Grip Trilogy Box Set

That low blow lands just above the belt in the vicinity of my heart.

“Fuck you, Grip.”

“I already know you wanna fuck me.” He raises both brows and tilts his head to the other side. “I’m wondering if you’ll ever tell me how you feel about me.”

He drops his bag to the floor and settles against the door, as if he has all the time in the world to wait.

“Or are you such a scared little girl you can’t?”

“Scared little girl?” Indignation starts at my feet and works its way up to my head. “I’m not . . .”

I can’t even finish the sentence. The truth smacks me across the face, and Rhyson’s words ring as clearly in my head as if he’s standing beside me.

You’re braver than that, Bristol. You’re the most fearless person I know. And you let the threat of something keep you from having what you really want?

Am I? Brave? Fearless? In most things, yes. But with this, with Grip, there’s too much at stake. Too much to lose. If I give him a little, I’ll give him everything.

Grip’s waiting for me to finish, to respond, but whatever I was going to say flies right out of my head. While I’m standing here, trying to figure out how to hide from him, he’s hiding nothing from me. There’s so much raw longing in his dark eyes. There’s so much emotion on his face it punches right through my heart. I’ve taken years to build a fortress against this man. I’ve learned to resist him. And he has over and over, time and again, put his heart on the line. Worn it on his sleeve. Persisted when I turned him away.

He’s been brave. He just kept coming after me like a tank, even when I refused. Even when my brother told him he shouldn’t. Even when I steered him in the direction of someone else. He even let me manage him for the chance to be closer to me. While I’ve drawn my armor tightly around myself, Grip stood naked in the heat of battle, stripped all of his armor away and made himself vulnerable. In my fear of becoming my mother, I think I’m becoming my father instead. The one who takes and takes, risking nothing. Always defining the relationship and expecting Grip to take whatever terms I offer. To take whatever’s left. It’s so selfish and so weak and so unfair, I feel sick, not because of the alcohol, but sick of myself. Sick of living in fear.

He wants to know how I feel? As if seeing that book of poetry didn’t tell him. As if finding that worthless whistle didn’t show him. As if I haven’t already told him in a million silent ways. He already knows, but he wants to hear me say it.

I want him.

For the first time, watching him poised to leave my front door, poised to walk out of my life, my want feels stronger than my fear. The threat of Grip breaking me weighs less than the possibility of never having him. Before I know it, I’m swallowing my pride. I’m eating my words and mustering the courage to tell him everything and praying it isn’t too late. I’m walking to stand in front of him.

“You want to know how I feel?” I can barely push the words past the tumbleweed in my throat.

He doesn’t nod. Doesn’t speak, but I know him too well not to recognize something flicker in his eyes. Hope? That I’ll finally be brave enough to be honest?

“I want you so much it scares me,” I say in a rush before my fear stops me. “The way I feel about you terrifies me.”

I train my eyes on his Jordans because I can’t look at him.

“I’m afraid you’ll cheat on me, take advantage of me, and that I won’t know how to stop wanting you. I’m afraid I’ll settle for less than I deserve because I’d take whatever you’d give me.”

He’s completely silent, but his chest in front of me rises and falls with deeply drawn breaths.

“You want me?” he finally asks, voice husky, making no move to touch me.

I nod, sliding my glance to the side, looking for an escape route, though I already know there’s nowhere left to hide.

“You want to be with me?” he presses.

I hazard a glance up, not sure how to take his impassive expression.

“I know you’re with Qwest, and this is awful timing, but I—” “I broke things off with Qwest last night,” he cuts in softly. My eyes zip up to meet his head on.

“You did?” His words kindle a small, fiery hope to life inside me. “Why?”

He tilts his head, a smile tipping one side of his mouth.

“You know why, Bristol.” A small frown bends his eyebrows to meet. “It wasn’t fair letting her think there was a chance when I couldn’t get over you.”

The blood slams against my wrists and at my temples in a frantic rhythm. My breaths grow shallow, fear and excitement and possibility mingling in my veins. He tilts my chin up until I’m forced to meet his eyes again.

“I won’t be getting over you,” he says softly. “And I would never cheat on you. As long as it’s taken me to get you, you think I would jeopardize that with some piece of ass that doesn’t mean anything to me?”