“What?”I whined, ready to snatch the bottle away from her.
“You’retaking this weekend off.”
Flittingmy gaze from the bottle to her eyes, I scowled and shook my head fervently. “Ican’t do that!”
“Yes.You. Can,” Alex insisted, squeezing my shoulders with every syllable. “We canhandle things over here. You haven’t taken time off in … well, shit, I can’tremember the last time you took a break.”
Therewas truth in that. Even throughout the tragedies of the past year, I never tookan entire day off work. Between funerals and wakes, I was always stopping intothe office and checking on business. Even if it was only to make sure we hadenough paper cups at the water cooler. Anything to tear me away from theemotional hell I would never allow myself to succumb to.
“Idon’t know, guys,” I sighed, unable to submit that easily.
“Itisn’ta suggestion.” Jess shook her head, waving the bottle in front ofmy eyes. Hypnotizing me with liquid courage. “I don’t care if all you do isbingeOutlanderand get completely plastered. You’re taking a longweekend to do what you haven’t been doing all year.”
“Oh,it’s alongweekend now?” I grunted bitterly. “And what is it that Ihaven’t been doing?”
Alexlowered his lips to my ear and whispered, “Taking care ofyourself.”
“Fine,”I groused, snatching the bottle away from Jess’s waving hand. “I’ll take theweekend.”
“Andyou’re not allowed to call,” Jess tacked on, pointing one little finger at me.
Withthe bottle tipped to my lips, I narrowed my eyes at her. “We’ll see.”
***
Whileparked outside of Greyson’s school, I lifted my planner to scan over thescribbled appointments and reminders.
Afterindulging in the miniature bottle of Grey Goose, sipping it slowly whilelistening to music with my door closed, I had focused on the Worthington house.During the months I’d spent trying to sell the place, I had become emotionallyinvested in it. The more I lingered on it, the sadder it made me. When I lookedat it and its solid brick exterior, I couldn’t imagine anybody not falling inlove with it; I certainly had. Stepping inside, you couldn’t help but gasp atthe beauty in every inch of craftsmanship that went into constructing the homefrom the inside out. From the winding staircase in the entryway to the delicatefloral design in the parqueted floors, it was all utterly breathtaking.
Hell,if I had the money, I’d buy it myself.
Inreal estate though, the problem was always what was hiding within the walls. Theweighted sadness hidden in the framework was something you couldn’t fumigate orexterminate. No contractor on the planet possessed the ability to remove thefingerprint of tragedy and history, and I was convinced that every potentialbuyer could feel it.
Initially,I thought it was just me. Being no stranger to the heavy burden of loss, Ipicked up on it right away, as I stepped inside from the creaking old porch. Iknew immediately that Mr. Worthington had died in that house, joining the otherghosts that dwelled in every groan of a floorboard or squeal of a door hinge.Things like that didn’t bother me. It added history and character, but I soon realizedthat I was very alone in feeling that way.
Isighed and closed my planner. The perfect buyer was out there. I just wasn’tsure that I was the one to find him or her, and the thought of giving up feltlike treason.
Greysonwrenched the car door open and practically threw himself into the passengerseat. Spotting the slip of paper clenched in his hand, I immediately assumed itwas another ill-mannered joke from his so-called friends. I wrenched it fromhis grasp and widened my eyes immediately at the bold black letters printed onthe grey paper.
“In-schoolsuspension?” I gasped with exasperation. “Greyson! Whathappened?”
“Nothing,”was his muffled reply, his fist pressed to his lips as he stared out the window.
“Uh,well, excuse me but this doesn’t look likenothing,” I snapped in reply.“You’re going to tell me right now what you did to get yourself suspended.”
Greysontwisted his neck abruptly, bitterness searing the eyes that suddenly looked somuch like Sebastian’s. “I got into a fight, okay? I punched—”
“Youpunched someone?” My exhale barreled from my chest, leaving me empty andaching. “Why? Why the hell would you do that?”
Greysonwasn’t a violent kid. Never had been. For him to act out physically only meantthat he’d been pushed past his breaking point. And I hadn’t seen it coming. Howhad I not seen it coming?
God,Sam, what the hell am I doing to him?
“Because…” His explanation faded with the crack in his voice. His eyes brimming withtears and lips pinching with the determination not to give in.
“Grey.”I reached across the car, gripping his knee and squeezing reassuringly. “I’mnot mad, okay? Just tell me what happened.”
“Jasoncalled Mom a whore.” His whisper seemed to echo through the car’s interior. Themuscles in his throat worked as he tipped his head against the seat to stare atthe ceiling. “So, I fucking punched him. Okay? That’s what happened.”