I stand on the dock, hands on my knees, chest heaving as I swallow hard, forcing back the nausea that threatens to overwhelm me.
Did Bronn just break up with me?
My eyes begin to water and I let out a frustrated laugh. I’ve cried enough for one day, I don’t want to do it again.
Standing upright, I suck in a deep breath and count to ten before slowly releasing it. A technique I started using as a child when Nana would get mad at me for something stupid and then punish me for crying about it.
I rush to the parking lot, intent on getting away from Bronn as quickly as possible. Naively, I hope that the distance between us will ease the ache that’s bloomed in my chest.
My hands shake and it takes two tries to get the car door open, but the effort is wasted, because I don’t climb inside. After a moment’s deliberation, I slam it and turn on my heel, stomping back to the boat.
I don’t even knock as I sling the door open.
“Bullshit!” I shout, kicking the door shut behind me.
Scanning the room, I see that Bronn is still standing in the same place he was when I walked out. His jaw is slack, his face pale, and I know that I’ve caught him by surprise. Using that to my advantage, I stomp over to stand directly in front of him and continue to shout.
“You think you know me?” I wave my arms wildly, nearly hitting him. “You think that because I drive a nice car, wear expensive shoes, and have a rich grandmother that lives in a fancy house that it means that’s all I care about? And because you don’t have any of that I’m just sampling the other side before going back to my real life?”
He closes his mouth, only to open it again, but I continue my rant before he can speak.
“No, don’t say anything.” I take another step closer and grab his hand, placing it between my breasts, directly over my pounding heart. “Do you feel that? That’s what my breaking heart feels like.”
His eyes squeeze shut, his lips press together tightly, but I refuse to let him off the hook easily.
“Open your eyes and look at me.” When he does, I continue. “I was five years old when I watched my hero die.”
“Grace––“
“Shut up and listen to me, Bronn.” He nods, the movement slight, but I see it and I keep telling him my story, revealing the most painful part of my life to a man that’s just hurt me almost as badly. “We were poor. There were some days that my mama and daddy didn’t even eat, not that they ever let me know that.” I’d never known the depth of our poverty until I overheard my mother arguing with Papa one night a few years later. “My clothes were ratty thrift store finds. I owned one pair of shoes that didn’t have holes in them.” Those shoes had been a lucky find, and Mama had been obsessive about me keeping them in good shape. “I remember our last Christmas as a family. You know what was under the tree for me? A second-hand princess nightgown and a shell necklace my mother had made for me.” My heart squeezes when I remember their faces as I opened my gifts. My dad looked so defeated, like he had failed me. My mother held her breath, her eyes full of hope that I wouldn’t realize how pitiful the gifts were. My vision begins to swim and I blink hard, forcing the tears back. “I still have that necklace,” I whisper.
“Grace, please—“ he tries again, but I shake my head, silencing him. His hand in mine, against my chest, my heart still racing under his touch.
“Nana and Papa had disowned Mama when she got pregnant with me. They refused to help her, refused to acknowledge me. She’d brought them shame.” I laugh bitterly. “It was Nana more than Papa. But he was a coward, never could stand up to her, so he went along with it.”
My face heats, the anger at my grandparents that I’d worked for years to bury beginning to surface. “So, my parents struggled. All because they were young and in love. For the first five years of my life, I knew nothing but love though. Every one of my happy memories are from then. I can’t think of a single joyful time after my daddy died.” I choke on the words, something that I don’t think I’ll ever stop doing. No matter how many times I say it, it still feels like a punch to the stomach to hear them aloud. Bitterness that I didn’t realize I possessed bubbles up. And not just for Nana and Papa. I was angry with my mother, too. She should have stood up to them, should have somehow convinced Papa to not be so weak. Maybe if she had, everything would be different today. Maybe my father would still be alive.
“My grandparents forgave my mother for her transgressions and my mother returned home, her tail between her legs. Suddenly, we had it all: food, new clothes, a fancy house, private schools, weekends at the country club, Christmases that should be illegal. Everything a girl could ever want.” I look away from him, the sadness threatening to overtake me. “But I didn’t want any of it. All I wanted was my Daddy and our Sunday afternoon drives. Days at the beach searching for sharks’ teeth that we never found. Nights snuggled in between my happy parents as they told me silly made up stories that they starred in.”
A single tear rolls down my cheek and I drop Bronn’s hand to wipe it away. I step back, putting space between us and look him in the eye.
His jaw is clenched, the cheek flexing, but his eyes are full of compassion and understanding.
“So, you may see a woman that wears designer clothes and think you’ve got her all figured out, but obviously you don’t know shit.” I shrug. “You don’t want to see me anymore, fine. But don’t you dare accuse me of using you for a good time. Don’t you fucking dare accuse me of being the person my grandmother wanted me to be!”
I turn my back to him and stalk away. With one last look over my shoulder, I tell him, “You’ve obviously got issues of your own that you need to work on. Starting with the pity party you’re throwing yourself. You’re no better or worse than anyone else. Stop listening to what everyone has said about you and man up.”
My hand’s on the door, ready to pull it open and walk out when Bronn grabs my arm, stopping me.
“Grace, wait,” he pleads, his voice shaky.
I shake his hand from my arm, but turn. Squaring my shoulders, I brace myself, not sure what he’ll say, or if I even want to hear it at this point.
I’m hurt, but more than that, I’m fucking angry. After all the time we’d spent together, after all the things that I’d shared with him, I thought that he understood me. I thought he felt the connection that I did. But the insults from earlier proved me wrong. It was obvious that he didn’t feel the same way about me that I did about him.
Shoving a hand through his hair, he blows out a breath. “I don’t know what to say.”
Crossing my arms over my chest, I snap, “Well, you could start with ‘I’m sorry.’”
One corner of his mouth tips up and he drops his chin, shaking his head. “I’m sorry.” The words are soft, barely more than a whisper.
“Apology not accepted.”
His head snaps up.
“I could barely hear you. And you weren’t even looking at me when you said it. This isn’t some fight you’ve had with your sister and your mom forces you to apologize before you can go back outside. You’re gonna have to do better than a few mumbled words, Bronn.”
That half smile that he’s been sporting turns into a full-blown grin. “God, you’re fucking crazy.”
He takes a step forward, closing the distance between us, his large body crowding my personal space. I shuffle away, my back hitting the door behind me.
“Maybe you don’t know how to apologize, but I can assure you that calling me crazy isn’t going to get you back in my good graces.”
I’m still pissed, but the closer he gets to me the harder it is to hang onto the anger. My body begins to hum at the nearness of him, his scent both comforting me and turning me on. I shouldn’t be turned on by him though. I should be livid, anxious to get away from him. But deep down, I’m hoping he’ll come even closer.
He brings his face directly in front of mine, his hand wrapping around the side of my neck, his thumb brushing my cheek. “I’m sorry, Grace.”
The way he says my name causes my belly to melt. I turn my head away from his hand, but he brings his other hand to my neck and turns my face back to his.
“I was so wrong.” He presses his lips to my forehead, and the anger begins to dissolve. “Please, forgive me. Let me make it up to you.”
Maybe Nana is right.
Maybe I am a weak woman.
But not because I cried.
Maybe I am weak because I can’t stay angry, no matter how badly I want to. Or how badly I should be upset with him.
He trails kisses along my temple and down my cheek, his lips whispering over my skin, and my body deceives me by arching into his.
“What you said was pretty shitty, you know?” I argue pathetically, my words no longer full of bravado.
With each kiss, my anger dissolves.
Kiss.
“You’re right. I was throwing a fucking pity party.”
Kiss.
“I never really thought you were using me.”
Kiss.
“I do need to man up.”
Kiss.
“Say you forgive me.”
Fuck me.
“No.” I huff. “You tell me right now, that this is it. That you’re not going to throw my family in my face again. That you’re not going to act like an ass every time you’re reminded that I came from money and you didn’t.”
“I promise, Grace. I swear. I’m done acting like a fucking bitch.” His gaze is intense, his eyes focused on mine.
“This is it, Bronnson. We’re together. You and me. Are you in it with me, for the long haul, or not?” I challenge, holding my breath that he’ll say yes. That he’ll say I’m what he wants. All he wants.
He puts his lips to my ear, his breath warm on my skin. “You and fucking me, Grace. For the long haul.”
“I mean it! You can’t kiss your way out of this one.” I push against his shoulders, but I’m no match and he doesn’t budge. “Bronnson!” I snap.
“Say it again.” He pushes his hips into mine, his arousal apparent. “My name rolling off your tongue does things to me. Say it again.”
Pulling him against me, I tilt my head until my mouth is at his ear. “Take me to bed, Bronn.”
He doesn’t waste a second, scooping me off my feet and carrying me the short distance to his bed. He tosses me onto the sheets, following me down, his mouth colliding with mine.