Dammit!
I stare at the screen, the light glowing in the darkness of my childhood bedroom. I’ve sent Bronn several messages that have gone unanswered.
I miss him.
I want to talk to him, to see him, but I’ve got so much to try and sort out, my brain is a jumbled mess of thoughts and emotions and I just can’t focus on anything that isn’t related to my father.
My very much alive father.
It wouldn’t be fair to Bronn to dump all of this on him, this shocking twist of events in my life, without first having some idea of what the hell I’m going to do about it.
And more importantly, how I’m feeling about it all.
The initial shock has worn off, thankfully, but I’m still conflicted about everything. I’d wanted to go see my dad, to talk to him, but Riley had convinced me to wait until after the appeal hearing.
He’d reminded me that I needed time to come to terms with the fact that my entire life had been a lie. That the things I thought I knew as truth were in fact falsities, force fed to me by a woman so cruel I didn’t understand how we could be from the same bloodline.
Growing up with Nana had been hard, the loss of both of my parents as a child even more unbearable. But this, this blatant betrayal, was by far the most excruciating pain I had ever experienced.
Not only was I mentally exhausted, but physically I felt as though I had been run over by a truck, several times.
I’d torn Nana’s house apart, from top to bottom, searching every square inch of the mansion, looking for more of her secrets, but I’d come up short, not finding anything further. The house looked as though burglars had ransacked it. If she were still alive, my grandmother would have died of a stroke to see what it looked like.
And childishly, that fact made me happy. I hoped that wherever she was, she could see me giving her the middle finger, leaving her pristine home in shambles, gleefully destroying the appearance that she worked so hard to maintain.
My phone rings in my hand, and my heart leaps before disappointment washes over me when I realize it isn’t Bronn. Not that he would have any reason to call. I’d been clear when I told him that I needed space. He got the message loud and clear, and I hadn’t heard a single word from him since yesterday morning.
I know that I hurt him, shutting him out. He’d told me once that he’d always felt alone, even though he had Dani. That the wounds his mother had inflicted cut deep, and even though he knew that it was because she was worthless and should have never had a child, it didn’t stop him from feeling like he was the reason she had never loved him the way a mother was supposed to.
It wasn’t that Bronn expected me to be his mother, but we’d come to depend on each other over the last few months. And my sudden disappearance, without a reason why, probably reminded him of the years he spent wondering if his mom was going to come home or not.
Shit.
I messed up.
I send the call to voicemail and then dial Bronn’s number, holding my breath that he answers. After three agonizingly long rings, he picks up.
His voice is gravelly and I glance over to the clock on my nightstand. It’s only nine p.m., too early for him to have been in bed.
“Grace?”
“Bronn,” I whisper. “I’m sorry.”
He clears his throat, and I can hear his sheets rustling in the background.
“Are you in bed?” I ask.
“Yeah.” He doesn’t elaborate and I don’t have the chance to ask why when he continues, “You okay?”
“Yeah…no. Not at all.”
The rustling becomes louder and I can almost picture him sitting up in the bed. My heart aches, the desire to be there with him instead of in this house that’s full of sad memories overwhelming me.
“What’s going on?” he asks, his voice much clearer than it was just a moment ago.
“I…” I want to tell him everything, to cry in his ear for the rest of the night, to have him tell me how sorry he is that I lost out on so much over the years. I want to have him hold me, to rub circles on my back as I soak his shirt in salty tears. I need to feel his strong arms around me, holding me together, both physically and emotionally. I want to be on his worn-out boat, wrapped in his scratchy sheets, our naked bodies intertwined so that you can’t tell where one of us begins and the other ends.
I want to tell him that my father isn’t dead. That he’s in a prison just ten miles from where I’m currently sitting in the dark, crying my eyes out. I want to tell him that I’ve just spent the last three hours searching the internet for anything and everything related to my dad’s incarceration.
But I don’t.
“Grace?” he asks again. His voice is laced with worry, and guilt rolls over me in waves, knowing that I’ve caused him to worry for the last few days.
“I’m here,” I whisper. “Listen, I can’t talk,” I choke out.
“What do you mean you can’t talk?” he barks, his sharp tone causing me to flinch. “What in the hell is going on with you? Is it because I was mad about Riley before you left? Is it Riley? Did something happen with you two?”
He fires the questions, and I don’t have a chance to answer before he asks the next one. I can’t blame him for assuming that it has anything to do with him, with Riley, with us.
“No! None of that. It’s just something from my past, something I’m having a hard time understanding myself, let alone explaining to someone else.”
“Well, try dammit!” he all but shouts into the phone.
The ache in my chest intensifies, until I worry that I won’t be able to get a breath into my lungs. This isn’t how I imagined this phone call going. “I can’t!” I scream, my voice breaking off in a sob.
“How could you think that I wouldn’t understand?” he asks, his voice much calmer, an abrupt change from the angry man a few seconds ago. “There is nothing you could ever tell me that I wouldn’t believe, that I wouldn’t accept and understand. Whatever it is, Grace, you can fucking tell me.”
“And I will. I swear to you, I will tell you everything as soon as I get home. But right now, I just can’t. Please, be patient with me,” I beg, desperate for his assurances that he will be waiting for me in a couple of days. “I’ll need you more than ever when I get back.”
His voice is sad, and my gut twists as he promises, “I’ll do whatever you need. If you need time and space, I’ll give it to you blindly. But dammit, don’t shut me out.”
“I won’t,” I tell him. Even though I want nothing more than to hide out until after the hearing tomorrow, I know that it’s not fair to him to expect him to sit at home wondering if I’m even alive here. If the roles were reversed, I don’t know that I would be quite so understanding.
“I have big news,” he tells me brightly. “But, I want to share it in person.”
Good news would be welcome, but I don’t push him. “I can’t wait to hear it.”
“I miss you, Grace.” He drops his voice, the husky timbre shooting straight to my core. “I was dreaming about you when you called.”
My pulse begins to race. “Yeah?” I squeak. “Were we naked in your dream?” I tease, hoping that the answer is yes. That he’ll tell me all the dirty details, giving me a much needed distraction.
“No.” He sounds as disappointed as I feel. “But we were alone at The Sands, the sun just beginning to rise over the horizon. Your head was in my lap, my fingers lazily running through your hair, and we were talking about our future, about where we were going to go from here.”
I close my eyes, picturing the scene, a smile forming on my face for the first time in what seems like a week. I can almost feel his calloused hands on my head, hear his slow, even breathing, and smell the salt air.
“God, that sounds amazing,” I murmur. “I wish it wasn’t just a dream.”
“I’m pretty sure that we were about to get naked though. Your call just interrupted that.” He chuckles and I laugh with him.
“Well, I’m so sorry to have ruined that,” I tease.
“Nah, it’s okay. Besides, hearing your voice is better anyway. Gives me something to think about while I’m in the shower.”
“You don’t have to just remember my voice, you know,” I tell him, my voice low, and what I hope is sultry. “I could talk to you now, maybe you can tell me what would have happened on that beach if I hadn’t woken you up.”
He groans. “Are you suggesting what I think you’re suggesting?”
I lick my lips, swallowing hard. “I am.”
A rumble of pleasure escapes his lips. “Fuck yes.”
My lids flutter shut, and I slip a hand inside my panties, my fingers going to my clit. I’m wet already, and I tell him, “Well, I’m waiting.”