When he turns to face me head-on, there’s hesitant vagueness hanging on his sculpted face. “I think… it was a job interview.”
“What?” I’m surprised—I don’t know why. He said he was staying, so that means work and a home and… I haven’t thought about how any of this will pan out. Do we date? Do we… what? And what about the Army? Does he have to go back?
I feel myself growing flustered, thinking about the bevy of unknown factors. The internal questions blur and ring in my ears. The pressure of the future suddenly feels oppressive as though answers and decisions need to be made right now.
“Hey, hey—easy there.” Grayson’s at my side, swallowing me in his arms and chest.
I’m not sure I’ve ever noticed my heart as much as since he’s been home. Right now, it’s beating against my ribs as I’m surrounded by his muscles, hidden from the world.
He strokes the back of my head. “What just happened there? Why’re you freaking out?”
“I don’t know,” I mumble, too afraid to voice hopes and concerns. Our relationship-out-of-nowhere seems steady yet so fragile. I’m worried that if I blink wrong, I’ll somehow jinx that magic.
“Don’t hide from me, Ems.”
“A job and… you said you wouldn’t leave, wouldn’t hurt me. But you’re really staying here?”
He nods against me, and I move with him as his body shifts. “Anywhere you are, I swear I’ll be there.”
“Really?”
He tears me from his chest and levels me with a stare so solemn I’m dizzy over whatever he’s about to promise.
“I said I was laying claim to you, Emma, and I want the same thing for Cally. You’re the only family I’ve ever had, and I want that back.”
Cally… family… don’t blink. Don’t wake up.
“Believe me?” His eyes darken in a way that commands my complete attention. “I’ve done nothing for you to give me that trust, but I need you to anyway.”
I’m not pressed against his chest anymore. The warmth that encapsulated me moments ago is gone, but I feel different. Life’s shifted—I’ve been hanging on this roller coaster for years, and now it’s as if we’re cautiously slipping toward smooth sailing. The lump in my throat eases, and my eyelids lift, my gaze falling on the most handsome man I’ve ever seen.
“What do you say?” He inches closer.
“I love you, Grayson.” Deep breath. “When it comes to us, I’m all in.”
He wraps me tight and kisses my temple. “Love you, too. You’re the only one for me.”
CHAPTER TWO
Grayson
As job interviews go, this beats out all others. There’s a million dollars’ worth of weapons in this war room—I’m sure of it. The table is long and sleek. The room is low lit and ice cold. The two men sitting across from me are Titan, but only one of them gave me a name. Parker Black. He’s been my phone contact and was the man behind the truck and cash. The other one… I don’t know whether he’s sizing me up or waiting to share, but we sit here in an intense standoff.
“You’re looking for a job.” The unnamed man leans forward, his shirt sleeves loose and rolled, exposing colorful tattoos and a thick tactical watch that nearly matches mine. He personifies Special Forces.
I was a grunt and good at what I did. I have the honors and medal that show I mean something to someone. But I’m a risk—even if I don’t know what position they’re interviewing for. My medical chart is filled with PTSD. My unit can’t vouch for me because they’re all dead.
“A job? Maybe.”
His eyes cut to Parker’s before snapping back to me. “How old are you?”
“Not sure why that matters.”
“You’re Army.”
I shift in the cold chair. “Was. Yeah.”
“And now you’re not.”
My tongue runs over my teeth as I try not to react to what he must already know. “I was Army. Now I’m not.”
He leans back. There’s a thickness hanging in the air. This guy doesn’t want me here? Fine. Fuck it. Don’t care. I’ll work the fry basket for minimum wage and work my way up till I own the goddamn joint. I need income, stability, and whatever else it takes to prove I’m solid ground for Emma. So, all of that means I don’t give a shit about unnamed tattoo man’s evil eye. “What is this? Job interview, waste of my time, or what?”
Parker’s lips pinch, but there’s a laugh in his eyes.
I growl. “You want the truck back? Take it. You interviewing for a job? Interview me.”
The man pushes forward in his chair. His eyebrows pinch. The guy wasn’t relaxed before, but now he’s a wall of resolution. “You’re a young-buck hard-ass. Not what we need around here.”
“You know my name. I know his name.” I lift my chin toward Parker. I’m done with this. He either talks to me or doesn’t. “But who are you?”
“Brock Gamble.”
“And how long have you worked at Titan, Brock Gamble?” This will either make progress or hurry up my exit.
“Since I was your age.”
“And what the fuck did someone say to you when you walked in for an interview?”
Brock leans forward, a growl coming from his chest. “Didn’t interview.”
Thought so. I slap the table. “Seems about right. Like you guys didn’t know everything about me before I walked in the door.”
A hard smile cracks on Parker’s face.
“If you’re interested, let me know. Otherwise, I’ve got a shit list a mile long, and I don’t have time for BS.” I watch Brock’s face then give him a nod. “Peace.”
No reaction on either guy’s face. I push out of my chair. They’re going to want the truck back, and I’m not going to have a set of wheels. That’s a predicament when I’m trying to prove to this fucked-up county I’m not a runaway dick, but I can work through it.
“Thanks for your time.” I turn for the door.
Brock’s chair echoes in the war room as he stands. “There’s a job. Local.”
Local? Now that’s interesting. I wouldn’t expect Titan to run an op this close to home. I turn back. “What do you guys have going on around here?”
His jaw works back and forth. “Traffickers working their way up and down the coast.”
“What kind of trafficking?”
“The kind that brings in Titan.”
Not great news. That kind of crime is nothing I want near my family. Family… something I’ve never really had before and suddenly want with shocking clarity. I grew up under the thumb of an evil man, so the bad in the world is not lost on me—I knew about it even before I went to war. But all I can picture is blond curls of a little girl who will one day, somehow, bear my name. I swallow away the life-changing realization and nod. “What do you want from me?”
“I need a couple guys. Just show up for a bachelor’s party.”
My brow pinches. “Excuse me?”
“Runners use Interstate 95. They start south and stick near the highway for easy access and quick getaway. Establishments, not truck stops. I want them taken down, but I want their network even more.”
“In Summerland?”
“Next county over but might as well be Summerland.”
Anger boils in my blood. I thought he meant drug trafficking. But… this is more dangerous. “If I agree, I’d do what?”
“Simple—it’s just a bachelor party. Make friends. Keep your eyes open. Blend in, and keep mental notes. You can do that?”
“Yeah, I can do that.”
The door slams open. A mean-faced man the size of a tank rolls in and stares only at Brock. “Yes or no.”
It doesn’t sound like a question, but Brock raises a thumbs-up.
The man nods and stares at Parker, who nods. Then he looks at me. “Welcome to Titan.”
“Now, that’s done.” Brock follows the other man as they blow out of the room.
Parker lingers. “Nicely played.”
“Wasn’t playing.”
“
That’s why you have the job, kid.”
Well… fuck me. Sweet.
CHAPTER THREE
Grayson
Ground zero. I’m here. At Pops’s home—a place I'd like to watch burn down to its weed-infested plot. But I couldn’t stay away. It was a rust-bucket shithole when I was last here, but years have weathered it to the point I’m surprised it can still stand.
Even with the summer night’s breeze swaying the high grass around me, I can’t kick the apprehension that has an ironclad hold on my lungs. This trailer is poison. The man inside is my hell. I’m the one who ruined his life. But I still can’t fathom how a man can hate his son.
I blow out a harsh, uneasy breath. Since the second I left Titan Group’s headquarters, I’d wanted to call Emma. But I also want all my shit in check before I do that. After I confront my demon and get that in order, I’ll head her way and prove that I’m every bit of the future she deserves.
I square my shoulders back and climb the rickety, rotten steps. They sway under my weight, and when I knock on the door, it swings open. The stench of cheap liquor and stale pot is overwhelming. There’s a cigarette smoldering in an overfilled makeshift ashtray, and Pops is passed out on the couch.
Damn. He looks like an old man rotting away from the inside out who just suffered through a barroom brawl. His wrinkled skin is checked with gray stubble. His sunken eyes are black, and scratches color his skin. His split lip is yellow and nicotine stained as is the hand wrapped around a generic-looking beer can.
On the coffee table are several empty and semi-crushed cigarette packs, a can of dip next to an empty soda bottle used for spitting, and an almost empty pack of papers. I shake my head. Pot seeds and stems are in a sandwich bag, and there are enough fast food wrappers on the floor to give me cholesterol.
“You’re a fuckin’ mess,” I whisper under my breath.
“And you’re not welcome in my home.” He coughs, swollen eyes not opening. “Out, ’fer I call the cops.”
“Right.” I pass him and wander to my bedroom. It’s the same as when I left it three years ago. Backpack on the floor, unmade bed. An old wallet is next to my backpack, opened, with its contents strewn about. A couple of drawers in my dresser are pulled out. Guess Pops didn’t care that I was gone, but he sure wanted to know if I left any cash behind.
My head hurts from a combination of the stink and the memories, and I swipe my bag off the floor and drop to my bed. The bag is open, but there’s nothing in it that Pops could want—nothing but a couple notebooks that are worn. One makes my pulse pound. I grab it and crack it open.
A lump grows in my throat as I page through each scrawled and stopped note. My heart hurts, and I flip through the sheets of lined paper.
Hey Ems,
We need to talk. Last night went bad, and I need to see you.
X, Gray
Pages later.
Emma,
I’m not sure how many times I can try to say this, so here it is. I enlisted—like in the Army. I’m leaving Summerland in a few weeks, and what happened after Sadie Hawkins, it wasn’t supposed to happen like that.
That one note had a giant X through it, and I vividly remember sitting in senior English, contemplating whether she’d think that “wasn’t meant to happen” part was about us hooking up or about Pops walking in. I didn’t finish that note, and when I walked out of class that day and saw her, I went the opposite direction. I’m a fuckin’ moron.
I skip through the pages and can see my eighteen-year-old self trying to describe why I was running and why I couldn’t tell her I was leaving.
Finally, I’m on the last written page in the notebook.
Ems, I love you. One day I hope you understand. Yours forever, Gray
I slap the notebook shut and shove it in the bag. There’s nothing else that I need. My space in this shithouse is a stark contrast to the rest of the trailer. Other than what Pops went through, everything is orderly. There are athletic awards and trophies on the walls and equipment in the corner—football pads, baseball bats, and a collection of balls. Taped to the mirror are two pictures. One is a family portrait of the Kinglseys, except I’m in there, too. We were at a lake picnic, and I remember dreaming that they were my family.
The other is Emma. She’s not looking at the camera, and she’s wearing a shirt I’m positive she made herself. A camera is slung over her shoulder, and she’s midturn to me. I snapped it with my phone.
“What’d you do that for?”
My arm drops to my side, phone in hand. I'm not sure that I even grabbed a good shot of her. But she’s staring at me, and I just want to say, “I love you.”
“Gray?”
“Yeah?”
“The picture? Don’t do that. I look terrible.”
She looks like mine. She looks like the one I want under my arm, her hand in my hand. I want to kiss her, claim her, do so much with her… to her.
“Prettiest girl I know, Ems.” I turn around as she laughs, but I can feel her eyes burning into my back. I walk from her, shoving my phone and fists into my pockets because if I don’t, I will ruin everything this family, this girl, has given me.
Short, haggard breaths steal my attention from my memories. I take both pictures from the mirror and put them in my bag before I turn to face off with a heavy-breathing, probably dying Pops.
Standing up, he looks even worse. His skin is jaundiced. His greasy hair sticks up from his time on the couch. The beater he’s wearing is stained, and his jeans look foul.
He sneers. “That’s my shit. Don’t touch.”
“Right.” Such an asshole. I move to the closet to check for any clothes that might be worth taking.
“Said don’t touch, boy.”
Screw it. I turn to him. “You knew Emma had my baby.”
He laughs. “She tracked you down, too. Little tart showing up here, asking about you—”
Rage fills me. “She what?” I’m blinded by hatred and heartache.
Pops shrugs. “If you were interested in her, ’sume you would’ve told ’er where you were.”
Guilt floods every muscle as my body tenses. I step forward, wanting to take it out on him. “You knew?”
Shrugs again. “Nothing either of us have that’d be good for a Kinglsey baby.”
“I am good for that baby.”
He laughs, and his lungs crackle, full of crap. “Boy, yer not good for shit.”
My hands ball into fists. I’m seconds away from obliterating him. I take another step closer, and a fight he’s wanted his whole life is coming his way.
No. I shudder. Not his whole life. Only after losing my mother.
My head tilts, and I study his drunk, drugged, sad existence. The truth hits me hard. I’ve always been his burden, but… I’m not his kid.
Randall Ford isn’t my father? The idea rockets in my thoughts, clanging and bouncing over every missed father-son moment, every hatred-filled snipe. Pops doesn’t understand my intense feelings about the time I’ve lost with Cally. He never cared about me… for me. There’s no biological connection like I have with my daughter.
My boiling hatred slows to a simmer as I process our missing genetic connection. “All this time, you never said a word.”
Confusion makes his black eyes cloud. “What da fuck’s yer problem now?”
“But I was the only thing you had left of her.” The realization is mind-blowing. Slowly, I shake my head. Pieces of my life click into place. I’m… not… Randall Ford’s son. “You couldn’t let me go, and you hated that—” And just as clearly, I understand that I didn’t kill my mother. I’d known she overdosed, but I always placed the blame on myself. “She killed herself.”
“Shut up!”
“Fuck me,” I whisper, trying to handle my thoughts. Whatever pills my mom took, however she got her hands on them, it was her fault. In kindergarten, I couldn’t understand her addictions, her problems. I was taught sure as the Earth was round that I caused my mom to die. But almos
t twenty years later… I’ve had her problems in my head for so long, and now the truth seems so simple. But I couldn’t comprehend until I walked away and came back. Guilt thaws off my shoulders. “I’m done with the shames and sins you’ve put on me.”
The same as I’m done with my plan to ruin him, leaving him dead to rot in these shambles.
“You ruined my life, you mother-killing, stupid-ass—”
“No,” I growl into his face. “All these years I thought I deserved it.” My anger returns, and I could crush his skull. The pounding in my chest pushes me. I want to end him. Adrenaline’s choking me. But Emma and Cally’s faces pop into my mind. They save me, and I rasp out a deep breath, trying to calm my itch to fight. “You’re not worth it.”
Pops sways. “Son of a bitch, you—”
“I’m done.” I pull back, and with my bag in hand, I stride past him, knowing I’ll never be back again. I’m not going to touch him, not going to hurt him. I want nothing to do with Pops—no, Randall—ever again.
CHAPTER FOUR
Emma
A million boxes surround me, and I want them magically unpacked. I pivot and stare at each label, trying to decide if any one of them calls for my attention. Nope—not really. My Prince Charming had to run out for the kind of job interview that didn’t require more than a quick shower and re-dressing in the same jeans and shirt. We haven’t had time to specifically talk about the future, but it feels as if the future is here, and Grayson will be by my side. So… does he move in? And how do I explain him to Cally? Slowly. Carefully.
One call, one night can change everything. I bite my lip, nodding to myself. Whatever plan I make, it’s with Cally in mind. I want Grayson to work, but it has to be a relationship—nothing forced out of guilt and regret.
The closest box catches my attention, and I grab it, ripping the cardboard flaps open. “So, we love each other. But are we still in love?”
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