Page 84 of Falling for Grace

“Brandon,” I repeat, but he doesn’t hear me. The line is already dead.

He hung up.

I stand outside the bar staring down at my phone, not knowing what to do. Guilt claws away at me, but he walked out on me. He left me at Sue’s house, when he’d told to me that I wouldn’t have to deal with it on my own anymore. He promised me, but he just left me after I had bared myself to him.

But you broke his heart.

I can’t hold any of this against him, not the way he’s reacting, not the way he’s dealing with it.

I take a deep cleansing breath and look up at the overcast sky. Clouds thick with pressure, waiting to release. I’m trying to do what Danny told me to do: move on, live my life. I take another breath and walk into the bar. Ben is sitting back at the table intently watching the TV. I take in his appearance. His face has been relaxed and smiling all evening, but now he’s frowning at the screen. Following his eyes, I see what has his attention.

Jesus Christ. It’s like Brandon Holder is fucking haunting me and my attempt to move on. I stand off to the side, watching the screen and watching Ben, who is tapping his chin.

I can’t hear the sound, but I can see a video clip of Brandon falling out of the bar, along with more clips with pictures of me in it. Courtesy of the paparazzi that had caught us at the airport and the morning of the funeral, then at the hotel It doesn’t really need to tell the story; a picture says a thousand words. But looking at Ben’s face, I’d say a picture brings up a thousand questions.

I wince as the headline comes up. “Brandon Holder’s romp with high school flame.” Wow, every time I see that it makes me hurt. Because it wasn’t a romp, and I’m not a flame. I’m the mother of his child, and he’s the love of my life.

Yet here I am, attempting to move on.

Following Danny’s request.

I was stupid and horrifically selfish trying to move on. The realisation hits me with the force of a wave. This is wrong, and I shouldn’t be here.

I look down and realise I have my bag, so rather than being the bigger person, I turn to leave. Because I’m a coward.

I’m walking past the few tables that are by the exit when it happens. The woman in front of me does a double take.

Not now, not now.

Karma is a bitch. The woman turns from the TV screen and looks at me.

“It’s you?” she squeals, drawing the attention of anyone in the vicinity. Including Ben.

His eyes meet mine and I read sympathy in his beautiful features.

“You fucked Brandon Holder?” She takes in my appearance and I feel judged, my skin prickling, embarrassment warming my cheeks. “Oh my God, you’re not even that hot.”

Why are people so horrible? I mean, I know this girl is a few cocktails down, judging by the empties half empty Cocktail Bowl on her table, but of all the things she could have said to me. I tilt my head down to hide my red face, and I hear Ben call my name. I’ve just made it out the front door as I hear the girl shout proudly that she managed to get a picture of me.

I put one foot in front of the other and have made it to the corner when his hand is on my elbow. I shake him off, but he overtakes me and his hands are on my shoulders, halting me.

“Why are you running?” he asks, searching my eyes.

“This was a mistake, I’m sorry,” I say, shaking my head, looking anywhere other than into those dark brown eyes.

“Grace?” he asks. “Grace, look at me.”

I have to tip my head back to meet his eyes.

“What’s going on?” His voice is soft and questioning. Filled with compassion. I’m doing a fairly shit job at holding things together. I may as well carry a billboard sign with neon lights flashing I HAVE BAGGAGE. I shake my head.

“Baby girl.” The term of endearment that Danny used to use. If it was Danny, he would be pushing, but Ben isn’t Danny, and he doesn’t push. He just pulls me into his muscular chest, his hand cupping the back of my head as he holds me to him, and I cry.

Big fat tears.

“Please don’t call me that,” I say between sobs.

Guilt consumes me for being out with someone else while Brandon is struggling with the loss of our child. The fact that his life is being very much plastered everywhere, including pictures of us together, makes it even harder.

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