desolate (Grace Trilogy, Book One)

by Autumn Grey

  Sol seems different than during our first time. He’s more intense, and he doesn’t need to talk dirty to butter me up. His body does that for him. And I love it.

  Our bodies stretch and twist, molding into each other. We ignite and burn, sweat rolling down our skin. I feel the edge of his teeth on my shoulder a moment before he drags them across my skin. His fingers slide up from between my legs and flatten on my stomach, pushing me flush to his body as he pumps inside me with vigor. I can feel my body eager to let go and just soar.

  “I’m coming, Sol,” I whisper, eyes squeezed shut.

  Without a word, he groans and pants behind me as he increases his pace, body coiled tight around mine. Unable to hold back anymore, I cry out his name, and my body shakes with release. I hear him cry out my name in response over and over in a rough voice, then his body grows tight as he chases his orgasm.

  When we’ve finally come down from our high, he unlaces our fingers from the top of my head and shifts away, taking his heat with him.

  Is he leaving?

  Disappointment rushes through me, but then he grasps my hips and turns me around to face him, pulling the covers to our shoulders. He gathers me into his arms and just stares at me, his gaze roaming over my face as mine roams over his.

  “What?” I ask, tracing the span of his shoulder with my finger.

  His mouth curves into a one-sided smile. “What we just did, it was kind of amazing.”

  I smile, leaning forward and pressing a kiss in the middle of his chest. “It was, wasn’t it? There must be something in the water around here because, dude, you have new moves.”

  He laughs and taps my nose with his finger. “Yeah?”

  I nod, then roll away from him and lift myself on my elbows. “Have you been practicing? Wait, have you been having secret sex or something?”

  He winks at me. “Jealous?”

  My lips form a thin line as my stomach roils just thinking about him having sex with anyone.

  When I remain quiet, he squeezes my hip and whispers, “I’m just joking. It will only ever be you, Gracie.”

  Then he swings his legs to the side of the bed, his words leaving me confused.

  Before I can say a word, he looks over his shoulder at me, his eyebrows dipped low. The enormity of what we’ve just done settles around us like a dark cloud.

  “I have to get back before curfew.”

  My eyes roam his face, then meet his gaze. My breath stalls as I take in the emotion flashing across his features—love, need, confusion, hopelessness.

  He glances at the clock on the nightstand. His eyes remain there. I have a feeling his intention is to keep me from seeing what he’s feeling. “I want you to sleep here. Leave the key above the doorframe, and I’ll grab it tomorrow.”

  “Thank you.”

  He sucks in a deep breath, returning his eyes to me. The desperation in them makes me want to crawl in his lap and hug him. I know what I have to do, though, but before I can open my mouth, he asks, “What are we going to do? About us. This. You and me.”

  “Us?” I blink at him in disbelief.

  He scratches the back of his head, red spots coloring his cheeks. “You know what I mean.”

  I blow out a frustrated breath. “You chose this.” I throw my arm out in a sweeping gesture in the general direction of the room. “You had me, but you chose to become a seminarian, Sol.” My voice has risen now. And I know it’s unreasonable and unfair to throw these words at him, but damn it.

  I love him.

  I want him for myself. But I don’t want him if he’s conflicted about what he needs to do.

  I don’t want to be second best. I want to be someone’s first. Someone’s always. Doesn’t every girl deserve that?

  My teeth dig into my bottom lip, and I take deep breaths to keep my temper in check as I study him—the worry lines marring his beautiful face, his usually sky-blue eyes now darkened with anxiety.

  I crawl forward and sit next to him, letting my legs dangle over the side of the bed. His eyes fall to my chest and stay there.

  “We can’t do this again,” I announce.

  His whole body jolts as if he’s been electrocuted, and his eyes fasten on mine.

  “This is me letting you go, Sol.” My fingers curl into my lap, and the feeling of my nails digging into my palms grounds me. Tears gather at the corners of my eyes, and I quickly drop my gaze to my hands. “I came here for closure, and I’m getting it.”

  I need to be strong and get through this, and looking at him, staring into those kind eyes of his that speak volumes without him saying a word, weakens me.

  “I started this when I kissed you first, and now I’m ending it. We need to let go. Move on.”

  From the corner of my eye, I see his body shift, turning to fully face me. Then his thumb curves around my chin, and he tugs it up and exhales a long, shuddering breath that shakes his entire body.

  “I know.” He opens the clasp on the rosary bracelet from his wrist, tugs my hand to his lap, and swiftly puts it around my smaller wrist. “It looks good on you.”

  “I can’t take this, Sol . . . I mean, isn’t it like a good luck charm or something?”

  His eyes are filling with tears as he lifts my hand to his lips and kisses the back of it. “I don’t have anything to offer you other than this. Remember me. Remember us.”

  The tears I’ve been holding back finally fall down my cheeks. “Always.”

  He swipes the wetness away with a finger before pulling me into his arms. My front presses against his front, and I fight the urge to push him flat on his back and repeat what we just did moments ago.

  Instead, I let him hold me, savoring this moment, the memory of his arms around me, the feel of his skin against mine . . . I let everything sink in. But this time the pain is not as violent as it had been when he left the first time.

  After a while, Sol leans down and collects his clothes, putting them on. When he’s done, he turns around to face me with a sad smile on his face. Tears shine in his eyes.

  “Goodbye, Gracie.” He leans forward and presses his mouth to my forehead. I feel the slight tremble of his lips as the kiss lingers for several seconds. Then he pulls back and shoves his balled-up fists into his pockets.

  I nod and force a smile through the waterfall of hot tears. “Goodbye, Solomon Callan.”

  Then he walks out the door without looking back. I listen to the sound of his muted footfalls move farther away and finally the sound of the front door opening and closing.

  I wait, for some stupid reason, hoping he’ll walk back in and tell me he’s staying.

  God, will I ever learn?

  I crawl back on the bed and pull the covers to my chest, then bury my face into the pillow, pulling in the scent of him.

  Then I let myself fall apart, even though I promised myself I wouldn’t.

  Autumn in New England is something to behold. Gold, yellow, and orange colors splash all around me, reminding me why it’s my favorite season. But my mind is too preoccupied to notice the scenery. I dig my phone out of my handbag and scroll through my contacts, stopping on MJ’s number. She answers the call after two rings. “Do me a favor. If my mom calls you to ask if I spent the night at your place, just say yes.”

  I’ve just left Boston, and I’m driving back home when panic suddenly grips me. I was so caught up in Sol, I forgot to let my mom know I wouldn’t be home by curfew. I jolted awake around 1:00 a.m. covered in sweat and quickly typed out a text to my mom, then sent another text to MJ. When I didn’t hear from her, I decided to call her first thing in the morning. Apparently, MJ is not a morning person.

  “Why? Where did you spend the night?” MJ asks suspiciously, then yawns.

  “Please don’t judge me, okay?”

  “I’ll try,” she mumbles, sounding like she’s about to doze off.

  “I drove to Boston to see—”

  “Okay, I’m judging you.” She sounds more awake now. “What the hell, Grace?”
<
br />   “I just wanted closure.” I sound too defensive, so I sigh and apologize, then say, “I had to see him, MJ. But one thing led to another . . .”

  I hear the sound of sheets rustling, then a low moan, followed by a deep voice muttering, “Who’s that, babe?”

  Oh shit.

  Ivan.

  “Don’t tell him!” I whisper urgently into the phone.

  “Why? He’s So—”

  “Oh my God! Don’t say his name!”

  She huffs, and murmurs, “It’s no one. Go back to sleep, babe.”

  Ivan groans and mutters something unintelligible, and seconds later, the sound of snoring fills the line.

  “Where are you right now?” she asks in a low voice.

  “On my way home. Just an hour away.”

  “I’ll be waiting at Fisher’s Gold. I need details,” she grumbles, then adds, “and coffee.”

  She disconnects the call before I can respond.

  I stare at the phone in the docking station for a few seconds before returning my attention to the road.

  MJ is sitting at the table near the window at Fisher’s Gold, holding a large mug to her mouth as she takes a big sip. The chair next to hers is empty. I glance around the little shop to make sure Ivan didn’t tag along, then sigh in relief when I don’t see him anywhere.

  As I make my way to where she’s sitting, the scent of coffee and pastries slams into me, reminding me I skipped breakfast in my haste to get back to Portland.

  “Hey,” I greet her, pulling a chair out and sitting down.

  Her head snaps up in my direction and she grins. “You naughty girl! Tell me everything.”

  Apparently, coffee makes MJ more agreeable and fun.

  After ordering a breakfast fit for a king, I sit back and tell MJ everything. I’m grateful for her friendship because talking to someone about it all is exactly what I needed.

  She eyes me and purses her lips thoughtfully. “He might be expelled if they know he’s been fooling around.”

  I nod. “That’s why I decided to end whatever it is that we were doing.”

  “So”—she licks her lips—“you’ve found the closure you were looking for?”

  No. “Yes.”

  “Good. I know you miss him, and it will probably take a while for the pain to go away, but he’s chosen his path. It’s time to choose yours, too.” Her voice is soft, her expression softer.

  I really admire her no-nonsense approach to things. MJ is so grounded. I wish I were more like her and not the flighty, indecisive person I’ve been lately.

  She cups her mug and brings it to her lips, taking a large sip of coffee, then sets it back on the table, keeping her hands around it.

  She’s right. I need to get my shit together. “Ivan and I are heading back to school tomorrow. He only drove me here to visit Grandma.”

  I nod again, trying hard not to feel like a failure.

  Breathe.

  I’ll get through it somehow. I need to look for something to do before next year’s fall semester.

  MJ attends James Fredricks, as well, for the sports and recreational management program. Mom and I will be driving to visit Fredricks in two weeks, which I’m really looking forward to, especially now. I need to focus on my future.

  For the first time in a very long time, a small spark of hope blooms inside my chest.

  There are angels and demons at war inside my head, and the demons are winning.

  I’m sitting across the table from Grace, the only person who has the power to silence the chaos in my head, and at the same time cause mayhem in my heart. I can’t stop staring at her. Her lips highlighted in deep red lipstick, the way her rich brown skin glows when the soft lighting from the lamp above us hits at the right angle, her curly hair banded at the nape of her neck, displaying a heart-shaped face that makes me question my calling.

  I should be heeding the advice of my spiritual director to remove myself from temptation. Instead, I’m wondering if she still tastes and smells like vanilla waffles.

  I wonder if this is God’s test of my loyalty to him. How long will my resolve hold before everything falls apart?

  I’m home from seminary for Thanksgiving. Grace’s mother, Debra, invited my uncle and me for dinner.

  I should have politely refused the invitation and avoided placing myself directly in the path of wickedness, so close to the one person who makes me want to sin ten ways from Sunday. Instead, I accepted, then spent the next few hours alternating between meditation and praying feverishly to God for strength. Then I threw on a pair of running shorts and a T-shirt and went for a run, hoping the chilly November weather would help me focus.

  By the time we left the rectory, I had steeled myself with resolve and patience and strength. That is, until Debra opened the door and stepped aside, inviting us into her home, and my eyes landed on Grace, standing beside the table with her hands clasped primly in front of her.

  She smiled sweetly my way, and it hit me—coming here was a big mistake.

  As we eat, conversation flows easily, but in my mind the same words keep playing, crowding my thoughts. I hope my hard-on is not that obvious. God, give me strength to get through this dinner without embarrassing myself.

  It’s hard to function when your mind is in turmoil. Hard to breathe when your heart is in your throat.

  I’m not sure whether I love her or hate her. I don’t know if it’s myself I should hate for allowing her to occupy my mind, or if I should thank God for giving me the ability to love her so much that I’ve made an altar in my head of the memories we shared.

  My gaze strays every so often to Grace. Hers briefly meets mine, sending a jolt of heat—again—straight to my groin before she looks away. Her eyes stay firmly on her plate as she lifts the fork to her mouth.

  Oh, God.

  Her sin-worthy lips part and close around the forkful of mashed potatoes, and I groan inwardly, picturing that mouth on me.

  I quickly drop my gaze to my own plate and subtly shift in my seat, desperate for relief. I tug down my napkin on my lap, hiding the visible bulge in my pants. Squeezing my eyes shut briefly, I mutter, “Forgive me, Father. Forgive me, Father. Forgive me, F—”

  “You okay?” Luke asks in a low voice.

  My eyes fly open and my head makes an awkward jerk meant as a nod. From the corner of my eye, I see him assess me with those knowing eyes of his. Judging by the look he’s giving me, the answers to his curious thoughts are written all over my face for the world to see. He turns away, frowning, and continues chatting with Debra.

  The heart is weak, greedy, and reckless. Selfish, my spiritual director advised while staring intently into my eyes during our last session together before I left St. Bernard Seminary for Thanksgiving break. Stay away from temptation. If something or someone leads you to consider sinning or to have impure thoughts, then it is wise to remove yourself from that situation.

  The words are clear in my head now, yet, here I am. Unable to remove myself from this situation without looking obvious.

  I could drag her to her room.

  I could kiss her.

  I could—

  Stop.

  Guilt cuts through my conscience, causing my stomach to twist painfully. I shut my eyes tight again, trying to rid myself of those thoughts.

  I don’t even care at this point if I look like the veins in my forehead are about to burst with effort. If I don’t block her out, if I don’t block Grace out, my restraint will snap. When I close my eyes, it’s easier to see the face of my spiritual director staring down at me with such disappointment at my thoughts. It helps. A little bit.

  Even though my gaze is on the plate in front of me, I know Grace is watching me innocently from under her lashes. I can feel her eyes on me. But they don’t fool me. There’s nothing innocent about the body beneath that pretty red dress. Everything about it is sinful and dangerous.

  And no matter how hard I’ve tried to forget the feel of her skin against mine, both our s
mells mixed with the distinct smell of sex, it all seems to be imprinted in my very being. Those memories are a part of me. She’s a part of me.

  Two months ago, I renewed my pledge to God and myself. I promised not to let myself get easily swayed by memories of Grace. I purged all carnal thoughts from my mind. I was cleansed, and my faith and purpose renewed.

  I was at peace, that is, until I found out where I’d be spending Thanksgiving dinner.

  I wonder if today will be the day I break my vow.

  My gaze lands on the bracelet I gave her when she was in Boston. The last time I saw her; the time we said goodbye at the house in Boston. Pride and joy rushes through me, seeing that she’s wearing something I valued.

  I never thought I’d see her after that. At least not this soon. When I decided to come home for Thanksgiving, I planned to do everything I could to avoid her.

  Just then, the sound of the doorbell echoes through the apartment, taking me out of my thoughts.

  “That must be Levi and Ivan,” Grace says as she stands up from her chair.

  Caught off guard, I jerk upright at the word Levi bouncing around inside my head. Ivan didn’t tell me he was coming over when I spoke to him last night, so I’m a little confused as to the reason he’s here. With him.

  My gaze follows Grace as she heads to answer the door, my heart beating furiously in my chest.

  “The boys and Grace are taking food to the homeless shelter downtown,” Debra says, a proud smile on her face.

  Grace returns a few seconds later with Ivan and Levi in tow. My best friend sits on the chair next to mine while Levi takes the seat next to Grace. He shamelessly pushes his chair so close to Grace’s he’s practically sitting on her lap, then slides his arm across the back.

  The way he’s looking at her . . . I want to wipe that flirtatious smirk off his face with my fist.

  My hands curl into fists on my lap, and I have to force myself to look away. Anywhere else but at them.

  Ugh. Stop this, Callan. Where is all these coming from, huh?

  But I should know by now about Grace’s superpower of waking up the Hulk in me.