Chapter Seventeen

Middle of a Memory

Grayson

After breakfast with the entire fucking family, I needed to get the hell out of there. I fucking hate that man, and if there was a stronger word than hate, I would use it on him.

I had no idea where I was going to go when Mags asked me if I wouldn’t mind grabbing her serving set that she forgot at the bar.

Not going to say I wasn’t a little worried Mandee might get the wrong idea about this little secret of ours, what with the fucking flowers and coffee this morning, which I regretted immediately after walking out of Phoenix’s and locking the door behind me, until I saw her at the window. Now the regret in showing up here, for Mags, is gone at hearing her moan as she eats cake.

“Good morning, Grayson Falcon.” Pearl smiles.

“Thanks for the dance last night, Miss Pearl.” I wink.

“Second best dance partner I’ve ever had,” she tells me.

I try to focus on her, but I see Mandee straightening in her stool. That thick, rich chocolate hair hanging down not only looks soft, but I know damn well how it feels in my hands, against my body. I want to wrap it around my hand...again.

“So, he dances and sings?” Janice looks at me and smiles.

Mandee still hasn’t said a word.

“Mags said something about a cake serving set?”

“I think it’s in the dining room.” Janice looks at Pearl. “Come help me find it?”

“We’ll have it out on the bar,” Pearl calls behind her as they exit the kitchen.

I look back and watch them walk away. Then I walk over, grab a stool, and drag it behind me slowly toward where Mandee, who has yet to turn around, is sitting. Don’t know why, but watching her grow more and more tense does something to me.

When I sit down, she glances over then looks down at her cake.

“Is it still as good as it looked last night?” I ask.

She nods and swallows before saying, “It’s delicious. Would you like a piece?”

When she starts to stand, I put my hand on her knee, stopping her. “I’m not sure.”

“No?” Her voice quivers a bit.

“Looking at it, I want more,” I say, allowing my hand to rise up her knee a little. “Just not sure I could take one little taste and not need to bury my face in it.”

Her face flushes and her eyes widen as I travel up farther.

“Fucking love the taste of cake, Mandee.”

She swallows hard and raises a finger that has frosting on it. “It’s really good.”

I use my free hand to pull it toward me then lick the frosting. “It is really good.” Then I suck on her finger.

Her mouth opens and shuts a few times as I swipe my finger across the cake then hold it up to her mouth.

“Fucking loved your lips wrapped around my coc—shit.”

“I’m sorry. Oh God, I am so sorry,” she says after unclamping her teeth from my finger. I can’t help laughing as she starts kissing it. “I bit your finger.” She blushes as she smiles and laughs, too.

“You must be hungry,” I say, pushing her hair away so I can see her face, knowing I like the way she looks when she tries to hide.

“Yeah, story of my life.” She rolls those big, brown doe eyes at me.

“Mine, too,” I admit.

She laughs. “What?”

“I have an unreasonable affliction for chocolate,” I tell her. “Makes everything better.”

She smiles and holds up a forkful. “Then, by all means, eat and don’t stop until you, too, have love handles.”

I run my hand up the outside of her shorts as I take a bite and give her waist a squeeze. “Really like having this to grip while fucking—”

I stop when her eyes widen in either terror or shock. Not sure which, but after I swallow down the cake, I take the fork and load it up, holding it to her mouth. “It’s sexy as fuck, Mandee. Christ, eat cake.” I shove it in her mouth then lean forward and lick the frosting off her lips. Then I kiss her quickly, because I fucking like kissing her, too.

I force myself to stop and stand up. “What time you free tonight?”

“We close at nine,” she answers.

“Good. You grab two pieces of that when you leave, and I’m gonna make a meal out of you at nine fifteen.”

Her mouth and eyes widen in sync before I turn and walk out the door, leaving her just like that.

Fucking hot.

I spend the day avoiding him and everyone else who may catch on to what I am doing. I fucking hate that Gage looks at the man like he’s a fucking saint, and I hate that Garrett is trying his best to do the same.

What I hate the most is Mom looking at him like she wants everything his fucking disgusting divulgences in young ass caused to just be ignored. Why? Why the fuck would she want that?

“Everything okay, my boy?” Mags asks, sitting next to me at the picnic table by the lake. “You’ve looked ready to fly for a couple days now.”

“I’m good, Mags.” I nod.

“You know my listening ears are always available,” she tells me, squeezing my hand.

I squeeze it back. “Sure do.”

“Uncle Gray, wanna play?” Brand asks, carrying my guitar up to me.

Mags laughs as I turn toward him. “The question is: do you want to play?”

“Yeah,” he says, looking around then leaning in. “I kissed Bell Steel at Mom and Dad’s wedding.”

I shake my head. “Now, how’d I miss that?”

“You were looking at Mandee,” he whispers, and I lean back and look at him. “She’s pretty”—he shrugs—“like Bell.”

Fuck, I think as I take a deep breath and try to figure out how the fuck to explain away me looking at Mandee.

“The song was like this.” He starts to sing, “In the middle of a dance floor, all alone. In the middle of a...something country song?”

Silence. Complete silence all around us.

“Damn, Brand.” I smile. “You can sing.”

He shrugs and silently huffs, “Yeah, so can Dad and you. I wanna learn that song on Glory.”

“Yeah?” I ask, smiling because I remember being a little older than him when I got my first guitar and being that excited about making sense of the strings. I didn’t have someone to teach me, and I’m not sure I’m a good teacher, being self-taught and all, but I sure as hell am going to try. It will give him a place to hide when he realizes just how fucked up life is. “Well then, I’ll teach you.”

He smiles really big as he grabs the guitar and runs toward the dock.

I stop when Mags clears her throat and turn to look at her.

“Pretty girl?” she asks.

I know she overheard his whisper.

Instead of answering, I do what I do. I bend down and kiss the top of her head. “You sure are, Mags.” Then I turn and follow my nephew as she laughs.

Brand and I sit on the end of the dock, him between my legs, feet in the water, as I teach him some of the chords and the words to the song. We get lost in the music.

When Gage walks down the dock and taps me on the shoulder, I look up.

“Hey, Brand, it’s getting dark and the mosquitos are starting to bite; you ready to head in?”

“It’s early, Da—” He stops and shakes his head. “Gage.”

It must hurt like hell for Gage to not only have found out he wasn’t Brandon’s father, but to now know his brother is, and that our mother knew all along and didn’t do shit to protect him.

“Come on, little man.” Gage laughs, but I see it in his eyes. “We have ten days till your mom and dad get back from their trip, and you and I got things to do bright and early every day until then.”

“Build?” Brand asks with excitement in his voice.

“Yeah, Brand, build.” Gage smiles.

“Can we play tomorrow night?” he asks me.

“Sure, Brand.” I nod as I set the guitar on the side of the dock and help him up.

When they walk away, hand in hand, I look over to see Mom watching them, her hand over her heart. Now I know why she did it. I get it. She hoped this day would come, I’m sure of it.

Then I see my father looking at Gage, and I wonder what the motherfucker is thinking. If he was a normal man, he would be thinking how he wished he could be half as good as Gage. But he’s not. Fucker.

I look at my phone and see it’s already after nine. “Son of a bitch.”

As I walk up the dock, I look for a place to get around them all.

“Grayson,” Mom says, stopping my escape.

I walk over because, if I don’t, someone will take notice and ask fucking questions.

“You really should consider what Xavier Steel has offered you,” she says, taking my hand. “You have a beautiful gift. Even Brand can see that.”

“No spotlight for me,” I tell her.

“I agree,” my father interjects. “Falcons don’t need all that, Gail.”

“Well, I disagree,” she counters, and I look at him smugly. “My sons soar when they find their passion. Look around at what Gage has built. It’s not city buildings or upscale homes he loves, it’s this place here.”

“Don’t kid yourself, Gail.” My father follows his slam with a forced chuckle. “His home is upscale. The cabins may not be, but he doesn’t live in one of those.”

She turns away from him and looks at me, squeezes my hand, and smiles. “You follow your dreams. If they lead you to a stage, take it.”