Page 96 of Return To You

“I don’t understand,” she murmurs, a deep frown shadowing her features as she strokes my hair.

I close my eyes and lean my head back against the lounge chair. “I can see now how stupid it was, and maybe I was just scared, unable to face the mess I felt I had created.”

“What mess? What are you talking about?”

“I didn’t look after Justin. I was dismissive of Audrey. All this wouldn’t—shouldn’t have happened. The fucking butterfly effect,” I add, hoping she won’t ask for an explanation. I’m getting exhausted.

“M-hm.” She’s still stroking my hair. “Did you ever think how it made your parents feel?”

I open my eyes. Can I tell her this? Will she understand? I don’t want her to judge my parents poorly. I’m the one who fucked up. “I think at the time, they sorta wanted me gone.”

I feel her stiffen on my lap. Her hand stops stroking my hair. “How can you say that? They adore you.” Opening my eyes to meet hers, I see compassion, not the disapproval I was expecting.

“They wouldn’t let me postpone my departure. It’s like they wanted me to leave.”

“That was your misplaced guilt talking.”

“Pretty sure Mom said I owed it to Justin to go live my life the way I had it planned out. I couldn’t delay because of him. Although I wanted to. I would have done anything to help him out. I was going through hell after his accident.”

Grace’s eyes fill with tears, and she tugs at my hair. “Oh, honey. You know Lynn. Somewhere between her heart and her mouth stuff gets mumble jumbled and she can say the worst things ever at the worst possible time but with the best intentions. I mean, pretty sure even our sweet Sophie is writing an anthology with all the collected material at this point.”

I chuckle at the fair point she’s making. “Sophie?”

“Sophie Yarwood. She’s our librarian now. And she writes stories. No surprise there.”

“Sweet,” I say, remembering a nerdy and lovely girl our age who would insist on writing the screenplays for our high school shows so our productions would be original and royalty free.

Grace brings us back on topic. “You need to talk to your mom. There’s no way she said it the way you took it. No way.”

“I’ll talk to her tomorrow. When we go to the barbecue,” I add, squeezing her hips in my hands.

Her gaze strays off my face. “About that. I might-I think I’ll pass. Tomorrow is just the Kings.”

I look at her but only a grunt comes out of my chest as I think of all the arguments against this. That she’s mine. That we’ve always been together. That she’s always been family. “Chloe is coming,” I counter.

“She and Justin are together. She’s as good as a King. Did you see how Justin wouldn’t stop touching her?” I’m always touching you too. Right now you’re on my lap. At the bar I was playing with your hair, stroking your back. “They’re so cute together. He really deserves to be happy.” Yes he does. You do too. Me? Debatable. “And she doesn’t take his shit, lemme tell you. She’s something else.” And you’re in a league of your own. “Don’t you love her?”

“I love you,” is what comes out of me, raw. There. I said it. This isn’t a fling. An interlude. This is the real deal and I need her to know it.

Her hands clasp around my face. "And I love you too, Ethan. Always have, always will.” Her voice is a bit shaky. She doesn’t lean down to kiss me. “No matter what happens now.”

No matter what happens now? What does she mean? “So what you’re saying is… we’re not really together.”

And are we? Back together? I can’t decently think this way until I have my shit together, and that means a plan of action. Next month, next year, next ten years, the rest of our lives.

“What I’m saying is, I don’t feel comfortable going to a small family dinner…”

I shut my eyes and clench my jaw. I want that, god I want that so much. I want my name on more than just the jersey she sleeps in.

“…yet,” she adds, reading my emotions. “I need a little time. And also, we haven’t talked about… us.”

“Yet,” I counter, pulling her against me. Her lips finally find mine, and her hands get lost in my hair and my grunts are echoed with her moans.

I stroke her neck when she breaks the kiss to nuzzle against my chest. “Would you? Want to…” Fuck, I can’t ask her this way. This is no way to propose to anyone, and certainly not to Grace.

“You don’t always get what you want, Ethan.” She turns to me, eyes shiny but chin firm. “You and I… all this is very new. We can’t just pick up where we left off. Even if it sometimes feels like it’s what we’re doing, there’s a lot to… to think about… and consider. I mean…” She makes an all-encompassing gesture. “This is where I live. This is my world. I’ve got Dad, who’s sick. I’ve got Skye. I’ve got Mom and even Colton. My spa. My staff. My clients. And you have your ultra-top-secret career. Here one day, gone the next.”

I love, love that she’s already thinking about all that. She’s level-headed, if you exclude the squirreling tendencies—but even those, I can rationalize. I can see her point. And I hate that I’m who made her that way, in a sense. I bring her mouth to mine and kiss her tenderly. “You’ve always been the one for me, Grace. But you’re right, this is going very fast.”

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