parked in its usual spot. So he was home.
Lights burned from the inside, the glow warm and inviting, yet it did nothing to make Grace feel any better. She had no idea what she was walking into. Would his mood be any better? Did he even care that she’d left? Was he mad that she’d left? She supposed mad was better than not giving a damn, but still…
“Only one way to find out,” she muttered.
Grace scooped up her bag and headed to the house. The door was unlocked and she let herself inside. It was silent.
“Matt?”
No one answered and she made her way to the back of the house, only to find the room empty as well. She took a moment to say hello to Rosie and her pups and then a quick check of upstairs showed her the same—empty. No one home.
Maybe he’d gone to Dory’s? Taken the sled?
Grace (The Family Simon Book 5) Page 14
