by Lexi Ryan
“I don’t know what to do.” I put my mug on the table. It says DIVA on the side, and I trace the letters with my finger. “I’ve always run away when things got bad, and I keep feeling like I want to go home, but I don’t know where that is.”
She grabs my hand and squeezes. “You’re already home. I know you’ll go back to New York in a little over a month, but Blackhawk Valley is your home just like it’s mine. You’re one of us now.”
Her words settle against my heart and click into place. “I don’t know if I can handle seeing him. I don’t know if I can . . .” There it is, the wave she warned me about. This one comes with the image of Olivia and Chris with a baby and slaps me in the face. I have to close my eyes and concentrate on my breath before I can speak. “He needs to focus on her anyway. Her and the baby.”
“Don’t give up on him just because it hurts.”
“It was already over,” I say, staring into my coffee. “I was with him on borrowed time, living a fairytale when I know I’m no princess.”
She squeezes my hand, and I welcome the emptiness that returns to my chest. After long minutes of silence, Bailey gets up from the table and washes her coffee mug. I’m faintly aware of the ticking of the second hand on the kitchen clock and the sound of the shower running in the bathroom before she returns to the table dressed in jeans and a pink tank.
“I have to run some errands,” she says. “Do you want to come?”
I shake my head. “I have some things to take care of too.”
Half an hour later, I find myself in Mr. Gregory’s office. He’s sitting in a chair by the window, a book in his lap, staring off into the distance. I don’t bother knocking or announcing my presence. “I’m quitting.”
He startles, then narrows his eyes as he turns them on me.
“Thank you for giving me a chance to work with you this summer.”
“But you’re quitting, so obviously you don’t mean that.”
“No. I do. I’m grateful.” I swallow hard and draw in a long, slow breath. My eyes burn, and I feel tears rise in my throat. I don’t want to cry, but I have as much power over my tears right now as I do over the waves rolling onto the shore. “I needed to hear what you had to say, even if it wasn’t easy. But I think the worst part is knowing you’re right. Wanting to write doesn’t make me any good at it.”
“You’re going to quit? Just like that?” His brows are drawn together, and his gaze is steadied so intently on me that I don’t have the strength to hold it. Not after today.
“I don’t want to waste my time anymore. I don’t want to believe in something I can’t have.” My voice hitches on the last words, and all I can do is look at the ceiling and will my eyes to dry.
“Do you know what it’s like to be a writer who can’t write?”
“Apparently I do.”
“Fuck your self-pity. You are capable of writing. I’m asking if you have any idea what it’s like to be a writer and have nothing inside you to give.”
I shake my head and tears spill from my eyes. I wipe them away with my palms. “You can write. You’re just not letting yourself.”
“That’s like telling a man with a half-hard cock that he can fuck. Maybe he could get it in there, but it’s a waste of time and bloody embarrassing. Creative impotence is the fucking worst, and you stand there, fully capable of writing and creating, and tell me you’re quitting?”
“You told me I wasn’t good enough.”
He throws his book onto the floor and glares at me. “Don’t put words into my mouth. I told you that shit you gave me to read wasn’t good enough.”
“What’s the difference? I tried.”
“You tried to write something that fit in the box. You’re wasting everyone’s time with the words you think people want to read. Be brave and write the goddamn play that’s ripping from your chest. Stop giving your brain the pen when writing is a job for your heart.”
But my heart isn’t up for the job. It’s been pulverized. “I’m sorry.” I back out of the office. “I’m not good enough.”
* * *
Chris
For two days, I’ve been going through the motions with everything—football, workouts, time with my friends. Even the news that my father declined the position didn’t bring the relief it should have. Every minute I’m swamped with exhaustion and everything seems futile.
Everyone was relieved to find out I didn’t break my hand the night I broke Isaac’s nose. There was some legitimate concern that the whole fucking team was going to be unable to hold a ball by the time the season rolled around. Personally, I’d take a broken throwing hand over this shattered thing I’m toting around in my chest.
Tomorrow morning, I’m supposed to go to the doctor’s office with Olivia. They’re going to do an ultrasound to determine her due date, and all I can think is that when I see my baby for the first time, Grace is supposed to be by my side. Grace is supposed to be the one with the baby growing inside her. And it’s supposed to happen in years, not now.
I’ve been hiding out in Arrow’s basement watching old game film, but Mason’s been texting me and telling me it’s time to join them out back, and I don’t have the energy to fight him, so I turn off the projector and head up.
When I get to the top of the stairs, I’m stopped in my tracks when I hear Keegan’s voice in the kitchen.
“Don’t shut me out when there’s a chance the baby could be mine.”
My gut clenches, and my skin goes tight and cold.
“Shut up,” Olivia says. “I just know, okay?”
“It can’t be his. You had your period the week after he broke up with you.” Keegan’s whisper grows louder and frustration sharpens the edges of his words.
“It could still be his.”
“It’s mine, and you know it. Stop. Lying. This is about the draft, isn’t it? You forget that you told me you were determined to land an NFL player. You forget that I know you. So now you’re lying to him thinking he’ll take you back.”
I can’t listen anymore. I walk into the kitchen, and Olivia’s jaw goes slack when she sees me.
I look to Keegan and then Olivia. That sweet, innocent face, and all of her speeches about how this isn’t what she wanted. She’s been playing me. “It’s not mine.” It’s not a question—not when the truth is written all over her face.
“I didn’t get pregnant on purpose,” she says.
Even as relief pulls a thousand pounds off my lungs, my jaw is tight with anger. “But you did lie to me on purpose?”
“I had to think of the baby’s future.”
Keegan’s arms are crossed and he looks as angry as I feel, maybe angrier. And of course he is. The poor bastard is in love with a liar.
Chapter Forty
Grace
“Grace, can I talk to you?”
I turn away from the half-caff mocha I’m making to see Olivia standing at the register. The last time I saw her in this coffee shop, she was telling me she was pregnant with Chris’s baby. This time, I’m here as an employee, not a customer, and Sebastian is standing behind Olivia with crossed arms. Oh, and I know the baby is actually Keegan’s. Chris called with the news as soon as he found out—and left it in a voicemail, since I’m still not taking his calls. Minutes after he left the message, I had texts with the same information from Mia, Bailey, and Mason. Everyone except Bailey expected me to go back to Chris after that, but she seemed to understand that I needed time and space to sort myself out.
I nod to Olivia and finish the mocha for the customer.
“Do you mind if I take a break?” I ask Ned, the forty-year-old hipster manning the register.
“Go for it,” he says.
I wash my hands and go around front to join Olivia and Sebastian. “Want to sit out front?” I ask, pointing to the tables on the sidewalk.
“Sure.” She draws in a deep breath and glances at her brother. “You can go now. I’m apologizing.”
He lifts his chin. “You better.”
His expression softens when he turns to me. “I’m sorry too. You deserve better than everything that’s happened.”
“Thank you,” I tell him. “But you don’t owe me any apologies.”
The truth is, some parts of my life in Blackhawk Valley didn’t actually go to shit last week. For instance, Bailey has proven herself to be a standup friend. She’s let me stay at her apartment without paying rent, and has watched more sappy chick flicks to get me through this heartache than anyone should have to suffer.
I haven’t been back to Mr. Gregory’s office, but I’ve been thinking a lot about what he said to me, and since I always write a lot when I’m hurting, I’ve given myself permission to work on my secret project—the one that wants to rip from my chest. I don’t know if it’ll ever go anywhere, but it feels good to get it out.
And then there are the guys. Mason pulled some strings with a friend of a friend to get me this job at the coffee shop, and he and Keegan stop by regularly to check on me.
Chris texts me about once a day, checking in, apologizing for being an idiot. That’s the problem with falling so hard for a good guy. You truly don’t know if he wants you or if he’s just trying to do the right thing. In this case, the guy is so good, I’m not sure even he knows.
Sebastian leaves and Olivia and I settle into the wooden chairs on the sunny sidewalk.
“How are you feeling?” I ask her. She looks tired. Dark bags pull on her eyes and her hair is in a sloppy bun instead of her typical sleek ponytail.
“Like an idiot.” She keeps her gaze on her hands. “I guess you know that I lied.”
I take a breath. “That was pretty shitty.”
“I’m so sorry. It wasn’t right, and I was selfish, and I know it screwed up everything between you and Chris. I’ve told him how sorry I am, and I hope you can accept my apology, but I understand if you hate me, because I would absolutely hate my guts. My mom got knocked up young and I was scared I was going to end up like her and stuck here, and I know Chris is going to be drafted—an NFL quarterback, and that’s a ticket out of this town—not that any of that makes what I did acceptable, but—”
“Olivia?” I wait until she lifts her eyes to meet mine. “I forgive you.”
She blinks at me. “Really? Even though you and Chris still aren’t back together? Even though I screwed up everything?”
I tug my bottom lip between my teeth, suddenly wishing I’d brought a cup of coffee out here with me. I could use the comfort right about now. “Your pregnancy isn’t what broke me and Chris. We have other issues we need to sort through—I have other issues I need to sort through. I appreciate the apology, but I think the biggest apology you need to deliver is to Keegan.”
A tear slips from her eye and she wipes it away. “He’s so mad at me.”
“Can you blame him?”
“No.” She closes her eyes and tilts her face up to the clear blue summer sky.
I try to imagine what she must be feeling—the tangle of fear and hormones. I don’t get it. Honestly, I still don’t understand what would drive a woman to straight out lie about the father of her baby, but I understand being confused and scared.
She exhales slowly and looks back at me. “Chris is so mature. I knew he’d take care of me and the baby. Keegan isn’t together like that. I was afraid . . .” She drops her hand to her stomach. “I guess I thought he might suggest I get rid of it.”
“Did he?”
She shakes her head. “No. I underestimated him. I always do.”
“I get the impression that a lot of people underestimate Keegan. It’s time to stop being one of those people. He needs that from you. Especially now.”
“Why are you being so nice to me?”
It’s my turn to look up to the sky, but I don’t close my eyes. As I watch the puffy white clouds take their slow ride across the horizon, something clicks into place inside me. “We all make mistakes. I’ve made my fair share. That doesn’t mean we don’t deserve kindness.”
“My brother says Chris is bonkers in love with you.” She grins, and it’s the first genuine smile I’ve seen from her today. “I guess I can see why.”
I swallow hard and try my best to return her smile. “Now I just need to see it.”
* * *
Chris
“Yes, sir,” I repeat into the phone, cringing at the ceiling as Grace’s father starts in on another tirade about how he sent Grace to stay with me so I could look out for her and not so I could break her heart.
I’m the one who told him what happened. I’m pretty sure Grace would have taken it to her grave where our parents were concerned, but then, she thinks we’re done, and I’m not convinced.
“I’m disappointed, Chris,” Edward says. And thank God, he’s slowing down, as if maybe he’s nearing the end of his lecture. “If you were going to get involved with her, you needed to do a gut check and make sure you could do it without hurting her. She’s been through enough.”
“I agree,” I say, the words snagging in my throat. “And I don’t blame you for being angry with me. You’re her father and that’s your right, but you need to know that I’m in love with her. I’m going to fight for her.”
“How are you going to do that?”
“I don’t have it figured out just yet, but I have some ideas.”
He’s silent for a breath. “Don’t disappoint me. Grace needs someone who will give her happiness and believe in her.”
“I know, sir. And I can only say I want that someone to be me.”
We end the call, and I decide now is as good a time as any to put my plan into action. I text Bailey.
Me: I need a favor. Do you have access to Grace’s laptop?
Chapter Forty-One
Grace
I throw my keys and purse onto the counter in Bailey’s apartment, and grab a bag of potato chips before heading to the living room. “My dogs are barking.” I laugh. “God, where does that phrase come from anyway? How are feet dogs?”
“You’re the writer,” someone says from the couch, but it’s not Bailey, and my breath catches when I hear the voice. I rush around the couch to see Willow stretched out on it, her arms above her head, her feet propped up on a pillow.
Then I cry. Because oh my God, Willow is here. It’s as if I’ve been standing alone in the cold and suddenly someone has shown up with blankets fresh from the dryer. I haven’t gone through this alone, but no one can stand in for my best friend. “What are you doing here?”
She rolls her head to the side. “At the moment, I’m suffering from some pretty wicked jetlag, but in about three seconds, I’m gonna be hugging the shit out of you.” She stretches, then hops off the couch and wraps me into her long-armed hug.
“I can’t believe you’re here,” I blubber into her shoulder.
“My girl needed me. So here I am. And anyway, I had the week off while the family goes on holiday in Spain.”
I step out of her embrace and attempt to pull myself together, taking a deep breath and wiping dry my wet eyes. “Still. Best. Surprise. Ever.”
She grins. “Thanks. Your friend Bailey helped.”
“How was your flight?”
“It was good,” she says, plopping back onto the couch. “There were no children asking me for juice boxes, and I got to read a book that didn’t star Sofia the First or Jake and the Never Land Pirates as protagonists.”
“Sounds like the basis for a fantastic flight.”
“You have no idea.” She grins, and I know she’s only half serious. She really loves kids.
“How’s the sexy boss?”
“Maverick?” She tugs on her long ponytail and moans. “I think I literally go into heat when he looks at me. You know, like animals do with the conspicuous mating calls and all that? Yeah. Except I try to hide it and just walk around red-faced all the time. My first week with them, his wife kept asking me if I was coming down with something.”
I snort. “Oh my God, that’s glorious.”
“And g
et this,” she says, “Maverick’s brother is visiting after they return from Spain.”
I bite my lip, trying to remember if I know anything about the famous actor’s brother, then I sit up straight. “Hunt?”
“Yep.”
“Willow, I’ve seriously watched ten movies starring Hunt in the last two weeks.”
She rubs her hands together, and I swear there’s a twinkle in her eyes. “And Hunt is single.”
“Oh my God, are you seriously going to hook up with the uncle?”
She shrugs. “I’m open to the possibility.”
I laugh hard, and it feels so good after so many days of so much sadness that I sit right next to her, wrap my arm around her shoulders, and squeeze. “Thank you for coming.”
“How are you?”
“I’m in love with Chris Montgomery.” I close my eyes. It’s the first time I’ve admitted that to myself, let alone said it out loud. To be fair, I think all my friends here know. The pity-fest I’ve indulged in during the last week should have tipped them off.
“Have you thought about forgiving him?”
“It’s not just that he believed Isaac—it’s why. I can forgive it because it’s understandable, but that doesn’t mean we’re right for each other or that we could ever work together.”
She sighs heavily. “Okay. So tell me everything I’ve missed since I left for London.”
Smiling, I start at the beginning. There’s nothing that heals hurt faster than sharing it with a friend who would save you from it if she could.
When my phone rings, I almost ignore it, since I have Willow right here, but I look at the caller ID on impulse and frown when I see the call is coming from Drew Gregory’s office. “Hello?”
“Grace,” Mr. Gregory booms through the line. “Your boyfriend dropped off your play, and I love it. This is the one. We’ll start casting next week. I assume you’ll be back in the office by then?”
“My boyfriend?”