Page 46 of Grant’s Flame

“Grant? Wh-What are you—”

The wooden legs of her chair protested when I gripped her seat and dragged her to face me. With my knees, I formed brackets on either side of hers. I hoped like hell I wasn’t scaring her with my exuberance, but shit…I couldn’t help it. This was the first move toward self-help she had ever made. While it was a small step, it really was a fucking step, and I wanted to acknowledge the achievement. Most of all, I yearned to celebrate her.

“I’m so damn proud of you,” I affirmed, delving my gaze as deep into hers as I could. Her wide, inquisitive irises were kissed with flecks of gold thanks to the Hawaiian sun, and I added it to the mental list of things I would miss when we left here.

“Do you want to tell me more about it?”

Of course, our server arrived at that exact moment with our meals, and while I wanted to continue our little two-person commemoration, her attention fractured the moment the food arrived. I couldn’t help but share the distraction. We were both hungry after being on the town all morning, so I swiveled my chair back toward the table, and we wasted no time tucking into the plates set in front of us.

While we enjoyed our lunch, I let Rio set the conversational pace. She explained what led her to join the support group of other young Southern California widows. I was hoping, in small part, the support group she’d found was for pyromania and similar addictions, but Rome wasn’t built in a day, and I was grateful for this much. It was also quite possible that the issues surrounding her hobby needed to be handled with a therapist in a one-on-one setting.

This group was an outstanding move forward. I was more positive about that as she started filling in the details. Since the group was online, she could choose to attend meetings every day or as infrequently as once a month. They also met in person on occasion, but she wasn’t ready to commit to that sort of interaction yet. Or at least that’s how she explained it.

“I’m proud of you, Rio,” I repeated and meant it twice as much as before. “If there’s anything I can do to help, please let me know. I know I don’t have the experience you’ve had.” I shook my head. “The only ‘significant person’ I’ve lost by societal standards was more an anchor on me than a set of wings. But I want to see you live fully and healthily again.”

“Thank you, Grant.” The amber flecks in her eyes were clear and joyous. She released a breath like a hundred pounds left her at the same time. “You’ve been such an amazing friend through all of this. I mean it. I don’t deserve you in my corner.”

“Bullshit,” I flung, until she leaned closer to peck my cheek. That part was bullshit too, because now I absolutely needed to feel her lips on mine. I told her so by palming her cheek and tugging her over once more. Her lips beneath mine… Holy shit, the island gods really were smiling on me today. Her mouth was warm and sweet and welcoming, meaning it was damn near impossible to keep the gesture chaste in the middle of the restaurant patio, but ideas began to flood me for what we could do back on the boat.

By the time we returned to the yacht, we had full bellies, tired eyes, and sore feet. Neither one of us was used to walking very far in our workday, though Rio did spend much of hers on her feet. But my heart was lighter than it had been in weeks. I finally had hope again for a future that included a healthy existence for the woman I cared so deeply about—with emotions that were burgeoning more and more with every passing day. And while the magic of the Pacific and the spell of aloha certainly hadn’t been deterrents, I was damn sure my mind and heart would be right here, exactly in this space, if we were still in the normal bustle and burn of Los Angeles.

That was why I dared to keep feeling this way. To keep stoking the vision of a forever inspired by my beautiful Blaze. To keep holding out hope for what all this meant for her and me—together.

Because when she was ready—if she were ever ready—I’d be right here, waiting for her.

I wanted a shot at happiness with Rio Gibson. No. I demanded it. And I wasn’t going to give up until fate forked it over.

Chapter Ten

Rio

“And Abbigail? She’s doing okay?”

I strained to hear the side of the conversation I was privy to. Well, sort of privy to, seeing how I was currently eavesdropping on this part as well. Grant left me in the hot tub on the yacht’s lower aft deck with a promise to return quickly. That was before Sebastian announced his son had finally made his entrance into the world a few hours earlier in the day. But since he took the call, the almighty Shark had captured Grant’s full attention.

Jealousy was definitely not surging through my veins. Really…how ridiculous would that be? After all, if we were getting technical, Kaisan was my nephew, not Grant’s. So why wasn’t I the person taking the phone call with the fabulous news?

The answer was as close, but far away, as observing my reflection in the gentle swishes of the hot tub’s waters. I’d long since climbed out and turned off the tub’s jets but lingered at the edge with my feet in the light-aqua water.

Who was the woman returning my rapt gaze?

Once upon a time, I was clearer about that response. About everything I wanted out of my life and the people I included in it. Sean and I were young when we met but not so giddy and silly that we didn’t recognize the good thing we had. Needless to say, we didn’t date long before deciding—to our parents’ dismay—to get married and move to California. I couldn’t remember my life without him because I’d never been an adult without him in the landscape. And yes, that vista included dreams of starting our own family. I’d lie awake night after night, thinking about having a baby of my own. About rocking my own child, sweet and perfect, in my arms. It would be a chance to get things right in my life. To find the piece of me that was inexplicably missing. Becoming a mother would complete me; I’d been so sure of it.

On most days, as much as I had once wanted it, I was thankful that Sean and I never had a child. I could eventually figure out how to pick up the pieces of my broken heart—my broken life—and get on with it all. I would figure all that out. I had to believe that. But if I had a child with the man, too? Had to look into a child’s face that looked just like his father’s, day in and day out? I don’t think my already precarious mental health could endure cruelty that severe.

Now, I didn’t even know the person who stared back at me from the mirror. I barely knew what food I wanted to eat or what music I enjoyed listening to. Everything I once loved was entwined with bitter memories that used to be sweet. Old dates that used to hold special meanings now just held hollow ghosts. Nothing seemed pristine anymore.

Was I acting melodramatic? Maybe. But being a widow was still a fairly new status for me. And so far, I was really sucking at it. I had no idea how to view the things in my old world with these new eyes. Because while things were theoretically the same, they were completely different, too.

Trying to explain that to the people around me was harder than I imagined, but now that I’d joined the online support group, I was hoping to get some tips on navigating my new existence. One way or the other, though, I had to get my shit together.

I didn’t even know how to enjoy myself…myself.

Step one seemed pretty obvious, though. I had to find joy in living again. I could do it—and, with help, I would. Just not right this second. Especially not as Grant’s voice gained volume when he came toward the back of the boat again. From what I could make out, he was wrapping up his phone call with a lot of good wishes for both Sebastian and Abbigail, and the stabbing ache was back. Right in the center of my chest.

Damn it.

But what was this damn feeling if not jealousy? Something close to anger was dancing right on the fringe of my temperament, but that didn’t make sense. Why would I be angry with Abbigail for safely and successfully delivering her son? I truly wanted nothing but the best for my sister-in-law. While I could openly admit that previously I’d had difficulty staying positive about her pregnancy, so many of those issues were no longer active or valid. Not with Sean gone. Especially not with the time I’d been gifted to start really looking at my issues.