Page 116 of Repairing the Wreckage

“Do you want to go to a movie or something when we’re done?” He nods to the pizza.

Wait, what? “This, this isn’t a…date, Griff.”

He scowls and swipes a napkin off the table, quickly dabbing his lips. “I thought we…Molly, what’s stopping you now?”

My bottom lip quivers. Dammit, I don’t want to cry about this anymore. I’m still drowning in embarrassment that I did something so awful and foolish. “Look what I did. We haven’t even talked about it. You’ve never?—”

He frowns in confusion. “Talked about what?”

“My car.” My voice breaks. “The car you gave me. Fixed up for me. I destroyed it because I was so mad at you for…”

Griff stares at me in wide-eyed disbelief, then pushes his chair back so fast, it scrapes against the old hardwood floor. He rounds the table and slides into the bench seat, forcing me to scoot over. Pulls me into his arms, sheltering me from the rest of the bar.

“Molly, I don’t give a fuck about a few car parts.” He blows out a relieved breath, or an amused one, it’s hard to tell. “Hell, you had access to my car too. I’m impressed you didn’t drop a match in her gas tank while you were at it.”

He’s definitely making fun of me. I tilt my head and glare. “Don’t give me any ideas.”

His smile slips. “You don’t know how sorry I am, Muffin.”

The familiar nickname brings a wave of longing and fondness swelling over me. I can’t afford to get caught in the undertow. “I’m so sorry. I should’ve?—”

He pulls me against his chest, cutting off my apology. He nuzzles his cheek against my hair and kisses my temple. Tears well up and burn my eyes.

I bury my face in his detergent-scented T-shirt. Underneath I sense his familiar spruce and soapy scent and breathe in deep.

He holds me tight while tears silently roll down my cheeks, finally handing my pain over to him.

“Please, please don’t cry, baby,” he murmurs. “I’m not mad about the car. Never.” In between words, he kisses the top of my head and strokes my hair. “The only thing I was upset about is that you could’ve hurt yourself busting it up.”

He lifts one of my hands, inspecting it closely before brushing his lips over my knuckles. “All that glass. I was worried you got cut up. That’s it. Everything else is just stuff. It can be repaired or replaced. You’re all that matters.”

His easy acceptance and forgiveness only make me feel worse. It’s not just stuff. It was a beautiful, thoughtful gift that he put so much time and effort into.

My throat’s too tight to form any more words, though. Instead my body shakes with more sobs.

He hums a soothing noise that rumbles deep in his chest. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here. If I’d known. Really understood, I would’ve burned down that whole fucking house to come back to you.”

Sincerity rings in his voice. I lift my head and sniffle. “You worked so hard. Finding the car. Fixing it. I’m so sorry I did that.”

No matter what Griff says, I don’t think I’ll ever live down the shame that I was so destructive. Would I have done it if he’d been home? Probably not. I would’ve confronted him or hidden in my bedroom until the end of time.

Besides my shame about the car, there’s the shame of knowing he talked about me with someone else.

Another woman who wanted to fuck him.

Maybe that’s why he’s so willing to forgive me about the car? I pull away from him and grab a napkin to dab my eyes and cheeks. I quickly glance around the bar. No one’s paying attention to us.

“It’s not just that.” This is so mortifying. But I can’t go on letting him think I don’t know.

“Tell me. What else?” He rests his hand on my leg. “Tell me so I can fix whatever it is.”

This is humiliating. Heat burns my cheeks, but I push ahead. “Did you…tell anyone about me? About us?”

I might be willing to accept that Griff didn’t sleep with Kiki but what if they formed some sort of emotional connection in the house? How else would she know such personal stuff about me?

“I tried not to talk about you too much to anyone.” He frowns and hurries to add, “Not because I don’t love you or I’m not proud you’re my girlfriend.” He stops as if he’s daring me to correct him.

When I say nothing, he continues. “I wanted to protect you.” He shakes his head. “I know that sounds weak after what happened, but I didn’t realize?—”

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