“Grady.” She said his name softly. He turned and glared. His menacing stare had her turning away. Her stomach twisted, and her flight sense kicked in. She set her hand down on the metal armrest and prepared to stand. His hand clamped down on her wrist, holding her in place.
“You don’t get to walk away again.”
“Grady . . .”
“Don’t, don’t say my name.”
She looked at him again and saw years of sadness built up. She searched his eyes for some inkling that the Grady Chamberlain she grew up with was in there but found nothing. “I’m sorry.”
“For what? For being a whore?”
“It’s not—”
“Shut up!” he said loudly. “You don’t get to be sorry for anything. What you did to Austin.” He paused and took a deep, shuddering breath. “He fucking loved you.”
She shook her head as tears fell.
“If you think the town is going to accept you and Bowie as a couple, you’re mistaken. I’ll tell anyone who listens what you did to Austin the night he died. I will ruin the both of you.”
“You’re the town drunk, Grady. No one is going to believe you.” She ripped her hand from his grip. The damage was done, though; there was no way she could stay now. She stood and turned her back to him and took a few steps before turning around to say more to him, to tell him how wrong he was and what Austin had said to her. How they didn’t have the picture-perfect romance they had led everyone to believe. Grady was gone. Disappeared into thin air.
The double doors opened. The people coming out were laughing, something she couldn’t do. Not now. She took her phone out and sent a message to Bowie asking him to come outside. She wasn’t going to prolong the inevitable, not anymore. She had wasted too much of her life avoiding conflict.
Within a minute, Bowie walked out the door. He smiled as he came toward her, but it quickly faded. “What’s wrong?” He clasped his hand with hers and held on tightly as she tried to pull away. He brushed his thumb along her cheekbone, wiping away her tears. What she was going to do would break his heart, again. And shatter hers.
“Remember that job I told you about, the one that starts in October?”
He nodded.
“I’m going to take it. We can work out some custody arrangement with Brystol. I’ll send her here on vacations and whatnot. She’s homeschooled, and it’s all online. She works well independently, so she can come for longer periods at a time.”
“No,” was all he said.
She worked hard to keep her emotions in check. “It’s for the best. I shouldn’t have come back here. Grady . . .” She trailed off.
“Was he here?”
She nodded and bit her lower lip to keep her tears at bay.
“Fucking Grady,” he muttered. He said nothing else as he pulled her to her SUV. He opened the door and motioned for her to get in. “Don’t worry about Brystol; she’s fine. Get in.”
She did, and when he slid behind the steering wheel, she asked, “Where are we going?”
“My place. Luke needs to eat.”
Brooklyn glanced over her shoulder at his dog. He seemed content, with his head hanging out the window.
“I shouldn’t leave Carly.”
“Someone will call us if we are needed.”
She didn’t feel like arguing. She leaned her head back and watched the scenery go by. The almost thirty-minute trip seemed to fly by rather quickly. When they pulled into Bowie’s driveway, he shut off the car and got out. She stayed and stared out the window at his house. It was small with the perfect-for-summer covered porch. Those were her favorite, especially in the houses down south. There was nothing like sipping sweet tea and watching the lightning bugs at night while swaying back and forth.
Bowie and Luke disappeared into the cornflower-blue house, leaving her to wonder what was behind the door. Curiosity got the best of her as she finally got out of the car. The cobblestone walk was done with meticulous precision. She knew Bowie had put a lot of time and effort into his home. The thought gave her pride. They were the same, wanting the same, yet she couldn’t deliver on her end. Not without living with guilt.
She climbed the three steps up to the porch and walked to the door, pushing it open slightly. “Hello?” she called out foolishly.
“In here,” he said, forcing her to follow his voice. She found Bowie standing in his room without his shirt on and soft music playing in the background. He’d set her up, knowing she wouldn’t stay in the car.
The sight of him made her mouth water. His torso was the color of honey, just lightly kissed by the sun. He wasn’t overly muscular, but he had some definition. As he stared at her, his biceps flexed. She loved that he kept his hair short but had facial hair. She longed to run her finger over the stubble, to feel his breath fan over her, to kiss him and show him that she was still in love with him. But the cost of being together weighed heavily on her mind.