Take Me with You (Take Me #2)(79)

My feet mechanically carried me down the stairs and out to the beach. Grant had his shoes off. His feet were buried in the sand, and water lapped at his ankles. His eyes were set on the horizon. He didn’t move at my approach, but by the set of his shoulders, I knew that he was aware I was nearby.

“You think I should forgive him?” Grant said finally after a few minutes.

“No.”

“But you believe them—my dad and uncle—you believe they’re telling the truth.”

“I think they have good intentions, and I’m a pretty good judge of character,” I told him.

He brought his hands out in front of him and was studying them as if they held the answer to his question. “What do I do, Ari? I can’t f*cking pretend like nothing happened.”

“No one is asking you to.”

“Aren’t they?” he asked, turning his head to look at me. “By wanting me to talk to him, aren’t they asking me to forget about the blood on his hands?”

“No. You can’t pretend as if nothing happened. That’s not possible. What you have to find is acceptance. You know what happened. He knows what happened. You can’t change the past, but you’re being given an opportunity here.” My throat tightened, and I barely managed to choke out the last line, “A second chance.”

“What if I don’t want a second chance?”

“That’s a decision you have to make, I guess. But look down the road—five, ten, twenty years—will you regret never getting to know your father?”

I waited for him to answer. The sound of the waves crashing onto the shore was the only music for our moment.

“If even an infinitesimally small part of you considers that could be the case, then I believe you have your answer.”

Grant stuffed both of his hands in his pockets and swished his feet around in the water.

“And what if everything you think you know about him is a lie? What if he’s really put all this effort into changing for the better, and you let the opportunity to get to know a changed man slip by? It’s been a long time since you’ve seen him. If you can change as much as you have in the past six months with me, it’s not inconceivable to think he’s changed in thirteen years.”

“Okay, I get it. I get it.”

He held his hand out, and I gently placed mine in his. He walked out of the water toward me. His mouth dropped down onto mine as if he were trying to make sure I was still real. It was hypnotizing and could easily sidetrack our conversation.

“So, what are you going to do?” I asked after breaking away from him.

His eyes left mine as he contemplated my question. “Kiss you.”

And he did.

It was full of love and fear and desire. The kiss said how much he appreciated me, and it said so much more than that. He wrapped our hands behind my back, crushing me against him. We could stand here all night, locked in this endless dance, but I knew he was stalling.

Finally, I breathlessly pulled away from him.

“Grant,” I murmured.

“I don’t know, Princess. I know I should say that I’ll talk to him, but I can’t say that right now. I held a gun and pointed it at his chest today, and it felt right, natural.” He rested his forehead against mine and closed his eyes. “I won’t know if I’ll be able to move past that unless I talk to him, but a part of me doesn’t want to see him as anything but a villain.”

I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t fix this. I couldn’t put it back together. No matter how hard I tried, no amount of pushing or prodding would get Grant to change his mind. He needed to see it in himself that this was something good for him.

It wouldn’t happen tonight and probably not tomorrow or the day after either but maybe one day. And that was good enough for me right now.

The sound of footsteps trudging through the sand from the direction of the restaurant drew my attention. The light from the deck silhouetted the figure in the darkness, and I didn’t recognize who it was until she was practically on top of us.

“There you f*ckers are!” Sydney said.

“Syd,” Grant said, cracking his first smile of the evening. “What the f*ck are you wearing?”

That was a valid question. She was in hot-pink string bikini bottoms and a sheer crop top over a black bra. Her dark hair was long and wild and free in a way I could never, ever pull off.

“I came from a pool party with some guys from high school.”

“Do I even want to know?”

“How many guys I blew?” she asked, giggling. “No, probably not.”

Sometimes, I swore, Sydney said these kinds of things for shock factor.

“Dad said y’all were down here and sent me to check on you,” she said, slipping into some kind of fake twang at the use of the Southern word.

Grant cringed at the reminder of his uncle, and I reached for his hand to comfort him.

“Fuck. What’s going on? What did I miss?” she asked.

I looked at Grant to see if it was okay to tell her, but he launched right into the whole story from start to finish. Sydney’s mouth dropped open about halfway through, and it was one of the few times I’d ever seen her actually look shocked. Normally, she just looked pouty in a sexual way or smug or seductive. It was as if she was always trying to appear a certain way. I had no clue if that was natural for her. I’d never been a relentless flirt…or a whore—a title that she didn’t even seem to mind.