I swung again and again and again.
The weeds were long gone.
I was just striking the ground, making dirt kick up in the air around me, leaving my skin with a fine coat of it. Mingled with my sweat, it made me feel immediately gritty.
But I didn’t stop.
Not when it was the first few moments of peace I’d known in days.
Ever since the morning after leaving Gracie alone in the glass house. Since she’d come out, being all sweet and friendly.
And then I went and made her look at me like I’d kicked her puppy.
Knowing that pushing her away was the right thing didn’t make it any easier to actually do.
Especially when I knew we both wanted more.
But it was how it was.
And I just had to deal with that.
Even if it meant dislocating a shoulder to distract myself from thoughts of her.
“Didn’t know Matteo was putting in another water feature,” a voice called, making me stiffen and straighten.
Turning, I saw one of the Grassi cousins standing there. The young one. Milo, I think his name was.
“There are weeds,” I said, waving toward the area in front of me.
“Are there? I’m pretty sure there’s only dirt.”
“The roots gotta come out.”
“When’d you get hired to work the grounds?”
“Just helping out.”
“Helping out or working through some shit?”
“Can’t do both?”
To that, he gave a slight nod.
“You were the one here during the shootout, right?”
“Yeah.”
“That what you’re working through?”
“Not really, no.” It was just the event that triggered the problem.
“Well, if you’re done with the, er, roots, want to come inside for a drink?”
“Sure,” I agreed.
“There’s a sink and soap in the potting shed.”
The implication was clear: don’t come inside until you’ve cleaned up.
