CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Mia
The past, six months ago…
Grayson and I don’t speak on the drive from the cemetery to the Long Island mansion that is our destination. When we arrive, he doesn’t reach for the panel to key in the code. His hands grip the steering wheel, and I know why. While his father was rarely here in the Hamptons, this was his house. Now it’s Grayson’s, and I feel the punch in my heart with this knowledge.
“Fuck,” he whispers, and when I reach for him, he pulls me to him and kisses me, like I’m breathing life into him, like I’m why he can move forward.
He releases me and rolls down the window, keying in the code. The gate opens and he maneuvers us past it and down the half-moon-shaped drive. We park in the garage, and when he kills the engine, we just sit there in the tiny space, neither of us wanting to move. “He was never here and yet somehow walking into this house, without him being here, makes this all so damn real.”
“Because it’s a piece of him. It’s a part of your life you shared with him. What are you doing about his apartment in the city?”
“I made arrangements. I have a service packing up everything and putting it in storage. I can’t go through it now. I need time and I need to sell the place.” He laughs bitterly. “He’d be furious if I left it sitting there, creating a useless a tax bill.”
“He really would,” I say, giving him a sad smile. “I can help you go through everything.”
He looks over at me. “I need you to help me, Mia.”
“Then I will.”
He lowers his chin to his chest and draws a deep breath before he opens the door and gets out. By the time I’m out of the car, his fingers are tunneling into my hair and he’s pulling me against him. Somehow the door gets shut and I’m against it. And right there, in the garage, next to his father’s Mercedes, we’re all over each other. It’s like an explosion of everything all at once; anger, passion, love, pain, heartache of so many varieties.
My skirt is at my waist, his hand on my bare backside, fingers under the strip of satin running down the center. My hands are under his jacket, at his waistband. He shrugs out of the confines of his jacket and then it happens. We fuck. His pants are shoved down and my panties never come off, but they too, are just shoved away. My leg is at his hip and he presses inside me and I gasp, even as he shackles my backside and lifts me off the ground. My back is against the Porsche, and in a crazy, frenzied rush we pump, grind, and just plain fuck. Only fucking isn’t even the right word. We need. We take. He needs more than I do and I just need to help him sate the pain.
When it’s over, he all but collapses on top of me, but still, he’s so damn strong that he holds me up. He carries me just like that, into the house, and to a small bathroom off the garage entrance, and once I’m on the sink and we’re put back together, he cups my face. “Let’s go to the lighthouse,” he whispers.
I look down at my high heels. “I need to get rid of these.”
“Your things are still in the closet.”
My lashes lower, a punch of emotion in my chest. My things. He kept my things. He strokes my cheek. “Where they belong, Mia.” He doesn’t give me time to argue, taking my hand and guiding me through the house, but I wouldn’t argue anyway. With this man is where I’ve belonged since the moment I met him. Every moment apart has felt wrong, and I refused to let myself think about why I left. I won’t. Not now. I wish never.
We enter his bedroom, our bedroom until I left because we were here every weekend, and he doesn’t stop until we’re standing in an enormous, fancy, dressing room closet. He stands me in front of my row of clothes, him at my back, his hands on my shoulders. I stare at my things, at the way they hang next to his, and emotions assail me.
Grayson releases me and we dress, our eyes holding almost the entire time, neither of us looking at our naked bodies. Once we’re both in sweats and sneakers, as well as hoodies, we head to the beach. Hand and hand, we walk to the lighthouse and side by side, in a lounge chair we share, we watch the sun set over the ocean. When finally we speak, it’s of his father. We talk about him, just him.
***
Grayson and I spend two days holed up in the mansion. We don’t leave. We don’t talk about us. Not the broken part of us. We do a lot of remembering the good parts of us. We make love. God, how we make love. We speak in those unspoken ways and I don’t ever want to leave him again. But Saturday night arrives, and with it, the reality of a return to the city and my job with Ri’s company with it. Grayson and I are in the bed, both in sweats and tees, and I’m lying on his chest while we watch Tombstone, one of his dad’s favorite movies, when he suddenly hits mute and rolls us to lay face to face.
“We’re out of time. I don’t want this hanging over us tomorrow. I have to go back to the city tomorrow night.”
“Me, too.”
“We go back together.”
“Yes,” I say. I don’t even hesitate. “Together.” He strokes hair from my face and I can sense he needs to say more, but I suspect he just doesn’t have that in him right now. “Are you hungry?”
“Yes. You?”
“Yes. Pizza or Chinese?”
“Pizza. You know I love the pizza we get here.”
“Yes, Mia. I do know you love it.”
He says it like it’s so much more than pizza. And it is. The way he knows me is everything. He reaches across from me and grabs his phone. He orders the pizza, drops the phone on the bed, and then stands up and heads to the bathroom. His phone buzzes with one of the million text messages he’s gotten this weekend and I look down, and I don’t mean to, but I read the message.
I pant out a breath and sit up, holding my stomach, tears welling in my eyes. My God. I’m such a fool. I have to leave. I scoot off the bed and Grayson’s phone starts ringing. I grab my sneakers off the floor and call out, “Your cell is ringing,” before I disappear into the hallway. I collapse against the wall and swipe at my tears. I hate him. I love him so damn much. I have to get out of here. I dart for the living room, grab my purse and exit beachside, where I start running what will be miles of beach to reach a spot where I can catch an Uber. It’s time to leave Grayson and our lighthouse behind.