I gasp at his cruel comment,horrified. But Meghan... she is unstoppable.
Like a light switch, her whole vibe changes yet again, her voice syrupy and kind. “Baby, don’t say that. You wuv me. I need you, and you need me.”
He closes his eyes, exhausted and maybe even bored.
“I’ll do anything,” she coos.
“No.”
“We’ll fix it, babe. Like we always do.” A pause. “This is all about that stupid fucking Charlotte, isn’t it? You downgraded so hard it’s embarrassing. Is this a kink thing now? Screwing fat midgets for fun? How can you like that?”
As if he knows her words just stabbed my fragile ego, his palm clutches my thigh, and his thumb moves in soothing strokes, calming me. He looks at me once more, his eyes boring into my soul. While keeping his gaze fixed, he replies to Meghan.
“Charlotte’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever touched, and if you say one more goddamn nasty word about her, I’ll never talk to you again.”
That makes her unwind.Shescreams:
“If you don’t come back, I swear it! I’ll call the cops. Tell them you broke the restraining order. Tell them you’ve beenstalking me.Say bye-bye Grayson. You’re going back to prison!”
My jaw hangs open. Their ‘bond’? It’s not love. It’s a war zone. If this is the connection he spoke of, it seems to be pure hate.
“Thendo it.” His voice is a blade now.
Meghan shrieks. “Damn it, Grayson. I’ll overdose! I will! Then you can visittwograves!”
And then—
She cries. Just like that.Loud, wet, wailing sobs. I can’t tell, but it sounds real. But maybe it is fake... either way, I am shocked.
And the worst part?
Grayson... he softens upon hearing her cry!
His coldness fades, his hand moves off my thigh, his expression frustrated as he grips the steering wheel.
He doesn’t speak. Just peeks over at me for a moment. Sizing me up. Searching for something. But his eyes almost seem... apologetic.
Oh, no!
My heart races.Wait, wait, wait!Is he about to give in?
He draws in a deep breath.
He is! He’s about to cave.
A reel plays, fast, sharp and aching with memory:
The first time he touched me on the couch, not with hunger, but with care, like I was fragile and deserved tenderness. When he taught me how to kiss, direct yet patient, calming my nerves. How gentle he was the first time wemade love, trying to make it less painful, touching me like I had value, like I was his whole world at that moment.
He brought me lunch every day, even when he pretended it wasn’t a big deal. God, he always knew exactly what I needed before I did. He even held me every night, his arms wrapped tight, lips buried in my wild hair, whispering things Ifelt.
Though I begged, he hid his past, not out of shame... but because he wanted to be the hero I imagined. The one who could protect me from the world... maybe even from himself.
I see why now.
I’m drunk and overwhelmed, but God, I love him, despite his dark past.
His eyes veer from mine.
