by Selena Blake
Tears burned her eyes and she blinked them back. Inside, her gut churned and she felt heartburn climbing up her throat with ruthless resolve. She swallowed back the pain; she had to get this out. To tell him everything. Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes for just a second; just long enough to remind herself that she was worth it. She deserved love and happiness.
“I have loved you, Greg Fairchild, for a very long time but I don’t deserve the biting comments and the mood swings. I didn’t sign up for it. As you so sweetly put it, you have no one. No one you’re tied to with a rock on her finger.”
She wiggled her naked ring finger on her left hand for good measure.
“Certainly not me. So take your time,” she said, softening her tone even though her heart ached. “Go get your head on straight and realize I’m the best thing that ever happened to you. Figure out what you want in life and if that life includes me. But don’t stay here playing house, eating with me and sleeping with me. Making me think that this thing between us is more than it is.”
When he started to speak, she held up a hand. “It’s my fault. Entirely my fault. I should have insisted you go home with Ronny or Thomas. You could have even gotten a hotel room and it would have saved me. But I didn’t. I held out hope like the idiot I am. I believed JJ when she said you were ready to settle down and I believed, more than anything, all your sweet words. But now it’s time to preserve myself. I’m done waiting for you to wake up one day and see me. Really see me. Not as your sister’s friend or even the woman who nursed you back to health. But the woman who loves you, mood swings and all. I don’t want you to say anything. I don’t expect anything, not right now. I agree that you need time. I was an absolute fool for living this fairy tale week and thinking something would come of it. You need time to heal. And I need to let you do that.”
How she managed to say everything without breaking down, she’d never know. But she saw that every word hit their target. His mouth opened slightly but there was also a hint of a grimace. Then he closed his eyes and seemed to reorganize himself internally. The frown eased and he took a long, slow breath.
“I’ll call my brothers,” he said, yanking at the tie around his neck. He ripped it from beneath his collar, balled it up and shoved it into his pocket. Beneath his elegant, dark grey suit his chest heaved and his fingers flexed at his sides.
Embarrassed to have declared her feelings on her front stoop, she nodded and quickly opened the door. He made a beeline for the back door and disappeared into the backyard. Her head ached under the weight of the chaotic emotions and unshed tears. How was she going to move on if he left and never came back?
She took a deep breath to steady herself but it was shaky and punctuated with a hiccup-like sob. No crying, she told herself and blew the breath out.
“Sometimes you just need to stew,” her grandmother used to say. Gretchen supposed that was true, especially in this case. Greg already had a lot on his mind and she just tossed the equivalent of a Thanksgiving turkey onto his plate.
But that didn’t stop her heart from breaking right now. Holding back her tears, she made her way to her office, intent on finishing up a few projects and getting a shipment ready. She’d told him not to say anything, and he’d done as she’d asked. Why did that hurt so damn bad?
It was hard to keep her mind and hands busy wrapping up orders when her heart wouldn’t stop quaking. And tears wouldn’t stop pooling in her eyes.
In hindsight, maybe she should have spent the day taking homeless puppies around the local senior center. But she’d wanted to support Greg. Greg, Greg, Greg.
“It’s not all about Greg,” she told herself out loud as she waited for her computer to boot up, hoping that a new design would hold her interest. She didn’t have time for tears, trembling hands, or men who didn’t love and value her. Now that spring break was finally here, it was time to get busy. Time to focus on her new career.
But even that little pep talk didn’t help so she laid her head down on her desk and let the tears fall. It was as if the trauma of the accident, the fear she’d been holding at bay, the jumble of emotions she’d been dealing with all week came flooding out at once. Ragged and raw, she let everything go but miraculously, she didn’t cry out. She barely made a sound. Her shoulders shook and her lungs burned and her tears rained down on her desk but she didn’t cry out. She didn’t draw attention to herself. She simply wept.
She cried until the tip of her nose prickled. She cried until the ache in her head and her heart subsided. She cried until her phone trilled and she retrieved in from her purse.
DID YOU TELL HIM?
Baby’s message was innocent enough but it brought back the unromantic scene on her front porch. It brought back his escape to her back deck. She snatched a tissue out of the box and blotted her cheeks.
Taking a deep breath, her fingers hovered over the virtual keyboard.
YES, BUT HE’S IN A DARK PLACE TODAY. JUST GOT HOME FROM THE FUNERAL.
There was a beat of pause, then another message popped up on the screen.
AND?
And what? And he didn’t say anything back. No, she hadn’t missed that. She rubbed a finger back and forth across her forehead but it didn’t ease the ache there either. Even though she’d told him not to say anything, surely a man burning up with love would have silenced her with a declaration.
AND NOTHING. HE’S MOVING OUT. I TOLD HIM HE NEEDS TIME TO FIGURE OUT WHAT HE WANTS. HE AGREED.
Why did taking time apart feel like the end? Why did she feel like their story was over?
Sucking in a shuddering breath, she logged onto her computer. You’ll handle it, Gretchen. Whatever happens. You’re a strong woman and you’ll find your happily ever after.
Maybe instead of the end, the time apart would be good for them. Maybe he’d realize he had feelings for her and didn’t want to live without her.
A girl could dream.
Perhaps the girl was pathetic for holding out hope and if so, so be it.
She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. Yesterday she’d had it all. A hot date. A promising future. The most passionate night of her life.
And today...
I’M SORRY, G. TIME IS A GOOD IDEA. BESIDES, I HAVE A GOOD FEELING ABOUT YOU TWO.
“From your text to God’s ears,” Gretchen murmured and then got to work.
She was just about to break for dinner when she heard a car door slam out front. It sounded too close to be at her neighbors’. Beau Crawford had just circled the front of a large black truck when Gretchen glanced out the window.
What was JJ’s cousin doing here?
She started down the hall. Greg was coming through the back door.
“Beau’s here,” she said.
“I know.” He barely paused, duffle bag in hand, on his way to the front door. “I’ll see ya.”
Gretchen’s jaw dropped and her mouth remained agape as he strode out of her life and shut the door.
The click was loud in her quiet little house. Final. And for the first time in over a week, she was alone. Completely, horribly alone.
She covered her mouth with her hand, as if the pressure could hold back the sob. Her phone trilled, alerting her to an incoming message. She retraced her steps back to her office and paused outside the door. There at the end of the hall was her bedroom, just as it had been that morning. The box of condoms sat at the corner of her nightstand. Her sheets were rumpled, the comforter askew.
Seeing the remnants of their amazing night drove a stake through her heart. That was the only explanation for the swift pain in the center of her chest that stole her breath.
Her phone rang and as she ducked into her office, diving for the phone, her foolish heart hoped against hope. But it was JJ’s name at the top of the small screen, not Greg’s.
“Hey,” she said by way of greeting, fully aware of how ragged her voice sounded.
“Hey sweetie. Baby told me what happened. What can I do?”
Gretc
hen sat down on the daybed and wiped the tears away with the back of her hand. She needed to get it together. Even though her mind told her heart to stop hurting, that there was nothing to hurt about, it wouldn’t stop. She couldn’t stop the feeling that she’d lost him and that he’d never come back. Not just the man she’d lived with for the last week, but the man he’d been before.
“Bring ice cream.”
Greg sat back in the chair and massaged his temples. Gretchen’s words haunted him; they just wouldn’t stop playing through his mind. Everything, every glance from the past week, replayed over and over through his mind like video on loop.
Her lips just after he kissed her in the kitchen that first time. The breathy little moan she made when he filled her. The sound of her laugh, the sight of her in that sexy skirt, and oh God, the red bra.
The red bra.
“What can I get you gentlemen?”
Greg pulled his hands away from his face and glanced up at the woman. Gosh, he was sorry sod. Running to the nearest watering hole to drown his misery. When Beau had offered, it’d sounded like a great idea but now he was shoved in the back corner of a pub, surrounded by happy voices. The waitress stared back and forth between him and Beau.
“Whiskey,” Greg told her.
“I’ll have a beer.”
They went back and forth as to the type before she strutted away.
“You don’t look so hot,” Beau said as he leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest.
“I don’t feel so hot.”
In fact, he felt like shit underneath someone’s boot. “Why is it women can just rip your heart out at your lowest moment?”
“Ugh oh.”
“Ugh oh?” Greg parroted, glaring over at his cousin. This is why men were shitty conversationalists, he realized. They hardly said two words to each other, preferring just to grunt and turn on the game. But dammit, he was going to change.
“Woman trouble,” Beau said the words as if uttering them would give him the cooties or woman trouble of his own.
“Damn right.”
Beau’s dark blond brows rose a fraction.
The waitress brought their drinks, smiled a little too brightly and stayed too long. He wasn’t the least bit interested in her, didn’t feel any hint of attraction to her.
Instead of snapping at her to leave them alone, he gulped back the whiskey and relished the burn. When had he become that guy? The guy who sulked and snapped when he didn’t get his way? He was better than that. Had been anyway. He took another gulp but the alcohol didn’t wash away the shame.
The sound of his brothers’ voices pierced the contemplative fog.
“What’s the damage?” Ronny asked.
“Woman trouble,” Beau said.
“What’d you say this time?” Thomas asked as he flipped a well-worn chair around and straddled it.
Greg couldn’t escape his older brothers’ scrutiny, not that he’d ever wanted to before. Right now Thomas looked mildly annoyed and not at all surprised that Greg’s head wasn’t on straight.
“What makes you think I did anything?” he fired back even though he knew he was guilty as sin. It burned him up to think of all the times he’d been sharp with Gretchen, when he’d lost his temper, lost control of his tongue.
Right now he was thankful that his brothers had shown up instead of his father. He didn’t think he would be able to hold up under the old man’s scrutiny.
“Because you’ve been sticking your foot in your mouth where Gretchen Mascoe is concerned all week.”
“Gretchen? Seriously?” Ronny butt in.
“Yes, Gretchen,” Greg ground out. Thomas was right. This hadn’t been his finest week. Damn, he needed a redo. If only he could go back to that moment she’d walked through his hospital door, fresh faced, a delicate blush clinging to the apples of her cheeks. She’d lied for him, taken care of him. She’d done more than that. She’d held him together.
Although. He snorted and everyone’s brows rose, waiting an explanation. If this was him being held together, what was it she saw in him?
“You know she’s in love with you, right?” Thomas asked as he signalled the waitress.
“She said as much,” Greg said to his glass of whiskey. He needed another one and told the waitress when she appeared to take Thomas and Ronny’s order.
Pushing the empty glass away, he leaned forward, crossed his arms atop the table and used them to cushion his forehead. How could she love him? His knee jerk response was that she hardly knew him. He hardly knew her.
But that wasn’t true. They’d known each other for a long time; a third of his life. And this week…this week they’d done a lot of living.
“So that’s your answer? Drink it away? You’re a tougher man than that.” Thomas had never been one to pull his punches.
He huffed out a sigh. “You didn’t see the way she looked at me.”
It was as if her childhood hero had let her down.
“So make it right,” Beau said.
He cut a glance at his blond haired, blue eyed cousin. “Easier said than done. I’m not even sure if this week should have happened.”
That didn’t come out right and he wished he could blame it on the whiskey.
“Meaning?”
But he might as well say what was on his mind. Maybe someone at this table could make sense of things. “All of it.”
“Can’t change the past,” Beau said, settling back in his seat, the beer dangling from his fingertips.
“No shit,” Ronny said, sending an exacerbated look Beau’s way.
“No. He’s right. You can’t change the past and but you can learn from it,” Thomas said.
“You sound like Gretchen,” Greg said.
“I always knew she was a smart cookie.”
And she makes delicious cookies too.
A tendril of panic gripped him. What if she didn’t let him back in? No, that was silly. She’d told him to take his time. She’d told him, so earnest and sweet even as there’d been fire in her eyes, that she loved him. That she’d loved him for a long time. Love like that didn’t just disappear overnight, did it?
“I don’t wanna take my time,” he muttered to himself.
“What the hell’s the matter with him?”
Greg glanced up and saw Ryan at the edge of the table. “What are you doin’ here?”
Ryan shrugged and pulled up a chair. “Beau called. Sorry I didn’t catch up with you at the funeral.”
The waitress raced over and smiled down at Ryan. Their small table now overflowed with bottles and brawn. So much for a quiet evening to drink away his worries and screw his head back on straight.
“Better that you didn’t.” He hadn’t been fit company.
“I heard about what Raquel said to you man. You didn’t deserve that.”
A popular country song came on and the couple at the next table hopped up. What little space there was between the tables and the bar turned into a dance floor and Greg had to lean forward to hear Ryan.
“Peter wouldn’t want you to beat yourself up.” Ryan’s blue green eyes were serious, imploring.
Greg swallowed. If their positions were reversed, Greg liked to think that his family would have shown up, but that they’d be home by now, laughing and reminiscing the good times. The Pastor was right. Life was short.
“I want bagpipes at my funeral,” Ronny said, earning a laugh from everyone at the table.
“You would, knucklehead,” Thomas uttered.
“I just want a line of hogs a mile long, following the hearse,” Beau said, a big grin splitting his face.
Ronny seconded that idea. Thomas ordered another beer and the camaraderie continued. Not for the first time this week, Greg was thankful for good brothers; cousins and friends too. The fear inside him eased up with each joke they told.
Somebody ordered a burger, Greg added an order of fries and sat back to watch the world go by. A young couple at the bar kissed, others danced, two guys
by the door puffed their chests at each other; just a normal Saturday night. The world was still turning. Life continued on, even when one was snuffed out.
Ronny smacked Greg’s thigh with the back of his hand. “So do you like the girl or not?”
Greg bit back a snort. “I love the girl.”
The words registered in his brain and in his heart the same instant the other four men fell silent.
He mouthed the words again, testing them on his tongue. I love her. The thought didn’t shock or surprise him, it just was, like it had always been a part of him. The warm emotion filling his heart swelled a little more.
“So what’s the problem?” Thomas asked, and took a sip from his water glass.
“Problem?”
“Why are your panties in a twist?” Ryan asked.
Greg stared down at the table as if the answer were written there. He could really only think of one problem. Well, two.
He rubbed the back of his neck and glanced first at Ryan and then to Thomas. “You don’t think it’s, you know, too soon?”
“For what?” Thomas asked.
“We’ve only been together for a week and—“
“The heart wants, what the heart wants, little brother,” this from Ronny.
“And,” Greg continued, “we wouldn’t be together at all if…if Peter hadn’t died.”
Ryan let his highball glass drop to the table and then he leaned forward, his broad shoulders bulging beneath the fitted t-shirt. “Peter’s death has nothing to do with it, Greg. It’s fucking awful and I’d bring him back in a heartbeat if I could. But his death has no impact here. Don’t use that as a cop out.”
“Think of it this way. What if Peter hadn’t died?” Thomas said. “What if he got banged up just like you. What if he was at home right now recovering and you’d still gone to stay with Gretchen. Would you be second guessing yourself right now?”
“Peter would have loved knowing he brought you together with a good woman. The guy was a hopeless romantic. So you see, there’s no problem,” Ryan added.