Page 165 of Seeing Grayscale

“Because you do know where we are going. Make a left in two miles.”

He glares at me. The new haircut he’s sporting only accentuates his sharp jaw. All the bleached strands have been cut off, and his natural color makes his eyesstartlingly bright.If looks could kill… “Like I know how far two miles is…”

“I’ll tell you, sweetheart.”

“Or you could just tell me now.”

“Nope. It’s a surprise.” I smirk.

Those pretty blues roll up into his skull, and he grumbles something aboutbratandgonna get it laterunder his breath. I will gladly take whatever he gives me later. Hopefully it’ll be over the kitchen counter in our new house.

I’ve thought long and hard about this, realizing I can do what Gray asked me while still being with him. But now that it’s happening and we are heading in this new direction, I’m worried he’ll be upset.

Gray doesn’t handle being surprised well, especially with things that touch on his old wounds. For example, when I demanded that the owner of Court Syde pay Gray the money they would’ve paid for his art had he sold it to them, we arguedfor a solid two hours before agreeing that I wouldn’t act for him without asking first.

That's probably why he chose this old car with a permanent check engine light on the dashboard.

“Okay. I definitely know where I am. Why are we back here?”

Since Gray moved in with Perry and Marie, he hasn’t set a single foot back in his hometown. Between his job and visiting me on his days off, we haven't had the time or reason to. I purposefully had him get off the highway ten miles back so we could take the backstreets and draw out the suspense longer.

God, am I doing the right thing? Or will this ruin our entire past year?

I told him all those months ago that I’d show him. And I have been. Every damn day I am showing him how I choose him at every turn.

When I had to stand beside Grant O’Connell and give up my dad to the media sharks, I was choosing Gray. When Alex wanted me to go on our company retreat to the Bahamas during the week Gray was having a rough time at work because one of his co-workers is a bigot, I refused and stayed home. I also sent a threatening note to said co-worker, explaining he’d lose his job and not to fuck with what’s mine.

In a polite way, of course.

And I made sure to be there every other instance where Gray needed me. I even flew back early from one of my jobs in New Mexico because he couldn’t figure out how to use his ATM card, and the bank was closed that Sunday.

I am not playing games, and I am not losing him again.

He’s…everything.

“That left is coming up,” I tell him instead of answering.

His fingers grip the steering wheel tighter, knuckles blanching. “Please tell me,” he whispers. “Please.”

Fuck.

Fuck.

“I could never track down your parents’ will. I tried. When their storage unit got sold, it must’ve been with their things. The storage company wouldn't tell me who bought it either.”

“Hunter…”

“And I know you’ve been looking too. At houses, I mean.”

Gray blinks rapidly as his lashes grow wet, never taking his eyes off the road. “I thought we agreed that it wasn’t time for that yet.”

“We did,” I soothe. “And this isn’t…we don’t have toacton anything. But…”

He makes the left turn, right onto Chrysaline Street, and then pulls over. Killing the engine, he stares blankly ahead of him, a thick tear sneaking out of the corner of his eye. “People live there,” he whispers. “A family. That’s their home now.”

I peel his hands off the wheel and hold them. “I bought it six months ago.”

A tiny breath. “What?”

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