Trent sighs. “Griffin knows that now, but that morning, well, all he heard was you speak another man’s name while lying in his bed.”
It all makes sense, why he went from claiming me as his, kissing me, worshipping me, to telling me that it was all a mistake the next morning. But before I can bask in that triumph, that I have figured Griffin out, I think about yesterday. I told Griffin that Dylan was my dad. He knew that before he had sex with me again.
“I understand why Griffin was angry and why he reacted the way he did after we slept together that first time. But it doesn’t explain why he fucked me yesterday, only to tell me that he doesn’t do relationships…as he handed me the morning after pill.”
Trent coughs on his bagel and he reaches for his coffee. When he is confident that the bagel is down he says, “Look, I’m not disputing what you just told me, but that doesn’t sound like something Griffin would do. I’ve known the man for a few years now, and I’ve never seen him mistreat a woman. And as far as him saying that he doesn’t do relationships? Hell, that man never even looked at another woman when he was married. Trust me, he had opportunities overseas. But Griffin would...”
“Married?”
“Oh shit,” he mumbles. “He didn’t tell you.”
“No.”
“Which means you don’t know what Miranda did to him.” Trent balls up his napkin and throws it into the sink. “He’s going to kill me.”
“Why?”
“Because the man values his privacy…and frankly, I can’t blame him.”
“I know I’m putting you in a difficult spot here, Griffin being your best friend and all, but what happened?”
Trent looks at me for a few seconds. “Damn, I’m going to need more coffee for this conversation.” He stands and goes to the coffee pot, pours himself another cup and joins me at the breakfast bar. “Griffin and I served in Afghanistan together. That’s where we met and where he saved my life. He should have left me there with that shrapnel sticking out of my leg, gunfire erupting around us. But he didn’t even think about saving his own ass. All he cared about was making sure I didn’t bleed out.”
Learning that Griffin risked his life to save Trent’s, that he could be so incredibly selfless, does not come as a shock. I saw firsthand that it is ingrained in him, that he’s programmed to put others first. “I’ve seen that Griffin this past week.”
Trent gives me a somber smile. “Before the incident Grif loved to joke around, hang out and laugh. People liked to be around him because he was laid back and just enjoyed life. But that all changed. He changed when he returned to the States after his last tour ended. He hadn’t seen Miranda for six months and he was excited to get home. But the happy homecoming he had envisioned never materialized. Because back in Philly, while Griffin had been away serving his country, his wife and Griffin’s older brother Colin had been having an affair. He didn’t find out about the betrayal until after he was shot and left for dead.”
“What?”
“Colin was a Philadelphia police officer and from what Griffin told me, loved his job. That was why it was such a shock when Griffin discovered that Colin was dirty, skimming off the top and looking the other way so drug dealers could move their product. Fearing that Griffin would turn him in to the authorities, Colin and Miranda arranged to have Griffin killed. It was to appear to be a mugging gone wrong. Griffin and Miranda had just had dinner and left the restaurant. They were walking down the street when a masked man with a gun approached them. Even though Griffin wasn’t armed, he overpowered the man and wrestled the gun away from him. But Miranda couldn’t let Griffin or the man she and Colin had hired to kill her husband walk away from this and expose them. So, she picked up the gun and shot the masked man and Griffin. But unfortunately for Miranda, Griffin survived and got a jury to believe him and send her away to prison for life.”
“And Colin? What happened to him?”
“Also sitting in a prison cell upstate.”
“So, the only family he has left is his sister Corinne?”
“And me. He’ll never be able to get rid of me…no matter how moody he gets,” Trent says. I know Trent is trying to lighten things up a little after such a heart-wrenching story, but I can’t bring myself to feel anything but sadness. How could Griffin’s brother have done something so horrific? And then there is Miranda. His own wife, the woman who shared his bed, pulled a gun on him to save her own ass.
“Trent, when did this happen?”
“A little over a year ago.”
I remember our conversation back at the cabin.
“Why are you doing this? Why are you helping me, Griffin? I could be a killer for all we know.”
“Because I know what it feels like to lose everything, at least everything I thought was important.”
Trent lays his hand on my arm. “He doesn’t want our pity. He doesn’t want to need anyone. And he sure as hell doesn’t want to trust someone, only to have that trust broken and thrown back in his face.”
“I would never betray him like that…I would never hurt him, Trent.”
He gives my arm a pat and then picks up his bagel. “I’ve seen him with you. I saw how he reacted when you were swept away by a vision, the one that was triggered by my Bob Dylan t-shirt. He was scared, Clare. My never-rattled friend, the same guy who stood by my side in battle, was scared to death when you zoned out and went somewhere in your head.” Trent sighs. “He cares for you, Clare. So much that it’s making him do and say stupid shit.”
This time I do let out a chuckle, which makes Trent smile. But then it fades away and he says, “Protecting his heart and shutting people out has become his full-time job this past year. Which means it’s going to take someone just as stubborn, just as determined, to make him see that he didn’t die that night, that Miranda and Colin didn’t destroy the man I know you’re falling in love with.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Griffin
I may not have called her directly, but I checked in on Clare via Trent pretty much on the hour. Each time I texted him he would reply with a She’s fine and a smartass remark. He wasn’t passing up the opportunity to call me a pussy, or to tell me that I was whipped, or that I needed to stop getting my panties in a bunch. I didn’t respond to his comments because he’s right. I can’t stop thinking about Clare. I want her. I want to protect her, love her, make her mine. I want a lot of things, but I don’t know if my heart is strong enough.
I leave the hospital and start the two-block trek to Trent’s house. I do like the convenience of being so close to work, that I can just walk home and unwind from the day. Not that my first day on the job was stressful. I only went on three calls, all non-life threatening. An elderly woman fell in her bathtub and broke her hip. A teenager set off a firework in his face. By some miracle all he required were a few stitches and treatment for the burns. The third call brought me to the quarry, which as I learned from the paramedic who I rode with in the ambulance today, was where most of our calls would come from since mining is fucking dangerous.
I round the corner and see Trent’s house. The shades are still drawn like I knew they have been the entire day. Clare is free to move about Trent’s home, but she needs to be careful. We don’t know if someone is watching Trent or me. I pick up the pace and that’s when I feel the tiny hairs on the back of my neck rise. I look around but nothing seems out of the ordinary. I see a couple walking with their dog on the other side of the street. Three kids on bikes have just passed me and are heading toward the center of town. A few cars are parked alongside the curb, but nothing stands out. I have been on edge all day, being away from Clare for the past twelve hours and knowing how we left things this morning. Maybe that is why I feel uneasy right now. Like I am being watched. I retrieve the key Trent gave me and enter his home.
I am immediately bombarded by several smells and the sound of laughter. I follow them into Trent’s kitchen and stop in my tracks. I heard Trent last night. Believed him when he told
me that he wouldn’t make a move on Clare. I still believe him. I know that Trent is a good guy, that he isn’t Colin. But I’m not thinking clearly.
“Oh hi, honey, you’re home,” Trent says with a goofy grin.
I watch him open the oven door and check on whatever is emitting the delicious smells. Clare was in the process of uncorking a bottle of wine when I interrupted the cozy scene. She flashes me a wary smile and then begins to pour the wine into two glasses. I look over at the kitchen table. It is set for two.
“I need a shower,” I mumble. I toss my keys onto the counter, grab my duffel bag off the couch and make my way to the bathroom down the hall. I am halfway there when I hear footsteps behind me.
“Hey, what’s up your craw?” Trent asks.
“Nothing. It’s just been a long day,” I lie.
“Oh, I see,” Trent says, nodding. Before I can say another word, he grabs my arm and hustles me into his bedroom and shuts the door.
“What the fuck, man!” I rip my arm away and stare him down.
“So, your plan is to continue to be a dick, so much so that it turns her off completely. Am I right?”
“Shut it, Trent. You don’t know shit.”
“I just spent the day with her, asshole. I think I have a pretty good idea what’s going on…and why you told her you don’t do relationships.”
So, she’s confiding in Trent now?
“I’m not going to do this with you,” I say, pushing past him.
“Do what? Talk to me? Admit to yourself that you are purposefully pushing Clare away?”
“Don’t go there,” I threaten.
“Oh, I already did.” I don’t like the smile that suddenly overtakes his face. I watch him reach for the door knob. “I told Clare about Miranda.”
My jaw drops and my fists clench.
“I had no right to tell her. Is that what you want to shout right now?”
I can’t speak. I just stare at my friend while my fury mounts to an unhealthy level.
“Maybe I didn’t. But she needed to know.” Trent opens the door. With his back to me he says, “And you need to remember that Clare isn’t Miranda.”
I watch him walk out of his bedroom. I want to throw something. The lamp on Trent’s nightstand would shatter nicely against the wall. But instead I pace around and escape to the bathroom. I take a long shower, replaying Trent’s words until I can’t take it anymore. When my skin starts to prune I know I need to get out and stop hiding. I change into a pair of lounge pants and a t-shirt and make my way into the kitchen. But Clare isn’t there. The table has been cleared of the two place settings and the lights are dimmed. I walk farther into the room and discover a note on the counter telling me that my dinner is in the oven.
I squeeze my eyes shut and accept the truth. Clare isn’t Miranda.
And I have to stop living in the past.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Clare
For the past ten minutes I stood in front of Trent’s guest bathroom mirror and willed myself to remember. Why can’t I see my captors’ faces in my mind? Why are all the other pieces coming together but the most important ones? I grip the sink and blow a lock of hair out of my eyes, but it just falls back into my line of vision.
Why can’t you see them? You need to remember. For all our sakes.
I saw the look on Griffin’s face tonight when he came home from work. He’s tired of this waiting game. Waiting for my damn memory to return completely. Couple that with the demons he is fighting on a daily basis…the man’s at the end of his rope.
I let out a frustrated sigh and then brush my teeth. I hear my phone on the vanity ding as I spit and I look at the screen. What is it this time? An advertisement for erectile dysfunction medication or the secret to how to cure unwanted facial hair? I’m wrong on both accounts. I towel off my face, pick up my phone, and delete the email that promises I will lose twenty-five pounds in seven days.
Music suddenly erupts from the phone in my hand. I look down and notice that I accidentally hit my Pandora app. I hum along as Adele serenades me with her sultry voice, but then I realize I sound like a dying cat and I stop and pause the music. The house is again quiet and my mood plummets even more.
I wonder if Griffin read the note and ate the dinner I cooked him. I want to be pissed at him, be fucking furious over how he’s treated me the last two days. I’m still mad, but after Trent told me about Miranda and what she did to Griffin, I can’t bring myself to hate him. I definitely would have sworn off men and relationships too if the roles were reversed. Over bagels and cream cheese Trent made it clear that he thinks there’s hope for us, that Griffin will be able to let me in at some point, but I’m not so sure.
Hating the silence, I start surfing and end up choosing a classical channel. Something safe. One that won’t tempt me to listen to the words and think about Griffin. I step out of the bathroom and place my phone on the nightstand. I’m in the middle of turning down the comforter when I hear three quick knocks at the bedroom door. Since Trent’s at work, it can only be Griffin. Another round of knocks ensues, faster and harder, and I flinch.
Fearing that there’s something wrong, I whip open the door and find Griffin standing there with his fist in the air. “Sorry,” he says, immediately lowering his arm.
He’s showered and is dressed for bed. A white t-shirt stretches over his muscular chest and he’s wearing a pair of black lounge pants that hang low on his hips. As much as I want to stare at his gorgeous body, it’s his eyes I focus on. He doesn’t take the opportunity to look me up and down or notice that I’m not wearing a bra beneath my pink tank top. His tortured gaze remains above my chin during the awkward silence we have going on.
“What’s wrong, Griffin?”
“You were never a mistake.” His hands are shaking at his sides. I see him swallow hard and he shifts his weight from one foot to the other. I have never seen him look so nervous…or scared. “I just don’t know what I’m doing,” he says, his voice thick with something so raw that I’m brought to tears. I want to take him into my arms, kiss the tension away. I want to rid his mind of memories that still haunt him. I want to make her go away. But I don’t want him to hurt me again. He must sense my apprehension because he steps closer and says, “I know you’re not Miranda.”
I reach for his trembling hands and place them on the sides of my face. “I’m not her.”
His eyes darken. His breathing quickens. I feel his fingers curl to secure my face in his palms. And then his lips are sealed over mine. “I’m sorry, Clare,” he utters between kisses. “So fucking sorry.”
My arms encircle his neck and I press my body against his. He lets out a groan that has me fisting his hair and tugging him closer until I can feel his arousal through my thin boyshorts.
“Need you, Clare,” he growls. Griffin backs me into the room and kicks the door closed behind us. “Let me have you.”
My fingers can’t react fast enough as I grip his t-shirt and force it over his head. My tank top finds its rightful place on the floor within seconds. My nipples harden at the sight of his ripped abs, at the way his chest heaves in anticipation. His hands grip my waist for only a moment before he yanks my boyshorts and panties off in one rough jerk. I’m standing naked before him when he drops to his knees and looks at me beneath hooded eyes.
He massages my inner thighs with the pads of his thumbs while feathering kisses along my heated skin. I thread my fingers through his hair, gripping him and pulling him up to where I need him to be. A chuckle escapes his lips before I feel him part my folds with his fingertips. “Let me,” he whispers.
A barely audible yes passes my lips and he buries his face in my pussy. He rims my slit with his tongue and then sucks my clit. He’s drinking me, spearing me, tasting me when I cry out, “So close!” Two fingers slip inside, but it’s not enough to send me over the edge. There’s only one thing I want right now. “Please,” I beg.
He stands and pushes me up against the wall. I
’m clawing at his pants, dragging them down his legs until he kicks them off. His hands are cupping my ass when he lifts me up. My legs wrap around his waist and I feel his cock nudge my entrance. I take his face in my hands and say, “I want you, Griffin.”
He slowly pushes into me. “Me?” he asks, his eyes searching mine.
Griffin isn’t being needy. He’s not insecure or looking for a compliment. No. He’s saying everything he hasn’t for the past week with one simple word. He needs to know I’m choosing him, that he is what I want, what I need. He is letting me into that forbidden place, to the place which leaves him vulnerable.
“Only you,” I say. A guttural groan crawls from his throat and he thrusts his hips, driving in deep. Sweat mists our skin as my back slides up the wall, as he pounds into me over and over again.
“Take me, Clare. Feel me,” he grits out. He pulls out and pushes back in. I’m dripping all over his cock. I can feel how slippery I am as our bodies join. His head dips and he takes a nipple into his mouth. He swirls his tongue across the hard bud before biting down. I jolt at the pain. At the pleasure it turns into when he starts to suck me into his mouth. He never slows his pace. He’s devouring my nipples as he continues to slam into me. Harder, faster, deeper, until I feel like I’m going to split in two.
And then we’re moving. I didn’t mind the wall at my back or being ravaged against it, but when he carries me to the bed and lays me on top of the down comforter, I feel like I’m in Heaven. That’s until he parts my thighs with his knees and drives forward, filling me completely. This is Heaven.
I spread my legs wider, taking all of him. He pumps his hips. Once, twice and then he comes on a strangled groan, flooding my already slick channel. Pleasure radiates to every extremity until my toes curl and my throat becomes sore from screaming his name. He buries his face in the crook of my neck and kisses the sensitive flesh below my ear. I listen to his stuttered breaths, feel the way his body quakes in my embrace. I grip him tighter, this man who didn’t want to feel anything ever again and hold him until he drifts off to sleep.
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