Worth the Risk(81)

“Not yet. We’re almost ready to announce the top five,” I say and give him a wink. “Then the voting for that round will start soon after . . . and then we’ll be done. We’ll have a winner.”

“He’s gonna win,” Luke says right before his hand finds mine as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Chief takes notice of the action but doesn’t say anything about it.

“I think he’s gonna win, too,” I whisper. “But I’m not allowed to say things like that.”

Chief and I hold each other’s gazes for a brief but awkward moment as questions flicker through his eyes but don’t manifest on his lips.

“Are you ready to head out, Luke-ster?” Chief asks.

“Poppy is taking me to the car races in Millville.”

“Car races, huh?” My voice breaks. He definitely is not sick.

“They even have a demolition derby.” There is so much excitement in Luke’s voice that I manage a halfway genuine smile in response.

“It’s something we do once a month,” Chief says.

“It’s our thing.” Luke gives a nonchalant shrug and drops my hand.

“It’s very cool.” I hold the smile as I look from Luke to Chief. “It was very nice to meet you.”

“Likewise. Tell your father hi for me.”

“I will.”

“Gray’s out back. I’ll assume you know where to go.” He points through the house to the back door and then walks down the pathway, Luke following on his heels. I enter and shut the door behind me.

I stand there and take in a deep breath.

I will not cry.

I repeat the words to myself as I walk through the familiar living room. Past the signs of a life well lived—photos of the two of them here and there, a half-built tower of Legos on the floor. Past dishes drying in the rack beside the sink—a coffee cup half-filled, an apple half-eaten.

After setting the bag of food on the counter, I stand there for the briefest of seconds to gather my scattered thoughts currently tinged by hurt.

I should just leave.

Grayson’s made it clear he’s done with me—the lies say that.

I should stay.

I want to go out there and confront him because he has no right to make me . . . want something, only to slam the door in my face.

The sound of the lawnmower pulls me to the back door when every part of my pride tells me I shouldn’t be where I’m not wanted.

When I open it, my breath catches. There is Grayson, shirtless, sweaty, and pushing the lawnmower from one side of the yard to the other. He moves slowly over the small patch of grass, his biceps flexing with each turn of the corner.

Domesticity has never been sexier.

The sight of him has never been more painful.

Eventually, he notices me, but even after he does, he keeps going until he’s finished with the yard.

“Hi.”

“Hey.” Head down, eyes focused on cleaning the mower.

“You aren’t working at the station,” I finally say, when he doesn’t say anything more.

“Nope.”

Okay. What’s going on here?

“You haven’t answered my texts, so I thought maybe you were on shift.”

“Nope. Just busy.”

I hate the dread that slowly trickles into my belly. He isn’t looking at me. He’s not really talking to me.

“Looks like Luke made a full recovery.” Now that? That puts a hitch in his step, but he still doesn’t say anything more. “You lied to me, Grayson. Luke said he hasn’t been sick.”

He grunts in response but still refuses to look my way as he fiddles with this and that on the lawnmower.

“Have I done something wrong?”

“Nothing you can help.”

He hoses off the mower and moves it to a shed in the far corner of the yard, then rolls the trashcans to the side of the house without another word.

I try not to take it personally. I try not to overthink what exactly has caused this shift in him—that he’s done with me and has moved on to the next person in line. When he finally walks my way, I try to engage him again.

Things just aren’t adding up, and every single one of them is making my stomach churn and chest constrict.

“I saw you the other day.”

His steps falter. “I see you a lot of days.”

“But you saw me and acted like you didn’t.” It’s stupid to be hurt by it, but I am. I had spent all afternoon talking to Zoey about him, acknowledged out loud for the first time that I had feelings for him. Then when I waved to him, hoping he would come out so I could introduce him to Zoey, he looked at me as if I had done something to him or, even worse, as if he didn’t even know me, and damn it if it didn’t really hurt my feelings.

His only response is to grunt again.

“Did I do something wrong, Grayson?”

“Nope.”

Sick of being ignored, I walk over to where he is busying himself snapping cushions onto the chairs of the patio furniture. “What’s your problem?”

For the first time, he straightens and turns to look at me. I see confusion. Hurt. Uncertainty. And when he speaks, his voice is a low, even tone. “You just reminded me of someone I used to know.”

Past tense? Reminded?