by Kreig, K. L.
“How’s the stomach today?”
“Ehhh.”
“How many times have you thrown up?” She eyes me, daring me to lie.
“Twice.” Four if you count the dry heaves.
She turns from putting away the groceries and leans against the refrigerator. “Have you taken a pregnancy test?”
“What?” I breathe. I think of the many times Gray and I had unprotected sex, but I can’t get pregnant. Addy doesn’t know that and I just can’t tell her. Peter robbed me of that at the tender age of twenty-three, so my baby making days are quite over.
“No, Addy. I’m not pregnant. I’m just depressed.” And I wasn’t sick like this the first time I was pregnant, I want to add but don’t, because she doesn’t know about that either. God, I’m a cesspool of secrets. I’m so sick of it all.
“Whatever you say, but my flu lasted twenty-four hours. Yours has lasted a week. I think you should take one anyway, just to be sure. You could have morning sickness.”
I shake my head, not responding. There’s no way I’m taking a fucking pregnancy test, just the thought alone rips my heart out anew.
As she rounds the island, she spots the severance agreement sitting on the counter. “What the hell is this, Livia?” she asks, picking it up and scanning it.
I shrug. “My walking papers.”
She throws them down in disgust. “God damn him! I can’t believe that asshole! He doesn’t deserve you, Livia.”
I smile, but it’s weak and sad. I love that she’s indignant on my behalf, but it’s misguided. If only she knew the truth. All of it. The only thing she knows is that we broke up and Gray won’t return my calls. My eyes tear again.
“No. I think it’s the other way around.” I slide off the counter and head to my room. I shut the door, lie down on my bed, and sob.
Chapter 42
A very warm, clearly male body spoons me. Sturdy, thick arms are wrapped tightly around my waist and for a moment I’m confused. For just one teeny tiny millisecond in time, I think they’re Gray’s, and everything is right again, but then, in a flash, I remember they’re not.
They’re Grant’s.
And the all-consuming grief hits me again hard and deep. “What time is it?” I croak. My mouth is parched and I’m nauseous again, but not as much as earlier. I need to pee, but I can’t make myself get up. I’m so utterly…drained.
“It’s just past seven,” he replies softly in my ear. He smoothes down my hair, pulling it away from my face. “You need to eat, Livia. You’ve lost too much weight just in the week since I’ve last seen you.”
I barely remember Grant coming into my room, laying behind me and pulling me into his calming body, willing his stoic strength into me. He whispered words meant to comfort, but they only made me cry harder until exhaustion finally took me under its magical spell. That was apparently only two hours ago. I was hoping two months, or maybe another two years had gone by. Maybe then this all-consuming grief would abate somewhat.
“I can’t.” I peel his arm away and sit on the edge of the bed, looking down at the floor, gripping the comforter like a lifeline. He never said how he found out or why he was here, but it was clear he knew something had happened with Gray. I have a sneaking suspicion my roommate had something to do with it. Whatever the reason was, I wasn’t going to question it. I’m glad he’s here.
I need him. I need someone who loves me to guide me through the treacherous, rocky paths of this hell I’ve found myself in once again so I can come out of the other side. I’ll be battered and bruised and bloody, but at least I’ll be. Grant is my raft. The vessel that will save me from the violent, murky ocean waters I now find myself callously tossed around in. I can’t be without him. I’m unable to do it alone this time.
“How long are you staying?” I don’t even try to keep the pleading out of my voice.
I feel the bed dip and then he’s beside me, drawing me close, laying my head on his shoulder. “For as long as you need.”
I choke on a sob. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
“Stay here, baby, I’ll run you a bath.”
That sounds heavenly. “You don’t have to do that.”
He tilts my head upward so our eyes meet. His compassion ruins me. “I want to.”
I just nod. Five minutes later he leads me into my adjoining bathroom where a steamy, lavender bubble bath awaits. “When you’re done, come into the kitchen. I’m making you something to eat and you’re going to eat it. No more excuses.”
“Okay.” My stomach revolts at the thought of food, but it’s pointless arguing with Grant.
He places a soft, reverent kiss on my forehead before leaving and I stare at the vacant space long after he’s gone. As happy as I am that he’s here, I also wish he wasn’t. I wish it were Gray drawing me a bath and forcing me to eat. I wish it were Gray holding me in his arms and his lips touching my skin.
I wish.
But it’s not. And it won’t ever be again. I look at the counter, where the Zoloft Dr. Howard prescribed me this morning stares me down, daring me to swallow a pill…or the whole bottle. I open the childproof cap and gaze at the contents inside that can bring me either fog or peace. For the first time, I can understand my sister and her despondency so much better. I don’t know how long I regard the tiny, powerful pills before I decide that I want neither and flush them down the toilet.
I brush my teeth, throw my hair up in a messy bun and quickly strip, sliding into the perfectly warm, scented bath. Taking a deep breath, I truly relax my body for the first time in a week. The warmth surrounding me even makes my nausea calm. My mind is a different story, but, hey…baby steps.
I must drift off to sleep because suddenly I feel a hand on my shoulder and I startle, my body jackknifing up in the water. Bubbles run down my naked breasts, baring too much, and now I’m staring into the lustful eyes of my savior. Grant has seen me naked a number of times, just never when I wasn’t covered in blood and bruises. He clears his throat and looks away. “I was worried about you. You’ve been in here almost an hour.”
I quickly slink back under the protective bubble layer, and then I remember the game of this or that Gray and I played in the car and his preference for showers. Lack of bubbles. My face falls. Suddenly I’m regretting flushing my reserve of medication. I could use some nice, thick fog clouding out my suffering about now.
“I’m sorry. I must have fallen asleep. I’ll be out in a minute.”
Grant is now staring intently at me and neither of us says a word for what seems like minutes. The air is thick with something I don’t want to name.
“Sorry.” He stands and retreats quickly, leaving me confused in a pool of cooling water. Five minutes later, dressed in a pair of baggy sweats and a Detroit Lions tee, I stroll into the living room, where I find Addy and Grant talking quietly on the couch.
“Hi,” I say, breaking up their little party.
Grant jumps up and comes to stand in front of me. “You okay?”
“Better.”
Taking my hand, he drags me to the island that separates our living room and kitchen and sits me on a bar stool where he presents, with a flourish of his hand, the supper he’s whipped up.
Chicken noodle soup.
I laugh until I cry. He steps between my legs, wrapping his arms around me. “Still your favorite, right?”
“Yes,” I nod.
“You’re weird. Eat up.” He kisses the top of my head and walks to the other side, where he leans on his elbows and watches me. I take a few, tentative bites. While it’s pretty tasteless, it seems to sit okay, so I eat a few more until I have half the bowl gone. I push it away and he silently pushes it back.
My eyes challenge his. “You’re not my father.”
“You’ve eaten about fifty calories, if even.”
Huffing, I take a few more spoonful’s and look back up. His brows arch and my eyes roll. “Grant, really. I’m full.” He holds my gaze, silently telling me to finish. �
�God, you’re so stubborn.”
“Don’t even go there, Livia,” he laughs.
A couple minutes later my entire bowl is gone. Half an hour later, it’s being flushed into the Chicago sewer system.
“God, I’m so sorry,” he says as I open the bathroom door.
“I told you I was full,” I tease, but I’m so weak, I have to hang onto the wall for support until he puts his arm around my waist and walks me to the couch.
“I think you were just trying to prove a point.”
“Trust me, I’m not.” I’m starting to get a bit worried about the fact that I can’t keep anything down and I can see the worry on Grant’s face as well.
“Addy tells me you’ve been throwing up for a week.”
I look down the hallway at Addy’s closed door. She’s made herself scarce since I came out from my bath. “Addy has a big mouth.”
“Addy is a good friend,” he counters. I sigh. He’s right.
“What else did she tell you,” I ask, desperately wanting to change the subject. He sits down on the other end of the sofa and pats his lap. I lay my head on it, facing away from his body and curl my body into a fetal position. He runs his fingers through my hair, gently massaging my scalp. The air of melancholy that follows me everywhere is once again suffocating. I suddenly want to fill our small apartment with music that’s as sad as I am and cry into a glass of wine. Unfortunately it neither sounds good nor can I keep it down.
“If you’re not better tomorrow, I’m taking you to the emergency room.”
“Stop, Grant. I’m fine. I had the flu and now I’m just… Unless they can fix a broken heart, there’s nothing they can do for me.” They’ll just want to prescribe more pills, and I’m not sure I want to take them. I’m not even sure I can keep them down.
“They can run tests and make sure nothing else is wrong and give you something for dehydration. Jesus, Livia, you can barely walk you’re so fucking weak.”
“What happened with the video?” I ask quietly, changing subjects again. I’m not going to the stupid emergency room over a damn broken heart. That’s like calling 911 because your cat crossed the road and it’s stuck on the other side. It’s just plain stupid.
“It’s all handled. As of today.” His voice is terse and angry.
I turn so I’m looking up at him. “Who was it?”
He lightly traces my eyebrow with his finger, his hazel eyes following the curved line it draws. The gentleness of it belies the anger I see swirling around him. He’s so beautiful with his unruly hair and devilish eyes. I wish I could fall in love with him, making Gray just a memory. If there was anyone else I could fall in love with, it would be Grant, but I know it will never happen. And even if it did, I’d always be holding something back. Something reserved for another man.
“Just someone who was trying to hurt me.”
“You? Why?” That makes absolutely no sense. Why would a video of me hurt Grant?
His fiery eyes search mine. The intensity in them takes me back a bit. “Because they know my weakness.”
It takes me a minute to understand what he means. Me. “Oh,” I manage to say. It’s amazing how much Grant can say without really saying anything at all. I don’t ask any more questions about it because I really don’t want to know.
“What do you do now, Grant?”
A smile turns one corner of his mouth. “I’m a PI and I do some bounty hunting on the side. All legit.”
I can’t help but smile. “I’m glad.” And I am. I was hoping Peter’s death meant a different life for both of us. He never belonged there.
I turn back over, not able to hold his smoldering gaze any longer. Grant resumes playing with my long locks, but suddenly it feels different. Intimate. “Gray fired me,” I say quietly, changing subjects yet again, trying to get away from us and whatever seems to be happening here.
His thighs tense and his hand stills. “Yeah, well Gray is a fucking asshole and he doesn’t deserve you.”
“That’s the same thing Addy said, almost word for word,” I laugh. I sit up, regretting the loss of his warmth. “But it’s not true. I’m the one that’s undeserving.” I stand and walk to the window on shaky legs, holding onto the sill for support. “I knew it would end like this when he found out. I’ve ruined us both. I should have never gone back to HMT after that day. It would still be hard, but I wouldn’t be shattered beyond repair like I am now. I’m so broken.” My voice cracks on those last three words.
Then my face is in his hands and his eyes are blazing with a fire I’ve rarely seen. “Baby, you’re not broken, just bent. Remolded into a new, unique you. A stronger version. Christ.” He pauses, gathering his composure. “You listen to me and you believe every word I’m about to say. You are an incredibly strong and brave woman who has endured horrors that most people could never even imagine, let alone survive. And to be able to put that behind you, and actually thrive like you have? Jesus, I don’t know anyone else that could have done that. And if Gray Colloway can’t see that, then he’s the one that’s undeserving, baby, not you. If he can’t accept you, all of you, as much as you want him to be, he’s not the man for you.”
He couldn’t be more wrong. Gray is the man for me. His chest heaves with the exertion of his impassioned speech. I stare into his stormy eyes, swirling with passion and conviction and swallow hard, tears running down my face. I reach up, placing my hands on biceps. “Are you that man, Grant?” I don’t know why I ask the question, other than to reassure myself that I could be desired by another man.
A throaty rumble leaves his lips and he tilts his head back, eyes closed. That pained look I saw in the car last week is back. Then he pulls my forehead to his, looking deeply into my eyes. “I will always be here for you, Livia. I will never leave you alone again. I promise.”
Not really an answer, but that’s okay. My question was self-serving and came from a place of pain and despair that I’m trying desperately to soothe any way I can. I love Grant, but I am in love with Gray, and it was an unfair question for me to ask when I know how Grant feels about me. Hell, maybe he’s in the same place as I am, just over me. I frown at that aching thought. I don’t want to hurt Grant.
Then he’s holding onto me as tightly as I am him. Even though I don’t want him to leave, I also don’t want us to do anything that will damage our friendship because God knows, I won’t make it through this without him and right now I’m feeling a little too vulnerable and, in my grief, I can already see myself making a very stupid mistake here. One that will lead us down an unrighteous path. Then I’ll lose both of the men I love. “You can leave. I’ll be okay.”
He chuckles. “You trying to get rid of me, babe?”
“Yes.”
“Tough shit. I’m staying.”
I sigh into him, grateful that he’s not letting me push him away. He scoops me up in his arms and carries me back to the couch. Once he has us settled lying down so my back is against his chest, he turns on the TV. He grabs the throw from the back of the couch, placing it over me. This position feels too intimate, but I can’t move because his body heat warms me in all the places that I feel cold and numb. Which is everywhere.
“What are we doing?” I ask quietly.
“We’re going to veg and watch a little Property Brothers.”
“Oh, I love those guys. They’re pretty easy on the eyes.”
His body shakes with laughter. “Yep, that’s what I was going for.”
I feel his lips in my hair. He pulls me closer with an arm around my waist, and I can’t help the little shred of peace I feel, albeit ever so small. At this point, I’ll take it and be grateful for it, even if I know I’ll wake in the morning and it’ll be gone. It gives me hope that at some point in the distant future I’ll be able to at least get back to where I was before I saw Gray again for the first time two months ago now. It wasn’t really living, more like existing, but at least I didn’t mope around and cry all day, every day. And right now, I’d settle for jus
t existing, instead of sitting on the edge of despair, looking down the sharp, deadly rocks below, praying for the strength to turn and walk away from the calm they’ll ultimately bring me.
“Grant?”
“Yes, sweetheart?” he replies softly.
“Thank you for being here.”
His lips on my temple comfort me. “There’s nowhere else I’d be.”
I can’t keep my eyes open and even though it’s not even nine, it doesn’t take long before I’m drifting off into the most peaceful sleep I’ve had in seven days.
Chapter 43
It’s almost midnight and I’m standing outside Livvy’s door, debating whether to knock. I’ve been pacing for almost ten minutes. I’ve gone up and down the staircase three times. I expect the cops to show up any minute. The old lady across the hall has stuck her nose out twice, and by the scowl she’s given me, she probably thinks I’m some sort of stalker. It’s midnight, for Christ’s sake. Aren’t old people in bed at like…four?
I arrived back in Chicago several hours ago, and in my lonely apartment, all I could hear were Conn’s words echoing off the walls. “You owe it to yourself, and her, to get some straight answers.” I also can’t seem to forget his other comment about there being something wrong.
Before I left New York, I went into my bedroom and called Townley. I asked him if he had any more information than what he’d already provided me and he gave me an abrupt no. He told me the same thing I’d thought when he delivered this earth-shattering report. “Sometimes the past is dangerous. Leave it where it belongs.” And after those cryptic words, in no uncertain terms he told me never to call him again.
As much as I try to talk myself out of it, I still love Livvy. I can’t see myself ever getting over her. Even when I thought she’d left me, I still loved her. All these years I’ve pined for her, like a lovesick fool. There will never be a time when I don’t love Livvy. So I do owe it to both of us to have a sit-down, and while I could have chosen a better time than the middle of the night, I simply couldn’t wait a minute longer. My soul aches for her. My eyes thirst to drink her in again. I’ve listened to every one of her voicemails and read every single text a dozen times in the last twelve hours.