Grinch (Cerberus MC)

I turn fully in his direction, putting my back to the room, so I can no longer see her.

“Hey, man. How’s the new house?”

He narrows his eyes suspiciously. “Is there a reason you’re avoiding the question?”

“Question?” I ask, playing dumb. “I didn’t catch it. So, the house?”

“We love the house. Kincaid managed to move the crew working on Rivet and Cannon’s to wrap ours up early since we had moved-in already. How is Grace doing?” He asks the last four words slowly, making a point to maintain eye contact so I can’t ignore him again.

“Fine, I guess,” I tell him, my body urging me to look back and see if that statement is still true since I haven’t seen her in thirty fucking seconds.

“Have you guys gotten the chance to catch up yet?”

We caught up a lot better than I’ll ever admit.

“A little,” I say instead. “It’s been a rough couple of days.”

“She seems to be getting along well with everyone.”

I nod, forfeiting the chance he’s giving me to turn around and see her for myself.

“Maybe you can get caught up right now,” Apollo says, giving me an overexaggerated wink before walking away.

“Do you want… umm… some of this?”

I feel bamboozled, tricked, when I hear her voice, but I find it impossible to just walk away or ignore her. I’ve never been a rude guy.

“What is it?” I ask Grace with a smile, looking down at the tray in her hands.

“Quiche maybe? Possibly sausage balls. I really have no idea.”

“So you didn’t cook these?”

She scoffs. “How many times have you seen me cook?”

“A lot can change over twelve years.”

She nods, handing off the tray to Misty when she walks by.

“True,” she says, turning to stand beside me instead of directly in my field of vision. “Did you ever think you would end up here?”

“This club was my goal before I even enlisted,” I confess.

“You never mentioned it.”

“There were a lot of things we didn’t talk about. A lot of things I wanted to say, but you—” I clear my throat, lifting the can of soda to my lips. There’s no place for blame between us after all this time. It would hint at the bitterness that still haunts me to this day. “It was a personal goal, and I didn’t want to jinx my chances by talking about it.”

“You were always good at secrets.”

I have a choice right now. Her statement is bringing shit from the past into the present. I could argue the words, or just let them slide. I’m honestly torn on her expectations, but for once, I choose to think of myself. All of my considerations, the life I was trying to build, started to revolve around her in the short time that we were together. I can’t fall into that same trap now, only to be tossed away again when she’s done with me.

“Did you sleep well?”

I turn to look at her when she doesn’t answer the stupid question Apollo managed to get stuck in my head.

She looks annoyed at my refusal to take her bait. “It was fine.”

I look away again, pulling my eyes from her mouth because that attention leads us to nowhere good.

“They offered me a spot working in the daycare when it opens.”

“You don’t sound very enthusiastic,” I say, taking note of her tone of voice.

“I don’t know the first thing about kids. I didn’t grow up with siblings, and I haven’t had any contact with small children since I was a child myself.” She shifts on her feet, and I don’t know if I’m making her uncomfortable enough that she wants to walk away. “Can we go for a bike ride?”

I turn all of my attention back to her. “No.”

She scoffs, tilting her head as she looks away from me. “Okay. I just thought it would be fun.”

“It’s in the twenties, Grace. A bike ride right now would be miserable.”

“I understand,” she says as she starts to walk away.

“But we can go for a drive if you just need to get out of here.”

She stops, pausing for a second before she turns back around as if she’s weighing her options and can’t decide what’s worse—staying here around several dozen sad people or spending time alone with me. On a bike, there would be no talking. In one of the SUVs, we’d either be forced to talk to each other or endure awkward silence.

“I just need to get away for a while,” she says.

“You don’t need to explain your reasoning to take some time for yourself,” I tell her.

“Em, Misty, and Khloe advised against leaving the clubhouse alone. You wouldn’t be in the mood for a manicure, would you?” she asks with a devious smile.

I gape at her, wondering when she turned into a bipolar cat as well. The shift in her mood nearly gives me whiplash.