“Right. Now get back to resting and don’t use that fucking arm.”
Chapter 24
Carrie
He still hadn’t left.
Every minute—every second—I was bracing myself to hear the words.
I have to go.
The day was almost done. Twenty-four hours had passed since Leo knocked on my door, and now? Now, I was curled on the couch with a cup of hot tea cradled against my chest as I watched the man who killed Leo let Tic-Tac out from the pet carrier. The small golden bell that hung from Tic-Tac’s new blue collar jingled as he dashed through the house, darting up the stairs to hide.
A grunt sounded from Grayson as he rose to his full height and pulled off his knitted hat, revealing his thick, dark locks, still as perfect as before he put it on two hours ago. “He’s updated on his shots, and they put a chip in him, so when it gets warmer, and he decides to go explore outside, we can find him,” he told me, unbuttoning his thick, black Carhart coat.
His dark eyes met mine, watching me closely as he asked, “How are you feeling?”
Physically? I was great.
Mentally? I wasn’t the best.
And emotionally? Emotionally, I didn’t know what the hell was going on. It would be so easy to give in to this and trust him, because Grayson was the kind of man you could trust. Without a doubt, I could trust him with my life, but would I be able to trust him with my heart?
We were strangers. It didn’t make sense to feel the way I was feeling.
You felt it the first time you saw him, leaning against that pole on the street.
“I’m okay,” I answered before taking a sip of tea.
He shrugged off the coat and came to me, draping it on the back of the couch. “I’m sorry I was gone so long,” he muttered, reaching out to brush a curl from my cheek. “But he needed to get checked out before the next round of storms comes in later tonight.”
I nodded, looking back to the TV, not paying attention to the characters on the screen, thinking back to the conversation we had after he finally got some food in me…
Four Hours Ago.
“Did your mom teach you how to cook?” I asked, setting down my fork, feeling full for the first time in what felt like days. The drug Leo gave me did a number on my system. Jake assured both of us that it would be out of my system completely within a day or two; I just needed to drink plenty of fluids and remember to eat.
Grayson set the table while the meal was cooking, ordering me to remain on the counter. It was only after my plate had been made and my chair pulled out that he allowed me to hop down. Then, he took a seat across from me at my little table, unbothered by its age or size.
“Cooking is a basic life skill,” Grayson answered before taking his last bite. I watched as he chewed, marveling at the way his mouth worked, the way his jaw moved. When he was done, he added, “She taught me the basics, and when I was in the military, I didn’t have shit to my name. If I wanted good food, I had to learn how to make it.”
I nodded, giving him a small smile. “It was very good. Thank you for making it.”
He set his fork down beside his plate, mirroring mine, and sat back, the wooden chair groaning underneath his weight. He reached for his glass of water, and my eyes dropped to his snake tattoo on that hand. His business was called Red Snake, and last night…I remembered him saying White Snake on the phone.
I was curious, but I knew I didn’t have the stomach for the answers right now, not when there were other things we needed to discuss.
“Did you bring this table inside yourself?” he asked me, throwing me off.
“Uh—yes. It’s usually—”
“—out on the porch,” he finished for me. “I know.”
I looked out the window, taking in the gray skies and white blanket of snow covering the roofs and the ground, all the way down into town. “The porch is a great space—for warmer weather, but I lose it in the winter. Sarah warned me of that when I moved in,” I said.
He was silent for a moment. When he spoke again, I knew it was time. “Do you want to start, or should I?”
Biting my cheek, I looked back to him and pulled my hands into my lap. I couldn’t meet his eyes, but I could definitely start. So with my head bent and my eyes focused on the faint scars on my wrists, I began. “Robert has been dead for over two years now, and during those two years, I’ve done two things.” I took a breath. “I grieved, and then, I grew. However, I think—I think during my grieving, I’d been blind. Actually, I think I was blind in our marriage, too.”