Page 86 of The Grief We Hold

He puts the picture down. “The short version is they were murdered two years ago.”

The lines on his face aren’t from laughter and joy. They’re the scars of mourning love so violently. Grief has torn this man apart as surely as a hurricane rips through a city. The city can be rebuilt, but it will never be quite the same.

A tear escapes me, and Wraith touches my cheek gently, brushing it away with his thumb. “Don’t cry for me, Blue. Not today, when I’m trying to be a different kind of man.”

I swallow, trying to hold back the flood of feelings I currently have for him. I’m furious at Margie for trying to steal Wraith’s progress back to happiness by telling me to stay away.

“Let’s get you sat down.” He takes my hand and leads me to a stunning open-plan living area, but I find it hard to move on from the conversation in the hallway.

The floor-to-ceiling windows look out over a meadow at the foot of the mountains, taking my breath away.

It’s expansive. Vast. And so pure.

“Sit,” he says when we get to a large soft sofa that surfs the difference between a light brown and pale gray. “I’m gonna get us some drinks. I’ve only got beer or whiskey. Or water?”

“Beer would be fine.”

A stone fireplace sits at one end of the room, and two tan leather armchairs sit opposite the sofa. The thick cream rug is warm beneath my feet.

In the distance, I can hear the droning music of a cartoon TV show Fen likes.

The view helps settle my heart, and I breathe deeply as the clouds scud by. Seattle was never really my style. Too much noise and too many people.

And the constant rain.

This wide-open space does something to ease the ache I feel deep inside my bones.

“I need a rule between us,” Wraith says when he comes back into the room with two beers.

He offers me one, and I take it before he sits down next to me. “What’s that?”

“I’m not here for miscommunication shit. Anything happens to you, you come tell me first. Fucking run to me, if you have to. But we don’t withdraw or let others determine our actions. We talk shit through, even if it’s hard shit. Even if you don’t like what you heard. Even if I’m the one causing your discomfort.”

I can’t help but contrast him to my husband.

It’s none of your business.

Don’t question me.

I don’t want to hear it.

“It’s hard to admit, but what you’re asking for is something I’m unused to.”

Wraith takes a sip of his beer. “I figured. But that’s not how you and I are gonna roll.”

That’s not how you and I are gonna roll.

“That sounds…good.” I twist on the sofa, tucking a knee beneath me.

Wraith places his hand on it, and I feel the warmth of his palm soak through my jeans. “Sounds like Margie threatened you to not say anything, but I’m gonna need you to tell me what she said in your own words.”

“How did you hear about it?”

“One of the prospects overheard your conversation. He knows the score and came to me first, kinda like you should have done.” His words are soft as he squeezes my knee.

“I’m supposed to get paid tomorrow. I didn’t want to upset the apple cart and not get my salary.”

“I’m a silent partner but majority owner in the diner. Ma got into financial difficulties after her husband died, and I pitched in cash after Hallie asked me to bail her out. I’ll make sure you get paid.”

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