Her tsk is loud. “Please. You’re always welcome and we’ll never change a thing.”
“Even when I’m forty?”
“Now you’re just being silly.” She walks toward the porch stairs. “I have to get started on my pies for bridge club tonight. Can I get you anything?”
“Want some help?”
My mom waves me off. “Nonsense. Enjoy your downtime.”
I glance around. “I could definitely get used to this.”
“That’s great, dear. Holler if you need something.”
“Will do, momma.” I slouch lower in my chair, soaking up the morning warmth before humidity forces me inside. This is absolutely living the right way. I savor my final sip of coffee with a soft sigh.
I’m contemplating a refill when something in my periphery distracts me. A shadowed figure breaks through the tree line. The hulking presence is a storm cloud crashing into my serenity. I know who he is without him getting closer. The sight of broad shoulders and a scruffy jaw sets my heart racing. A lump the size of Wyoming lodges in my throat. I don’t move, not sure I can. Breathing is already enough of a challenge. I’m trapped in this intense force field he’s solely responsible for creating.
A tremor wracks every part of me while the ground tilts sideways. I’ve been back in Silo Springs for less than twenty-four hours. That isn’t nearly long enough to prepare for him. But that doesn’t stop his steady approach. The warm sunlight vanishes, my ability to hear and smell and touch disappear. My senses are consumed by the man straight ahead. Grady’s presence takes up everything without him realizing the impact.
His stride is stiff, that guard he uses firmly in place. The sun glints off his dark blond hair, the length longer than I remember. I rub my fingers together, imagining the silky texture of the strands. He’s so damn sexy. There’s no use denying his appeal. The need to call out burns on my tongue. I can’t let him pass by without saying something. It’s been four lonely years since we’ve spoken. A piercing cramp attacks my stomach at that. Our silence ends now. My pulse roars as I part my lips. A pitiful squeak is all I manage to muster.
I catch the moment Grady sees me. His steps jerk to an abrupt halt. The wrench he’s holding trembles in his grip, but he remains frozen otherwise. The space around us, the handful of feet separating us, hums with energy and seems magnetized. I can practically feel the electricity zipping along my skin.
Any hints of youth have been wiped from his features. The boy I grew up with is tucked safely in my memories. The man before me is solid and vibrating with intensity. Grady’s body has filled out and gained enormous strength, that much is evident. Even with what looks like the weight of the world on his mind, he stands tall and proud. He’s the embodiment of male power. But his towering frame isn’t the reason for this stupor I’m caught up in.
His eyes steal the air from my lungs. I shiver at the haunting glimmer. Vibrant green that once flared with interest is eerily flat. The emerald hue is dull, swallowing any sign of golden flecks. There’s no mischievous gleam. Zero promise of trouble. The lack of interest couldn’t be more apparent.
Grady remains silent, disturbingly so, while continuing to stare. I’d like to hope he’s cataloging the changes to my features, the same way I did to him minutes before. But his gaze bores straight through me. It’s as if he doesn’t remember who I am. I wonder if he even notices my unwavering attention. The lash is so painful that I wince.
Those frigid depths flick over me for barely a second, as if I’m small and insignificant. His empty stare makes me feel nonexistent. I’ve been pushed around and left behind, but never with this blatant lack of care. My absence didn’t impact him the same way. As always, the bottomless longing locked in my heart was one-sided. Maybe I fell asleep and this is a nightmare. I blink in rapid succession. When I refocus, Grady is still there.
He stays on the gravel path, a foot from where the backyard begins. I’ve never been more aware of distance. He’s almost within reach. Dark purple smudges rest beneath his eyes. The skin is puffy and screams of exhaustion. Weariness appears bone-deep, but he’d never complain. The boy I knew had trouble sleeping. I wonder if this man still does.
I’ve seen Grady over the years, of course. Those quick glimpses were never long enough to snap a decent mental image. I wasn’t able to get a good sense of his well-being during my visits home. He’d appeared to be doing well. Jace provided bits and pieces that told a similar story. It was safe to accept Grady was fine. In this moment, I’m realizing how wrong those assumptions were.
The chair quakes when I scoot to the edge of my seat. The slight movement seems to jolt him out of his own trance. Those green eyes narrow on me. His expression is thunderous, ready for battle. I almost expect bolts of lightning to streak across the clear-blue sky. Angry clouds will surely sweep in and release a torrential downpour.
My mouth is bone-dry. Probably because my jaw has been hanging slack since he arrived. I attempt to draw in a decent breath and clear the grit from my throat.
“Hey, Gray.” The greeting is hardly more than a whispered croak, but he hears it.
A guttural rumble breaks from his chest. The tortured sound slams into me, causing heat to sting my eyes.
He doesn’t give me the chance to say more. In the next second, he’s turning on his heel and striding toward the barn. I consider chasing him and demand he talks to me. But my legs are certain to give out if I try to stand. Heck, my knees are wobbling without any added pressure.
I rip my gaze off his retreating form. Grady Bowen means nothing to me. But my sappy heart bleeds the truth. This man is bound to ruin me all over again. Will I let him?
4
Grady
Happy something #82: Having a shirt without holes or a tattered hem.
Iturn left into the neglected trailer park and ease my truck down the dirt road. The stench of overflowing septic tanks immediately assaults my nostrils. Ignoring the odor is something I’ve unfortunately grown accustomed to. Doesn’t make this trek more pleasant. I’d roll up the windows but this old beater doesn’t have air conditioning. Roasting in this hotbox is not a fine way to spend an afternoon.
The wheels protest over the rugged terrain. This driveway probably hasn’t been grated in over a decade. Groundskeeping isn’t high on the priority list around these parts. I steer my pickup into one of the designated spots and cut the engine. The sigh that escapes me is a scream of defeat. It’s not even five o’clock and my body is begging for a break. I didn’t bother going home to change after work. The paint splattering my clothes doesn’t bother these folks. Hell, I’m just happy to have shirts and jeans without holes. I glare at the neglected lawns surrounding me. Yeah, pretty sure no one will even notice.
Without further delay, I grab the groceries from the backseat. I step out and the damn grass reaches my knees. The chance that anyone has a mower is slim to none. I make a mental note to bring one by and clean up the parking lots.
