Page 27 of Grant’s Blaze

At once, I dropped my hand to my side again and just listened.

“Rio’s great. Yeah, she’s making dinner right now.”

He paused again, probably listening to Sebastian’s typically “pleasant” reaction. I was ready to indulge a private laugh, but Grant’s next words had me back on full alert.

“Don’t be a dick, Bas. I was totally cordial about Abbigail, so you can do the same.” All too quickly, and for far too long, he was silent again. “Listen, I’m not going to argue with you, especially about her. I just wanted to let you know that I’m coming into the office tomorrow. I’m not sure how it will go, but I’ll put in as much of a day as I can. I may have to work slowly up to full speed. I think Elijah is dragging me to a doctor in the morning. Or shit, maybe that’s the day after tomorrow. To be honest, I’m having trouble with my short-term memory. I think that’s why he’s making me see this guy.”

Wait. What? I straightened, jolted physically as much as I was mentally. His short-term memory?

How was this the first time I was hearing about this? Why were they keeping me in the dark about something so significant? And how short-term was he talking here? A few hours? A day? A week? The past year? Had it occurred to anyone that if this shit exacerbated, he’d actually forget me? What if I was suddenly not the woman for whom he’d fought so hard over the last month but a naked stranger in his bed who needed to leave right away?

Well, that last one really did the trick. Now I was just pissed off.

After another extended wait, he said, “No, she doesn’t know.” Then cut in on himself with a huff. “Nah, most of it.” There was a heavy beat or two. “Eventually I will, but I think we should probably get to the bottom of what’s going on first, don’t you?”

At that point, I’d heard enough.

He was keeping something from me. No. Not something. Everything. Probably all that had happened to him while he was held prisoner on that boat. I didn’t get to hear the details, but fucking Sebastian Shark did? What was that shit all about? Hadn’t I proven myself loyal at this point?

Wait. That wasn’t it. It wasn’t my loyalty in question at all.

It was my sanity.

Grant was afraid I wasn’t strong enough to handle this. That if I knew what was really going on, the sky would be filled with flames and I’d be in a fetal ball on the couch. Or worse, some other kind of breakdown. No matter what, I’d be more trouble than he could handle at the moment.

So what did that mean for us? Was this how life would be between us from now on? If we agreed to try this relationship thing, would he always hide things, thinking I was too fragile? Always assuming I couldn’t handle the going when the going got tough?

In the span of thirty seconds, I moved from pissed to livid. That might be a new record for me. But hell if I was celebrating.

Back in the kitchen, I started gathering my stuff. Fuck dinner. Fuck the groceries, and, well, while I was on a roll, fuck Grant Twombley too. He could go over to Casa de Shark and see what Dori the superhero was fixing everyone for dinner tonight.

Chuckling at the thought of Abbigail’s personal assistant in her cape and mask, I quickly searched the countertop for my phone.

“Goddammit!” I growled.

“Hey, baby?” Grant said, braced in the doorway that led back toward the bedrooms. “What’s going on? Why are you so worked up? I know there’s probably not much here to cook. Do you want to go out? Or order in?” He stopped to finally look me over from head to toe, including the purse I’d slung across my body. “Why are you leaving? Oh, to the market on the corner, right? Give me a second. I’ll get my wallet and phone, and we can—”

“No.”

“No…what?”

“I think I’m going to go home.”

He caught the gist of my tight tone. He took in every detail in my expression, and the next second, awareness dawned in his. He’d been way off the mark and now knew it.

“Blaze—”

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” He slammed his hands to his hips, which would’ve normally bulged his muscles against his black T-shirt. But the loose hang of both sleeves were another reminder of how his world had become a different place over the last ten days. A world he was no longer letting me into. “Shit,” he snarled. “Are we really doing this already?”

“Are we doing what, Grant?” I folded my arms, slapped on a plastic smile, and jammed a hip against the counter. “Go ahead. Brief me. All the details. Bring ’em on.”

“Running away.”

I laughed. Well, I meant for it to sound like a laugh, but it didn’t emerge that way. “Ohhh, no,” I snarked. “We aren’t running. You know why? Because we’re lying.”

He frowned. The look was gaunt and harsh—and looked way too well-practiced. “Excuse me?”