That wasn’t how we did things.
Instead, he got up first and held out a hand to help me to my feet. I stood and he wrapped his arms around me, hugging me tight.
I hugged him back, feeling no shame at my loss. I’d deserved to lose today. They’d been right to bring me out here, and the outcome was as it should have been. Evan had said it best. When one of the pack went rogue, the others had to deal with him.
I wasn’t going to cause more trouble for my family. From now on, I was going to do what I could to make sure I didn’t cause more trouble for anyone. It was the only thing left I could do.
42
Grace
I didn’t bother Cara after Asher left. She was busy in her office doing who knows what, so I fired off an emergency text to his brothers, letting them know he was on the loose and I expected the worst. The look in his eyes when he’d driven away had been terrifying. For now, I had to trust them to get him through whatever this was. I hated doing it, but I had to let him go—for the moment, at least. I knew him well enough to know there wasn’t anything more I could do.
Besides, he’d just broken up with me. Again. And I was pretty fucking angry about that.
So I went to the kitchen and helped myself to a drink.
She came down about an hour later, while I was mixing drink number three.
“Oh shit. Is this good drinking or bad drinking?”
I added another splash of gin to my glass. “Take a wild guess.”
“He freaked out, didn’t he?” She rolled her eyes. “I knew he was going to freak out. I don’t know how you’ve been able to stand him the last couple of days. I was this close to popping a Xanax every time I had to be in the same room with him for more than five minutes.”
“Yes, he freaked out. Royally freaked out. It was an epic freak-out of gigantic proportions.”
She sighed and started mixing herself a gin and tonic. “This would be so much easier if I didn’t like him. Then we could just bitch about what a dick he is and how we hate his guts.”
“I know.”
After dropping a slice of lime in her glass, she hooked her arm through mine. “Come on.”
She led me upstairs to her bedroom and we got in her bed, nestling ourselves under the covers.
“Your sheets are like clouds of butter.” I rubbed the fabric against my cheek.
“Who says money can’t buy happiness?”
“Right? God, how do you ever get guys to leave this bed? If I was naked in these things, I’d never get up.”
“You’d be surprised.” She took a sip and set her drink down. “On a scale of babysitting a watered-down vodka club to blacking out at a frat party, how drunk are you?”
I held up my glass. “I’d say by the time I finish this, I’ll be at definitely take my phone away.”
“Good to know. Where is your phone?”
“Downstairs.”
“Noted. So what happened?”
Tears instantly flooded my eyes. “He broke up with me. Again.”
“What?”
“We went to the house to look at the damage and when we got back here, he said he had to go. So I asked if he’d come back and stay here with me tonight. He told me no.”
I sniffed and tried to wipe my eyes. Cara deftly took my drink.
“Then he said I need to face reality. He can’t do this. He can’t be a husband or someone’s father.”
“Well, not with that attitude, he can’t.”
“He’s so convinced he’s broken beyond repair.”
“Why?” She tilted her head. “I know the basics. He killed a guy who was trying to rape you and then went to prison for it. That’s heavy stuff. But I can’t help but think there’s something else going on here.”
“I know. I thought he’d get better when he got used to being home. I swear, I read everything that’s ever been written about inmates transitioning back to their lives and none of it prepared me for what it would really be like.”
“He needs more therapy than I do. Have you talked to him about that?”
“Yes, but he’s so skeptical. And stubborn.”
“A stubborn Bailey? You don’t say.”
“God, I know. It’s genetic with those boys.”
She adjusted her pillow. “Honest question. Are you sure you should reproduce with him? I thought you were the most stubborn person I knew until I met him. And now it’s a toss-up. I’m afraid of what might occur if your DNA is allowed to mix.”
“Stop trying to make me laugh.”
“I’m being completely serious.”
I slumped back against her headboard. “I love him, Cara. I love him so much it hurts.”
“I know you do, boo.”
“But it used to be so easy. When we were little kids, it was like we’d always been best friends. I never questioned it. And when we got older and started to drift apart, it felt so wrong. I didn’t understand why until the night he told me he loved me. Then it was like everything fell into place. We were happily dating, and I knew we were going to get married, even before he proposed. And it’s not that every second was perfect. We had our little arguments like anyone would. But everything was easy. It was simple.”
“And now it’s hard.”
My eyes filled with tears again. I didn’t bother stopping them. “So hard. I feel like I’ve had to fight for ground every day since he came home. I’m tired, Cara.”
She tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. “I know you are.”
“You’re right, this would be easier if we hated him. If he was just some guy I’d met who turned out to be a jerk.”
“Don’t let my outer calm give you the wrong impression. I’m furious with him right now.”
“That’s good to know. I was starting to worry.”
“I never thought I’d say this, but I get why you waited for him. You were right when you said I would have understood if I’d known you before—if I’d seen you together. Because I’m telling you, I used to think that whole soulmates thing was sentimental bullshit. A charming fairytale naïve girls would tell themselves to make themselves feel better about being alone. Oh, I’m waiting for my soulmate.” She rolled her eyes.
I laughed softly through my tears.
“But I think for you two, it’s real. You’re actually soulmates. And it’s nothing short of a goddamn tragedy that you’re not happily married and making babies right now.”
“I don’t know what to do.” I twisted my ring around my finger. “How many times does he have to break up with me before I get it through my thick head that he means it?”
“The problem is, he doesn’t mean it for the right reasons. If he wanted to go find some tattooed biker girl with a record to suit his new ex-con persona, that would be one thing. And reason for me to murder him, just so we’re clear. But he loves you just as much as you love him.”
“Why does he keep thinking he knows what’s best for me?”
“Because he’s a guy.”
I wiped my cheeks. “I’m so tired of it. He’s wrong.”
“Okay, don’t get mad or cry harder because I already feel bad for saying this, but I think I’d be a shitty friend if I didn’t.” She pressed her lips together for a second. “What if he isn’t wrong?”
“Not wrong about what? You just said we’re soulmates.”
“Yeah, and in a perfect world you would have become Grace Bailey a long time ago. But he’d still be the old Asher. The reality is, he’s not. He’s all kinds of fucked up and we both know it. His brothers know it, too. We’ve all been watching him like a hawk lately, waiting for him to self-destruct. If he doesn’t get that under control, maybe he’s right. Maybe he shouldn’t be a husband and father.”
Glancing away, I chewed on my lower lip.
“I don’t want that to be true any more than you do. I know how much you want him, and I want you to have him just as much. But what if you want something that’s not good for you because you’ve wanted it for so long you don�
��t question it anymore?”
I felt like crumpling into a ball and falling apart. I didn’t want her to be right. But I knew she might be. And I hated it.
“Maybe I should have listened to him the first time,” I said, my voice deceptively quiet, a stark contrast to the torrent of grief clawing at my chest. “He told me it was over, but I refused to listen. If I’d accepted it then, none of this would have happened. The worst would have been over a long time ago.”
He wouldn’t have had to break my heart a second time.
43
Grace
The air conditioning in my car had barely begun to cut through the scorching summer heat when I turned onto my street. I was more than a little bit hung over after yesterday. Cara and I had stayed in her bed, but around dinnertime, she’d brought the bottles upstairs for easier drink mixing. Hours later, we’d both fallen asleep in our clothes, sprawled out on top of her covers.
Now I was hot and dehydrated, but determined to start the slow process of salvaging what was left of my house so we could start rebuilding.
We being a generic term. It would mostly be me, I presumed, although I’d have to hire a contractor to redo the roof and outer wall. Insurance would help, but this was going to be so much work. And so much money.
I pulled up to my house and a confusing flash of hope and annoyance ran through me. Asher’s truck was parked outside.
What was he doing here?
I didn’t want to see him right now. My wounds were still too fresh. I was aching and raw and the last thing I needed was a face-to-face reminder of how much this hurt. I probably should have turned around and left. But instead, I went inside.
I found him near the kitchen, picking through the burned-out debris.
“What are you doing?”
He stood and brushed his hands together. “Figured I’d help clear things out.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s a lot of work and you need the help.”
Maybe I should have been grateful, but the man had broken up with me yesterday. I wasn’t in the mood for gratitude, even if I did need the help.
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I’m going to anyway. It’s the least I can do.”
I clenched my teeth. God, he was so stubborn. “What is this, a way to ease your guilt? You’re still convinced this is somehow your fault, so if you help clean up, that’ll make everything better?”
He didn’t answer. Just looked at me. Which only made me angrier.
“I don’t need your help. Go home.”
He flinched like I’d slapped him. “Grace—”
“No. I don’t need you.”
“Just let me help.”
The pain in his eyes reflected mine. This was killing us both and it made me furious.
And I snapped.
“I waited for you for seven fucking years.” I knew it had nothing to do with what he’d just said, but the words tumbled out just the same. “And now I’m realizing everyone who thought I was crazy or stupid was right. I should have listened to you that day in the sheriff’s office. You laid it out for me. You told me the truth. You said it had to be over. But did I listen? Nope. I dug my heels in and convinced myself this was just a bump in the road.”
I paused to swallow and wipe my cheeks. It was hard to speak clearly but I couldn’t stop this avalanche of emotion.
“I used to imagine your release day. When things were hard or I was missing you more than usual, I’d stare out the window and picture it. They’d open that big gate and you’d come walking out. And I’d be standing there next to my car, wearing something cute I’d picked out for the first time you saw me again. I’d run right into your open arms and you’d hold me and it would mean we’d never have to be apart like that again. But that was just a stupid fantasy.”
“I tried, Grace. I wanted to make this work for you, but I can’t.”
“You didn’t try,” I shot back.
“What else do you expect me to do?”
“Get some fucking help. Would it have killed you to just talk to someone?”
He crossed his arms and his jaw hitched. “You never have.”
“We’re not talking about me.”
“Maybe we should. I know I’m fucked up, but you can’t even admit that you are.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“When was the last time you went out in public by yourself?”
I clenched my teeth, getting angrier by the second. “It’s not that big of a deal. I’m not the one sabotaging my relationships.”
“Maybe not, but don’t get after me to talk to some fucking therapist when you can’t even acknowledge that you have a problem.”
“Fine. You don’t need therapy. Or maybe we both do. I don’t care anymore. You don’t want to be in my life anyway, so it doesn’t matter.”
“Grace, I—”
“No. I’m done. You said it’s over, and I’m listening to you this time. Because I can’t keep doing this.” Reality was hitting me square in the face. This was really it. I twisted his ring off my finger. “You have to go. This house isn’t your responsibility. I’m not your responsibility. You can’t be with me? Fine. Then we’re done.”
His dark brow furrowed and his hands clenched into fists. He looked down at the ring pinched between my thumb and forefinger.
He’d hurt me. Deeply. I’d put that hurt away, believing in the very deepest place in my soul that he would heal that wound someday.
And then he didn’t. He tore it open again, leaving me raw and bleeding.
So I looked down at that ring, opened my fingers, and watched it fall to the debris-littered floor.
Then I turned and walked away.
I was too angry to cry. Or maybe I’d cried myself out last night. But I drove into town feeling hollow, like I had a gaping hole in my chest.
Which I did. It was where my heart used to be.
Pain and grief were exhausting, so I clung to anger. He’d had the audacity to say I needed help, when he was such a disaster? He was right, I hadn’t been out in public alone. But I was going to prove to myself, once and for all, that I could. Asher was wrong.
I drove to the hardware store and found the closest parking spot to the entrance. No lingering in the back area of the lot where I had an easy escape. No changing my mind and deciding I needed lunch first. I was going inside.
And then the fear stormed in.
It didn’t slip through like smoke creeping in the cracks around a door. It barreled into me so hard it took my breath away.
But it was not going to win.
Gritting my teeth, I got out and slammed my car door shut. I marched through the automatic doors, hearing their soft whir as they slid open.
It smelled like freshly-cut wood—such a familiar scent. I’d been here dozens of times since I’d bought my house. Usually with Cara, but sometimes one or two of Asher’s brothers. Jack had come a few times, too. I’d always found a reason to bring someone along.
A customer was checking out, keeping the one cashier busy. The rest of the store seemed quiet. I knew from experience there were probably other customers wandering the wide aisles, pushing carts, loading them with tools, hardware, and household supplies.
This was fine.
I took a deep breath, swallowed hard, and kept walking.
My hands shook, so I shoved them into the too-small pockets of my shorts. I wanted to buy something—to force myself not to run out the front door—but I couldn’t think of anything I needed. Which was ridiculous, because I needed just about everything. I had a house to rebuild.
Cabinets. Maybe I’d look at the kitchen displays. I could even snap a few pictures for ideas, if I could hold my hands steady enough to take a clear shot. Then I’d grab a few things on the way out, make my purchase, and call it a success.
I could do this.
I turned down an aisle lined with countertop samples. My heart beat too fast and my hands wouldn’t st
op trembling. The shelves went so high, all the way to the ceiling. Like a wall.
The walls of an alley.
The alley where I’d—
I gasped and clutched my stomach. It felt like I might vomit. I looked around, firmly telling myself where I was. That these were samples of marble and granite, not the sides of buildings bathed in the dirty light of a single bulb.
But it didn’t matter. I was vulnerable. Alone.
I had to get out of here.
The automatic doors slid open as I raced outside. It probably looked like I’d just shoplifted something, but I didn’t care. I had to get away—had to outrun this feeling. This fear. I was so alone.
I got in my car, slammed the door shut, and locked it. My hands shook violently and tears streaked down my face. What the hell had just happened? What was wrong with me?
I never thought about that night. Not that part, at least. I could see the rest. The moment when the cops had led Asher away in handcuffs. But the alley? I’d blocked it out. Gotten rid of those awful memories.
Oh my god. I had blocked it out. But I hadn’t gotten rid of anything. It was all still there, deep inside me.
The realization hit me as hard as the fear, like a storm breaking in my chest. I’d been assaulted, and I’d never dealt with it.
How could I be oblivious for so long and then see it so clearly in an instant?
I’d ignored the fact that a group of men had been seconds away from raping me in an alley. It had seemed insignificant in the face of everything else. Asher’s arrest and detainment. The murder charges. The plea bargain. His eight-year sentence.
Once he’d been sent to prison, I’d kept my focus on him. After all, I hadn’t actually been raped. He’d stopped it from happening. He was the one suffering, not me. He was behind bars, living through hell. I was out here, free to do as I pleased. I was fine.
And I’d found a million ways to ignore my own trauma. Finishing college. My friendship with Cara. Work. Martial arts training. Remodeling my house. Crocheting. I’d filled my time thoroughly, never leaving room to face what had happened to me.
Fighting for Us: A Small Town Family Romance (The Bailey Brothers Book 2) Page 32
