Junk Mail(48)

“I told you I was pulling myself back from the project to show you how much I believed in her product,” I say, trying to wrestle my temper back under control. “That I was so sure her boxes would be a success that I was willing to bet my relationship with her on it.”

Brody goes wide-eyed, like this is the first time he’s heard any of this. “Shit, dude, my bad. I misunderstood. I guess I had some serious Swiss-cheese brain going on with all the craziness of the launch.”

I have about a hundred insults ready to hurl his way about having no brain at all, but the bartender interrupts by delivering my beer. Just in the nick of time. I guess there’s no point losing my cool with Brody anyway. He may be clueless, but it’s not like he was trying to fuck things up for me.

I take a long swig, hoping the beer will drown my anger. “Well, I guess that’s that,” I mutter, wiping my mouth with the side of my hand. “One stupid miscommunication, and I’ve lost the woman I love.”

Brody recoils at my word choice. “Whoa, man. You’re really using the L-word on this girl?”

Shit, did I really just say that I love her? I hadn’t even thought it through all the way. The words just kinda came out.

I suck in a long, slow inhale, trying to make sense of all the emotions racing through my skull. I haven’t said that word out loud in a long time. And maybe it’s a bit fast. But when you get that buzzing feeling deep in your chest, you can’t just ignore it. And every time I think about Peyton, that’s what I feel.

“Yeah. I think I am. No . . . I know I am. I love Peyton. And I’ve got to find a way to get her back.”

Damn, it feels good to say that out loud.

A smile threatens the corner of Brody’s mouth. “Damn. All right. Go get her, man. Do you have a plan or anything?”

I shake my head. “Nope. But I know that you owe me one. So you’re gonna help me.”

“Me? How the hell am I supposed to help?” Brody laughs. “My permanently single ass doesn’t know a damn thing about winning over women.”

Damn. He’s right. As much as I’d like him to get me out of this bullshit he launched me into, I don’t think he’s the solution. I’m going to need the help of someone with more relationship know-how, someone who knows Peyton like the back of their hand.

And then it hits me. I’m going to need to get Gram on my side.

I snap my fingers. “I’ve got it. I know what I have to do.”

Glancing at my watch, I realize I don’t have much time if I want to do something about it tonight. It’s already getting late. But if the past few weeks are any indication, I won’t be sleeping tonight unless I take some action.

After slamming what’s left of my beer, I jump to my feet. “I’ve got a phone call to make. Cool if I bounce?”

Brody waves me off toward the door. “Of course. I got the tab.” He snickers, suppressing a smile. “Least I can do, right?”

I’m hardly out the door when I start scrolling through my missed calls, hoping for a miracle. I’m sure that Peyton has called me from Gram’s phone once before when hers was dead.

Bingo. A number with the same area code as Peyton’s. I cross my fingers and hit the CALL button.

“Hello?”

Yup. That’s Gram.

I clear my throat, suddenly realizing I haven’t thought through what I was going to say. “Um, hi, Gram. I mean, Mrs. . . . Gram. It’s Josh.”

The line is quiet for a second, and I’m worried I crossed a line by calling her. But then her usual spirited tone returns to the call, slightly quieter than before.

“You can call me Gram, sweetie. That’s just fine. It’s good to hear from you. What can I do for you?”

Slipping into my car for a little privacy, I give her the abridged version of my side of the story. She’s probably gotten an earful from her granddaughter about what an asshole I am. And based on what Brody said to Peyton when I backed off the project, I deserve to be called every name in the book.

Gram doesn’t have much reason to believe me when I tell her that this was all a misunderstanding, but I’ve got all my fingers and toes crossed that she’ll hear me out on this. When I realize I’ve been rambling for a minute straight, I catch my breath and cut to the chase.

“Long story short, I just want to know if she’s okay,” I say, “and if I stand a chance at a second shot with her. Unless she’s already, you know, found someone new.”

Gram’s quiet again. Damn it. She’s probably trying to figure out how to break the news of Peyton’s much hotter, much nicer boyfriend who has entered the picture.

Fuck. I drag a hand through my hair, trying to hold the phone far enough from me that Gram won’t hear my heartbeat pounding in my chest.

And then she breaks the silence with two sentences that lift the weight of nearly a full month of sleepless nights from my shoulders.

“She’s okay. There’s no one else.”

I take in a huge deep breath, my first one since I hit that CALL button. “Thank God.” I sigh, which gets a soft giggle out of Gram.

“But listen,” she says, her tone suddenly hushed. “I don’t think we should have this conversation on the phone. Not with . . . I don’t live alone, as you may recall.”