Beyond What is Given(39)

I wandered into the tiny gift shop while I waited for my flight and passed a Kitty Hawk deck of cards. Josh was right, too, I needed to lay my shit out in front of her and let her decide. As terrified as I was of letting her see that I was nowhere good enough for her, she deserved the truth.

I bought the cards.



The gym was busy as I walked in at four thirty p.m. I’d driven like a bat out of hell to get here before her shift ended. At least here, she couldn’t run away from me.

Her eyes were puffy and had dark circles under them as she leaned over a math book with Avery. Shit. I’d been the reason she’d been crying. Like she didn’t have enough going on already. I leaned on the counter and waited for her to notice.

“What do you want, Grayson?” she asked, her voice tired.

“I’m not good for you.”

“So you keep saying.” She smiled as a high-school boy signed in.

“That’s my cue to leave,” Avery drawled, and practically ran.

“Sam.” I fiddled with the card in my hand.

“What could you possibly want that couldn’t wait?”

“You.” She sucked in her breath, and I forged ahead. “You once asked me what you did to get past the mistakes. The stuff that keeps you up at night and leaves you nauseous in the morning?”

She nodded her head. “Yeah, well, I’m not exactly an angel, right? Is she? Your Grace? Is she as perfect as you no doubt need her to be? Because, honestly, I don’t see you with an imperfect person. You’re too good for that, or I thought you were. All this time I’ve thought I was the one too damaged for you, and yet you’re the one kissing me while she’s waiting for you.”

“Can’t you stop talking for a second?”

Her mouth snapped shut.

“Thank you. I told you that I understood that kind of mistake, like the one you’re running from, and yes, you ran five states away from it, don’t argue. I understood that choice because I’ve done something that I still can’t recover from.” The wariness in her eyes killed me. I wanted the trust back, the ease between us. I would forsake kissing her for the rest of my life if I could get the trust back. Yeah, you know what she tastes like now, so try and keep your hands off her, you liar.

“What could you have possibly done that’s so bad?” she scoffed, and turned to dismiss me.

I grabbed her wrist, careful not to bruise her skin, and put the ace of spades into her palm, face up. “I’m responsible for what happened to Grace. I killed the woman I loved.”





Chapter Thirteen


Sam


Seriously? He gave me a f*cking card, declared himself a murderer, and then walked away? I pulled the e-brake in the driveway and tried to compose myself. He couldn’t have really meant it. They didn’t let murderers into the army, and he’d clearly been going to visit someone.

And I’d bet my life that Grayson wasn’t any kind of murderer.

I opened the door and put my keys next to his in the dish on the entry table, and then hung my purse in the hall closet. The house smelled like…steak? “Grayson?”

“Kitchen,” he called out. Of course he was.

“Hey,” I said softly from across the half wall.

He pulled sweet potatoes out of the oven and then turned toward me. “Hey.”

“Um. What are you cooking?”

“Sunday family dinner,” he answered with a raised eyebrow like he hadn’t dropped a bombshell on me an hour and a half ago. “Wash up, it’s on the table in five.”

“Where are Josh and Jagger?”

“They made themselves scarce,” he responded with a shake of his head, like it hadn’t been his decision. “Are you scared to be alone with me now?”

I shook my head. “Of course not. I saw two plates.”

He exhaled and closed his eyes in obvious relief. “Right.”

“I’ll be right back,” I said, then ran upstairs. I changed out of my work clothes, throwing on cargo capris and a soft, fitted tee. “Don’t freak out. You can do this.” Great, I was seriously pep-talking myself in the mirror.

“You ready?” Grayson asked, holding out my chair as I came back into the dining room.

I took a seat, and he took his on the corner next to mine. He laid out green beans, sweet potatoes heaped with marshmallows, and a succulent steak. My stomach growled, reminding me that I hadn’t given it a decent meal that wasn’t out of a processed bag since Friday. “Thank you for cooking dinner.”

“Well, it’s Sunday. It was a little harder since nothing is quite where I left it,” he said with a half smirk that still sent a jolt through my core. My body apparently didn’t care that he had a girlfriend…or had killed her.

“I rearranged. Want a beer?” I asked, hopping up to get to the fridge. I did. Or a shot of tequila, whatever would help me through what was going to happen next.

“Nope. Not tonight.”

“Well, I’m having one.” Or fourteen. Whatever. I popped the top and took my seat, digging into my food as he was.

We ate in silence, both looking up at each other at intervals, and neither of us brave enough to say the first word. But it had to be spoken, right? You didn’t just declare yourself a murderer and then…ignore it.