Page 79 of Beautiful Mess

“That’s ridiculous, Gemma,” I scoff, rolling my eyes. “Why would that scare me?”

“Because then you’d have no other reason to push away the man you love.”

My throat is tight, my tongue thick, as I attempt to swallow, and the roaring of my pulse in my ears is making it hard to hear anything else. Even if I had a solid argument against that, I doubt I’d be able to formulate a single word.

“You’re scared of getting hurt.” Gemma continues. “And while I know exactly why you’re scared and don’t blame you for feeling the way you do, I also don’t think you have anything to worry about as far as Conway is concerned.”

With tears in my eyes, I peer over at my sister, chewing on the inside of my cheek to keep my lip from quivering. I hate this feeling. I hate the overwhelming way it consumes me, even when I do my best to gaslight myself into believing I don’t care as much as I do, or that the distance I’ve demanded doesn’t feel like I’m trapped underwater.

Giving me a sad smile, Gemma holds out her arms. “Damn you, Grace. Get over here.” I don’t think there will ever come a time, no matter how old I get, where having one of my sisters hold me when I’m going through a tough time will not make me feel immensely better. Letting Gemma wrap her arms around me, I rest my head on her shoulder as her hand rubs soothingly along my back. “We can’t cry after we spent all that time getting ready,” she says, making me chuckle. “Trust me when I say I fully understand why you’re pushing him away. I get where the fear is coming from, but the only person hurting you right now, Grace, is you. Don’t let your fear and past trauma push away one of the good ones. You deserve to be happy and to be loved, even when it feels scary.”

We sit in each other’s embrace for a few long moments, and I let myself take in everything she said, knowing she’s right. I’m hurting myself—and maybe even Conway too—in an attempt to save myself from getting hurt. What the hell kind of logic is that?

Sitting back, I wipe the moisture away from my cheeks, making a mental note to touch up my make-up before we leave. “I hate you,” I murmur.

Gemma laughs, which, in turn, makes me laugh too. “Love you too, sis.”

Charley’s cobalt-blue Bronco pulls into Gemma’s driveway a moment later, coming to a stop beside my car. Black hair styled in wild curls and her large, round sunglasses resting on her nose, she waves at us, a smile brightening her face as she climbs out.

“Sorry I’m late!” she says as she jogs up the steps to the porch. “The night person was lateagain. Where’s Georgia?”

“Georgia’s not coming. She found out about”—I check the time on my phone—“oh, two hours ago that Fletcher will be coming to stay with her next week for the foreseeable future.”

“I’m sorry, what?” Pushing the sunglasses on top of her head, Charley looks between Gemma and I with wide eyes and her mouth agape. “How did that happen? And why? I have so many questions.”

Gemma and I chuckle because we both had the same reaction. Fletcher is our stepbrother whom we rarely see. When our dad married Denise, Fletcher’s mom, he was living with his dad in Charleston, so we only really saw him when he visited during school breaks. In his early twenties, he’s the youngest out of all of us kids, so that has also played a part in none of us ever being close with him, even when he was visiting. There’s also the little fact that he’s a spoiled fucking brat and always has been, which makes being around him dreadful. His dad’s loaded and the word “no” has clearly never been in his vocabulary.

Fletcher is insufferable, but it seems like it’s finally catching up with him.

“From what our dad told Georgia earlier, Fletcher got into some trouble at work, not for the first—or second, or third—time, and his dad’s apparently sick of his shit. Fired him from the company, cut him off completely, and sent him to live with Denise and my dad until he can get his shit together.”

Charley frowns, her eyebrows pinched. “Okay, but how does Georgia come into play in all of this?”

“Well, you know how my dad and Denise just bought that house over on Clearwater?” Charley nods. “They’re gutting the whole thing and essentially rebuilding, so they bought an RV to park on the property and live in while construction’s going on. There’s no room for Fletcher, and since Gemma has a newborn, I don’t have any spare bedrooms, and with Graham about to have his first kid, our dad decided Georgia was the best candidate for the job.”

“And Georg just agreed to it?”

Gemma snorts beside me. “Absolutely not. But our dad decided to play dirty and guilt her into saying yes by reminding her how he helped her get the loan to open the bookstore.”

“Damn.” Charley huffs out a laugh. “Papa Astor stoopedreallow for that one.”

Chuckling, I check the time on my phone, realizing if we want to leave on time, we need to finish getting ready, like, now. Tonight is the second fundraiser of the year that Conway and I planned. It’s an art show that a studio right on the edge of town is hosting, and the best part is, it’s adults only with a wine bar. “Okay, I gotta touch up my make-up before we go,” I announce, standing up. “Let’s head inside.”

“Good idea,” Charley offers. “I have to do the same and change out of these work clothes.”

A half an hour—honestly, it’s probably more like forty-five minutes—later, the three of us are piling into Graham’s car as he acts as chauffeur for the evening.

Securing my seatbelt, I nudge my brother’s arm with my elbow. “Thanks for driving us tonight.”

He pulls out of the driveway, flicking an unamused gaze my way. “You act like you gave me much of a choice.”

“Hey!” I say in mock offense. “You’re in for a great night with the boys in exchange for being our DD.”

“Babysitting a handful of kids with my soon to be brother-in-law and my ex-brother-in-law. Such a great night,” he teases.

“Trust me, little brother,” Gemma drawls, leaning forward from the backseat to pat Graham’s arm. “When my sweet little niece is born, you’re going to thank us for forcing you to make dad friends.”

Charley snorts in the backseat. “They’re right. Honestly, you should be thanking us. It’s a sweet deal, if you ask me.”

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