“I’m sorry, Grey.” Ache fills Everly’s voice like she hates that truth for me.
“As you’ve said, I’m a dangerous gentleman, and I regret some of the things I’ve done. I?—”
“You don’t have to beat yourself up...or anyone else.” She can’t help but let in a little sunshine as she bumps me with her shoulder, lightening the mood.
All the same, I’m painfully aware of the dog tags around my neck. While in the Air Force, Bran was more open about his assignments. When he became a special operator, he never talked about where he went or what he did. My brother was told to take off the tags before he went on a covert mission. He couldn’t have any identification on him, which is why his body was never found.
As if sensing I’m spiraling into a muddy thought hole, Everly says, “You voiced your regrets. I imagine the scar is enough of a reminder.”
“Yeah, I suppose so.” Little by little, the burden of who I was and what I’ve done these last months begins to leave and in place of the nothingness are two amazing people—Everly and Sonny—who fill me up with so much purpose, I hardly feel worthy. But I’ll prove that I am with everything I do from now on.
34
EVERLY
In the following days, life feels easier and lighter, but the swift countdown until our thirty days are up is like a ticking clock. Three, two, one.
Fitting then that Grey added how to say and spell numbers in Norwegian to my daily word puzzles.
We play with Sonny and he teaches us to look at the world with wonder and patience. Grey cooks and gardens. I draw and read. We all hike and swim in the lake.
One rainy afternoon, after I put Sonny down for his nap, I find Grey on his laptop in the great room, studying football stats.
He comments that Coach Hammer congratulated him on passing the Blancbourg program—it’s officially over, and being secluded up here, resulted in little fanfare.
“And now he wants me to get back to work and by that, he means prep for the season.”
I perch on the arm of the sofa and rub his shoulders. “I’m still wildly impressed by your bookshelves. They’re well organized and worthy of a #BookShelfie post on social media. I’d take one of those over #BruiserButt any day.”
“Not a fan of my butt?” he jokes.
“On the contrary, I’m rather fond of this Bruiser’s butt. But it’s mine and I don’t want to share.” I give him a little squeeze.
He chuckles and pulls me onto his lap. I’ve never been married, so I’m not entirely sure if this is normal—but our relationship didn’t start like it would for a typical couple—and we make out for the next ten minutes.
When we part, my lips are bee-stung, but I cannot resist a smile. “So, you’re an amazing kisser, a skilled gardener, a cook, and have a big collection of books.” It’s impossible to ignore Grey’s lidded eyes as he trails me with his gaze while I study the contents of his shelves.
“What can I say? I like to admire the view.”
Flattered, I laugh inwardly because there’s no doubt he’s talking about me. I can’t imagine he brought too many women up here who’d appreciate the fine attention to the book display and bespoke items decorating the shelves. “Fiction, biographies about football players, cookbooks, and gardening guides.” There is an entire shelf dedicated to each subject. “You like things that grow,” I say absently.
“I like to eat,” he says simply. “Eventually, I’d like to have a small farm and raise our own animals.”
Sounds like an adventure in the making. But in some ways, he seems stuck with one foot in the past. We haven’t talked much about it, but just as pain from my previous life occasionally sneaks through like it did when I told him about my hair, I’m afraid it’s keeping us both from looking at the future. The near future at that, because I’m supposed to report to Blancbourg in a matter of days.
But I won’t make today any cloudier than it is with a drab topic of conversation. “I love reading too. The classics, romance, and even books about art—history, technique, and artists. The perfect thing to do on a rainy day.”
“Books are where I go to escape when I’m not on the field,” Grey says.
I pause my perusal. “Did your brother love football as much as you?”
Grey shakes his head. “Not especially. He was more of a baseball guy.”
“What else?” I ask, sliding onto the sofa beside him.
“He always knew what to say or do. You know how some people claim that there isn’t a manual for how to be a parent or live life or whatever? It was like Bran was born with one. He knew how to handle any situation. Stranded on an island during a lightning storm? Bran to the rescue. Get a flat tire with no spare, thirty miles from home? He’d be there. He was so together. So good. Always helping people.”
“So are you.”
