We don’t speak on the drive home, the tension between us thick. I don’t bother to turn on the radio, even though listening to the quiet sniffles coming from Grace causes an ache in my chest.
I don’t say anything to comfort her, because what the hell can I say?
Sorry your grandmother’s a crazy bitch?
Don’t listen to her?
She doesn’t know what she’s saying?
Or better yet, she doesn’t even know me, so what she’s saying is all lies?
Because that would be the lie.
That’s the irony of the whole fucking thing, the shit that crazy old lady said was all true. At least, the stuff she said about me. But she was wrong about Grace.
Grace wasn’t weak. She wasn’t trash. She wasn’t going to be scum.
She was the ocean, wild and free, with a depth that I couldn’t fathom, full of mysteries that may never be solved.
It had been a miracle that I was able to keep my cool as I stood there, listening to the vile things she said about her granddaughter. But I knew that any reaction I had would have only perpetuated the assumptions she made about me.
My blood had boiled and my jaw was now sore from keeping my teeth clenched tight so that I wouldn’t say something and make matters worse.
I had no idea how many times over her life she had heard those very words, but judging from her reaction—or lack thereof—Grace was no stranger to the abuse.
And there was no way around it, that woman was abusive, and had probably made Grace’s entire life miserable. I couldn’t understand how Grace would continue to go back for more, week in and week out.
But that was the difference between she and I.
She had more class than I ever would. And while I couldn’t understand it, I certainly admired her for it.
The moment I turned eighteen, I walked out of my mother’s ratty apartment and never looked back. I slept in my truck for more nights than I cared to remember, but even that was better than spending any more time in the presence of the woman that had given me life.
Maybe I was wrong for turning my back on her, but I just couldn’t do it another second.
Over the course of the last month, I’d almost convinced myself that I was worthy of a woman like Grace. Every time she had smiled at me, her bright blue eyes lighting as if I was the only man she had ever seen. Or when she would laugh, her whole body swaying toward me as though she had been magnetized. And when I touched her, there was no way to deny the current that ran between us.
All it had taken was ten minutes to once again plant the seed of self-doubt in my head.
It was okay. Self-doubt and I were old friends. He’d been dependable for most of my life. Always there, lingering in the back of my head. But for one month, with her at my side, I’d been able to see past it.
But now it was back with a vengeance I feared would devour me.
And in turn, devour her.
I couldn’t drive fast enough to get us home. While Grace seemed heartbroken, I was just plain fucking angry. My body was nearly vibrating. She didn’t deserve my fury, I was well aware of that, but I feared if I didn’t get her home, and soon, our entire relationship might fall casualty to the explosion brewing inside me.
It was a good thing that Grace didn’t say anything, try to hold my hand, or worse yet, apologize for something that she held no responsibility in.
When I pull up in front of Grace’s house, I turn the engine off, push the door open, and climb out. Even though I’m eager to get away from her, I still come around to her side and open her door.
While wiping her nose with a tissue, she manages to slide out of the car, one dainty leg at a time, pure class and, well, grace. Christ—this woman.
“Thank you,” she says, peering up at me through wet lashes.
My breath leaves me in a whoosh, as though she’s just punched me in the gut.
Her cheeks are pink and streaked with tears, but it’s her baby-blue irises that pack the hardest blow. The vast sadness in her eyes, the same look that she’d had on the first day we met is back, and my heart twists seeing it.
I want to say something to make her smile, something that will allow me to hear that musical laugh that somehow soothes the constant ache inside me, but there’s nothing that I could possibly say, so I don’t even try.
Clearing my throat, I catch her arm and pull her into me. “I’ve got to go,” I murmur into her hair.
Her shoulders tense and a pang of guilt hits me. I should man the fuck up and stay with her, putting my own needs aside.
But I can’t. In true Bronnson Williams form, I need to escape.
From her.
From reality.
From the entire fucking world that seems so determined to suffocate me.
“I’ll call you later.” I press a kiss to the top of her head and then set her away from me, turning and stalking to my truck without looking back.
Only, with my mind screaming for me to go back to her, to take her in my arms and prove that her grandmother had been wrong, and for her to assure me that she already knew that, it didn’t feel like an escape at all.
I drive around aimlessly for over an hour, alternating between ranting, raging, and losing myself in the dark recesses of my mind. Eventually, I find myself back at home. It should have been my safe haven, but my anger finally bubbles out the moment I step foot on the deck of my boat. I slam the door so hard the boat tilts damn near forty-five degrees. I waste no time grabbing a beer from the fridge and downing it in three swallows before turning and launching it across the tiny room.
Lucky for me, it lands on the bed and doesn’t shatter, only bouncing across the comforter before coming to a rest on my pillow. I laugh out loud at that, the irony of not even being able to break something when I wanted to.
I know I’m acting like a little bitch. But, fuck, it was as if Grace’s grandmother had the superpower to search through my soul, find my little red self-destruct button, and then tap dance all over it.
I hate that I’d allowed her to get to me as much as she had. Any kind of decent man would be off taking care of his woman after a shit show like that. But, nope, I’m at home lying in bed staring up that the ceiling and licking my wounds.
Hell, maybe it’s better this way. Maybe now Grace will finally see who I truly am and give up on me once and for all.
A knock on the door startles me out of my pity party, and I turn just in time to see Grace’s perfect face peek around the door.
“Anyone home?” she calls timidly, her fingers wrapped around the wood.
With a heavy sigh, I motion for her to come in. Tipping up my second bottle, I drain the last of my beer before dropping it into the overflowing trashcan by my bed.
Grace slips inside, shutting the door gently behind her, and I swear I hear it breathe a sigh of thanks after the beating I put on it earlier.
“Hey,” she says quietly.
“Hey,” I rumble, scratching the back of my head and allowing my eyes to sweep over her.
Her tan legs draw my gaze up to a tiny pair of white shorts, and her flat stomach peeks out at me from under the bottom of her light-blue crop top. Her face is scrubbed clean of makeup, although her nose is still pink from the hours she’d spent crying on the ride home. With her hair piled on top of her head, she looks more like a girl than the woman I’d left at her house a few hours ago.
This is the Grace I love.
And fuck me if that realization didn’t hit me right in the gut.
“What are you doing here?” I groan, not bothering to stand from my position on the bed.
She takes a tentative step into the room, shoving her hands in her pockets. “I came to apologize.”
“For what?” I ask gruffly.
She hesitates, freezing in place.
I know how it sounded, but I don’t bother apologizing for it.
“For everything. For asking you to go with me. For just standing there and letting her say that stuff to you. For not being stronger and crying all the way home.”
My chin jerks to the side. Of all the things she could have said, this wasn’t what I was expecting.
“You’re shitting me, right?”
“What?” Her brows drawn together, she drops her eyes to where her foot slides in and out of her flip-flop.
“You’re apologizing for what that old bat said, like you put those words in her mouth?” I push off the bed and stalk over to her.
“I shouldn’t—“
“Apologize. You shouldn’t apologize.”
Her gaze lifts to meet mine and her lips part. Before she can say another word that will just cause the anger from earlier to return, I continue, “Today wasn’t your fault. None of it. You have nothing to apologize for, so don’t.”
Her body leans toward mine, but I take a step back, not wanting the contact. If she touches me, I know I’ll cave and won’t be able to do what needs to be done.
“Bronn…” She breathes and I shake my head.
“What are you doing with me?” I ask honestly. Throwing my arms wide, my voice rises. “Look around you.”
I take a moment to follow my own advice, taking in my surroundings. My sink is overflowing with dirty dishes, the trashcan full of empty beer bottles, the furnishings nothing more than secondhand rejects. The bachelor excuse was a tired one, and no real explanation for the state of my “home,” if this boat could even be called that.
I should be ashamed of myself, of the way I’ve been living. Self-loathing had become an intricate part of my personality, but since meeting Grace it had taken a back seat and I’d been happy to see it go. But after meeting her grandmother today, and having everything I’d ever been told about myself confirmed in the matter of minutes, it was back in full force.
“You deserve more than this.”
She takes another step toward me. “This? Maybe. But that doesn’t mean I deserve more than you.”
I clench my jaw. “Don’t act like this is more than a summer romp with the local bad boy before you run back to your rich boyfriend.”
Her face darkens and she gestures back and forth between us. “Is that what this is to you? What I am to you? A fucking fling?”
I scoff. “Come on, baby, don’t pretend that this is anything more than what it really is.”
Her fists go to her hips and she scowls, “Oh, and what exactly is this then?”
The attitude she throws at me is actually kind of cute, and if I were doing anything other than ending things with her I may have smiled. But my lips remain firmly set in a thin line as dread pools in my stomach. Every word slashes through me like a rusty blade, but that’s going to be nothing compared to the way it would feel when she finally walks away.
“A good time. A really fucking good time. That’s what this was. But what happens six months from now when you get sick of your stroll on the wild side and head back to all the stuffy suits in Columbia?”
Her eyes squeeze shut and her chest rises and falls rapidly for a moment before her lids pop open and she presses her lips together. “Maybe you’re right. Because all those stuffy suits in Columbia never once made me feel cheap like you just did.”
With a curt nod, she turns on her heel and marches out of my house and out of my life.
I ignore the ache in my chest and the burning in my lungs. This is a good thing, despite the way my body is screaming for me to stop her.
I didn’t lie to her. Grace is a good time. The kind any man—and especially me—would wage wars to hold on to.
Grace Monroe is a good time, but she isn’t meant to be my lifetime.