Cross my Heart (Iris Boys Book 4)

by Lucy Smoke

  Only one other couple sat nearby at the bar, talking to the middle-aged bartender as he wiped down the counter. When we were left relatively alone, I turned my gaze back to Grayson, observing him under the dim lighting and in quiet seclusion. "So..." I started, trailing off as I looked around, "nice place."

  His lips lifted, curling on one side to give the impression of a half-smile. I liked it when he did that. I thought it made him look rather handsome in his dress-shirt and jeans. "It's not bad," he replied. "Believe it or not, I used to come here with my uncle. He'd come here with a few fishing buddies—bring me and let me run around while they drank."

  "You don't talk to him anymore?" I asked, sensing the somewhat sad undertones in his voice.

  "He and my aunt divorced and it wasn't exactly pretty. He hasn't really been in contact since."

  "Oh." I felt stupid for asking now.

  Thankfully, the waitress returned not long after that to take our orders. Grayson looked up at me over his menu. "Have you ever had fried Tilapia?" he asked.

  I shook my head. "I don't eat a lot of fish." It had been too expensive when it was just my mom and me, even with us being so close to the ocean. Then there was the fact that I didn’t know how to cook it and wasn’t willing to waste money buying something I didn’t know if I could make.

  When his eyes met mine again, I swear my heart stopped in my chest. "Do you trust me?" His voice had edged down, low and secretive. Seductive. Like a puppet on a string, my head bobbed. He smiled, handing the menus back to the waitress as he ordered for both of us.

  When she was gone, he reached across the table and took one of my hands. His fingers felt warm in my palm. Our eyes clashed, brown to blue.

  "So," I said to break the silence, scrambling to come up with something to ask. "How's your family?" I blurted. I regretted the question as soon as it slipped from my mouth and a flinch descended across Grayson's features. He pulled his hand away and sat back roughly. I had to fight not to reach out again. "I'm sorry," I said quickly. "I didn't mean—"

  He waved his hand, cutting me off. "It's fine."

  My eyes burned and I cursed myself for ruining the moment. A heavy weight settled over the space between us as the couple at the bar talked with the bartender in quiet, happy tones. The sound of quiet but pleasant music drifted to my ears from some unseen speakers. It was the same tone of music that had drifted over the voices as we walked through the inside of the Coconut Hut to get to the rooftop, so I assumed it was playing everywhere. But even the quiet music couldn't drown out my guilt.

  "I'm really sorry," I repeated a few minutes later when he neither attempted to talk about something else nor moved closer to the table. In fact, he was avoiding the thing as though it were some dangerous animal between us, ready to strike at him if he got near.

  At first, I thought he wasn't going to reply. His gaze was settled elsewhere, seemingly far off in the distance. "My mother is a sore topic for me right now," he said. I was more than a little surprised that he hadn't made a joke or an asshole comment that would have instigated my ire. That Grayson seemed to be far away now. He had been for quite some time—ever since we came back. I moved closer to the table, dropping my elbows gently to the edge and leaning over just slightly. I didn't say anything, just waited—and hoped—for him to continue. He didn't disappoint. "She's not the most loving of parents," he said, still not looking at me. I wondered if he wasn't letting himself. I wondered if it was easier to pretend that I wasn't here. "She's always had an agenda up her sleeve. She's clever and beautiful, but she's a snake in the grass."

  I frowned. "How so?" I asked.

  He shook his head, his eyes never deviating from where they were set. "She uses people. She's controlling and always scheming, always fucking planning something." I blinked at the vehemence in his voice. He continued. "There are things I want in life, things I wanted to accomplish—to do. But if it doesn't align with her plan, it's not worthy of not just her time, but my time as well."

  “That’s not fair,” I said. He nodded in acknowledgement but didn’t say anything more.

  Gulping low in my suddenly dry throat, I watched him with curiosity and more than a little understanding. Grayson and I were so very alike, I wondered if he noticed. Both of us had older brothers that never acted as older brothers probably should. Josh treated Grayson like a fixer for all his problems. Michael ignored me. That pain still had yet to abate. Several phone calls to what had turned out to be a dead end, because Michael's old number was no longer in service. I wondered if I would ever talk to him or see him again. I wondered if I wanted to. And our mothers? Well, we both had our own pasts and issues to deal with on that front. At least, with my mom, things had gotten easier. They'd gotten better since I met the guys.

  "Have you explained to your mom what you want?" I asked.

  Grayson scoffed, the sound halfway between an unamused laugh and a coughing grunt. "As if that would matter to her, but yes, my mother and I have discussed my future many times. While she'll let me roam to an extent, she's got her tiny hands wrapped around my leash, pulling taut whenever she thinks I've strayed too far. There's only so much room she's willing to give me."

  "How does she feel about you living with the guys and me?"

  Finally, Grayson turned his head and his eyes moved to my face. The level of intensity in the depths of his eyes nearly sent me toppling over. Like razors lashing out, his eyes practically glowed under the tiki torch firelight, appearing lit from within.

  "It doesn’t matter what she thinks now," he said, a raspy growl in his tone. Was he angry? I wondered. "I'm done with her and she knows it. I don't care what she feels or thinks about what I do. Come my twenty-first birthday, she won't have any strings to pull. If I never have to go back and see her again, it'll be too soon."

  A part of me wanted to warn him away from such obvious hatred. That kind of acrimony could only lead to more pain in the future and I wanted to see a healed Grayson. The first Grayson I had met had been muddled by the murky waters of his home life—whatever it may have included, aside from the control his mother obviously held over him. This Grayson was still sinking in his grief, and no matter what he said, it was obviously grief—grief over losing family, grief over cutting ties to someone who had given birth to him and raised him.

  It was hard. All of it. I knew. I had never been strong enough to cast away my mom, not like Michael had. Not like Grayson was. But even with our similarities, Grayson and I, we were still different. Our situations in the same realm, but not identical. Still, if things continued, if he could let go rather than hold onto that animosity in his expression, I wondered what kind of Grayson the future would hold.

  I bit my lip and looked down at the surface of the table, smoothing my fingers over a fissure in the wood. "My mom threw a glass at my head once," I stated calmly. In my periphery, I watched as Grayson stilled and somehow forgot his desire for distance as he leaned forward. My finger trailed down the small crack in the wood. "She had these," I paused with an insecure breath, "moods," I continued. "They'd make her act a little crazy. She'd scream at me. Ask me where I was going, what I was doing. No matter how many times I told her, she never believed me. I’d get home from school and she wouldn’t believe me when I told her where I’d been. Then I’d have to go to work and she’d try to stop me, but I couldn’t stop going to work. Her disability checks were tiny. Barely anything and I didn't realize how much we needed money until we were almost evicted the first time."

  "The first time?" he repeated, shock and concern in his tone as his arms moved back over the table. Grayson reached towards me and captured my moving fingers, squeezing them with his own. I lifted my gaze and gave him what I hoped was a serene and calm smile. Inside, I was a riot of unbalanced emotions, each one trying to drive out the others.

  I nodded. "She had this quirk—manic stages, the doctors called it. One moment she'd be so angry and upset and the next she'd be laughing and noticing things about the house—like how we
didn't have any new curtains or dishes or my shoes were worn through and she'd buy everything without thinking about the fact that we didn't have the money."

  I still recalled the fear in my chest when I had come home after a particularly long shift with the yellow notice plastered to our door, demanding that we either pay our rent and back rent or vacate the premises. I hadn't even known we'd been falling behind. I thought that the disability checks had been at least covering the rent while I took care of the utilities. But it appeared that my mom had forgotten and spent the money elsewhere—where? I still didn't know.

  "It took a long while for me to work to make up the money for our back rent. It was only because of my neighbor and the landlady and Alex that we ended up keeping the duplex for as long as we did." Alex had given me all the shifts I wanted and even upped my hourly pay. After explaining the situation to the landlady, she had begrudgingly agreed to give us more time to pay with the understanding that we were to be on time with our rent from then on. "To be honest," I continued, "it feels odd not having a job with regular hours now. It’s a little odd not scrimping and saving and actually going out like this. The lack of worry makes me anxious sometimes—like there’s something around the corner, something I’m forgetting. Soon enough that something will catch up with me.”

  "That explains why you fell asleep so much in class." Grayson smiled sweetly at me even as he tried to tease me. "You were too busy saving the world at night."

  I blushed. "I'm not a hero," I argued, teasingly. "I don't have a costume."

  "Not all heroes wear capes."

  I laughed—a full-body, shoulders shaking laugh. Grayson's grin shone through and I found our fingers clutching at each other even when the waitress returned with our drinks. My mouth hurt from how much I was smiling. So, I didn't want to end it, but I knew I had to because there was a point to my story.

  "I just want you to know," I said, keeping Grayson's hand in mine with a tug when he sensed the shift in the atmosphere between us and moved to pull away again. "I'm here for you. I understand. I may not get everything completely because it's not all the same, but you're not alone anymore. You have me now, and the guys. We’re a team. We’re a family.” I believed that with my whole heart. When my family hadn’t been either able or willing to help me—though sometimes, I still thought about Michael and wondered where he was and if he was doing okay—the guys had been there.

  Grayson's mouth opened as if he wanted to say something, but his brain hadn't quite caught up with the emotions spreading across his face. So, he just sat there, holding my hand from across the table looking awkward for the first time since I had met him. I found that this awkward, vulnerable side of Grayson was somehow way more attractive than the asshole he'd been before. But then again, maybe I had sensed it beneath the facade. Because, even back then, there had been something about him. An innocent villain. I choked on a laugh at that thought.

  "What?" he finally managed to say.

  I laughed again. "Nothing," I lied, shaking my head.

  He narrowed his eyes at me and then stood abruptly, dropping my hand and making my laughter stop. I gazed up at him, wondering what the hell he was about to do. Grayson's hand appeared in front of my face once more, held out like a peace offering, but also as a challenge.

  "Dance with me," he said. It wasn't a question, but I really really wish it had been. At least, if it were a question, I could have said no. As it was, I simply stared at his hand with a rising horror and panic.

  "I can't dance," I said, eyes wide as I gaped up at him.

  "You danced on Sweratt Island," he said, reminding me of the outdoor soiree. "The guys even told me you danced when you visited New York."

  "That was—I was—it was different," I managed to say. That had been when I was focused on something else—missions and thoughts and other things. I hadn’t been the one leading. There was no one here dancing. I glanced around. Here, there was nothing to stop me from thinking about all the ways I could trip or fall. There was nothing stopping me from focusing on Grayson's hard, muscled body. My eyes slid back to it—covered as it was in the button down shirt and nice jeans he wore.

  He smirked, reaching down for my hand when he realized I wasn't going to offer it freely. I grimaced as he pulled me to stand beside him and leaned down to whisper in my ear. "Don't worry, Babydoll. I've got you."

  I held my breath as he walked me to a section of the rooftop where the tables had all been pushed to the side. The couple sitting at the bar turned their eyes towards us and the woman awwed before turning back to her partner. Heat rose to my cheeks as Grayson took my waist and pulled me closer until I was flush against him, my breasts smashed against his chest. I looked up into those blue eyes of his, falling into the depths as he took my other hand. We began to dance, swaying softly from one side to the other as the music swirled around us. Soft, lilting notes and beautiful lyrics that I couldn't hear over the sound of my racing heartbeat.

  Grayson's eyes held within their depths so much emotion, ranging from pain-filled to hungry. That hunger caught my attention because all of it was fixated on me. It made my chest rise and fall rapidly, my breath catching in my throat, struggling to break free as we moved across the floorboards. Leaning close, I tucked my face against his chest. I needed a respite from those eyes of his, from the emotion in them, from the way he was making my skin tingle.

  "Harlow." Grayson pulled back as the song came to an end and tilted my face up. A feather light kiss touched the corner of my mouth, making my legs go weak and my abdomen clench. He held me up without effort or complaint, keeping me in his arms for another moment more.

  "Grayson..." I whispered his name, afraid that if I spoke too loud it would break the spell that was undeniably over us. A spell that kept us locked in a cocoon and would probably drive me slowly mad with all of this need and desire pulsing between us. Before I could say anything more though, Grayson pulled back and looked over my shoulder—shattering that spell and bringing us back to reality.

  Chapter 3

  The food's here," he said. “Come on.”

  Grayson led me back to our table where two trays were left next to our still full glasses. I drained half of my water the second my butt hit the seat before diving into the food. Only when the fish hit my tongue did I realize my mistake. I slowed, savoring the delicious taste. Salty with a hint of lemony tartness. It was good. It wasn't the kind of meal meant to be gobbled like a turkey on Thanksgiving. It was meant to be savored in the moment. I groaned with my mouth full, causing Grayson to chuckle across from me.

  "Like it?" he inquired.

  I nodded. Undoubtedly, this was one of the best meals I had ever had. When it came to a close, I almost whimpered at the sight of my empty plate. I debated asking about getting another plate of it to go. I could say it was for one of the others—even though I knew it probably wouldn’t make it home. Even though my stomach was beyond full, I could have eaten another two helpings at least. Grayson chuckled again as he paid the bill and then escorted me back to the parking lot, our hands linked.

  As he had opened my door before, he did so again, helping me in like a gentleman. He reminded me of Marv when he acted like this. The car rumbled quietly to life and as if it was entirely natural, both of our hands fell into the console at the same time, and our fingers brushed. Grayson didn't look at me as he reversed and then put the car into drive before he took my hand again.

  The entire drive home was brimming with tension. From the way Grayson’s hand contracted around mine, holding on tight, I knew he could feel it too. When we pulled into the driveway, all of the windows were dark, everyone else likely out or asleep. The car cut off and silence filled the space of the front seat. I could feel a pressure building, slowly climbing in my head with each beat of my heart until all I could hear was the organ throbbing in my chest.

  I turned my head. “Grayson?”

  “Let’s go inside,” he said at the same time his name left my lips.

 
We both paused for a brief moment as something electric shifted between us, arcing over our bodies. I could see it in his eyes; that same emotion had passed through him as well. My heart pounded as he leaned forward, across the car’s console, never taking his eyes away from my gaze. The nearer he came, the louder my heart seemed to beat against my ribcage.

  Just a breath away from me, he stopped. Grayson’s eyes left my gaze and zeroed in on my mouth. His tongue snuck out and slicked across his lower lip. I found my mouth as dry as the Sahara Desert.

  “Harlow?” My name was a whisper as he lifted his gaze once more.

  Breathlessly, I answered him. “Yes?”

  “I’m going to kiss you.” It was the only warning I got before his mouth was on mine.

  That wild, untamable electricity was back, and it hit me like a freight train as his lips closed over mine. Grayson opened me wide, diving in, bulldozing his way past all my barriers. He reached up, one hand cupping behind my neck to hold me in place. Not that I would have pulled back. Oh no. I wouldn’t even have considered pulling away. I was so enthralled by him, sunk so deep into the kiss that the rest of the world disappeared and all that remained was him and me.

  I didn’t even recall giving my hands permission to move. I didn’t realize they had until my fingers were already on him. Both hands grasping the fabric of his shirt in a tight grip, wanting to pull him impossibly closer, wanting to feel him against me, over me. I wanted all of him pressed as close as possible. I felt faint. I felt hot. I felt like I was burning alive, and it was the absolute best way to die.

  “Fuck.” Grayson’s curse was a groan against my mouth and I shook my head, sinking my nails deeper, moving my hands to the hem of his nice shirt. I didn’t want to let him go. I didn’t want him to stop kissing me. My fingers grazed his abdomen, causing him to suck in a breath. “Harlow—Jesus—fuck.” He sounded like he was barely keeping himself restrained. I didn’t want him to hold back. I wanted him as wild as I felt.