Page 37 of Griffin
"That's different. Her marriage is shit. And I haven't been moping."
"Oh, trust me, buddy, you've been moping. You've been dragging your sorry ass around this house wearing a big old frown, and you're fucking grumpy too. A double whammy—a grumpy mope. But hey, I know how you feel. Of course, you only just met Shay, and I've known Lacey since third grade. Think I've been in love with her since then." Theo gulped some beer and smacked the can down hard. "What a couple of losers, eh? Who'd have thought two women could bring down a couple of Stones?" He leaned forward. "What's going on with Shay?"
"Nothing. We both see each other at work, and all I can do is grit my teeth to keep from touching her or pulling her into my arms, but this was what she wanted. She's got a big mess to deal with. The asshole isn't home right now, but when he gets back, she's going to tell him it's over. I'm just worried that—I mean the guy is a total fuckface. She wants to do this alone, but it's fucking hard to stay out on the sidelines and wait to see what happens."
"That would be hard. Do you think she's in danger?"
I chugged back some beer. "Let's put it this way, Dad and I met him. He was in the trailer for maybe sixty seconds, and by the time he walked out with Shay, Dad and I were both ready to throw our fists into something. Namely, his face."
"Well, I pity the fool if he tries to hurt Shay. Here's to the asshole experiencing life on the other end of a Stone fist," Theo said. He lifted his can, and we smacked them together. "Now, what about a night out? At least come and eat some nachos. Mac will be there too."
"Yeah, I guess I could go for some nachos. There's not enough salt in the world to make this frozen dinner edible, and hanging out with you assholes is probably better than staring at some stupid shit on television." I got up and dumped my food in the trash.
"That's the spirit," Theo said. "I think. Hey, did you just call us all assholes?"
"Yeah, but you guys are the good kind of assholes."
"Right. Good to know."
TWENTY-FOUR
SHAY
A wind kicked up outside, and it whirred around the small rental house in a frenzy, blowing the overgrown oak tree branches hard enough that they scratched against the siding. The fall weather went perfectly with the treat I'd made myself. I'd bought some apple cider at the store and heated it with cinnamon, cloves and nutmeg. The fragrance in the kitchen should have been bottled or, at the very least, turned into a holiday candle. I'd danced for an hour, and my muscles had that good ache that came after a successful workout. My tone and strength were coming back. I was signed up to start ballet lessons in two weeks, and I wanted to be sure I was ready.
An entire week had gone by, which meant I was a week closer to Tate's return. I hadn't figured out exactly how to go about asking for a divorce. Blurting it out plainly and with a burst of confidence seemed like my best option. I'd been working on all of it—courage, confidence, resolve. I needed to be free from Tate Kennedy forever.
I sat on the couch and pulled a throw blanket around me as I sipped cider. The only thing missing from the moment of perfection was Griffin Stone. We'd spent the workweek pretending that we were just a pair of coworkers. I was in the office trailer, and he was mostly out on site. We didn't have that many natural chances of running into each other, but when we did, like out at the break tables or walking out to our cars, it was obvious that both of us were dying to be together. There was such a pull between us, you could almost see electric charges going back and forth whenever we stood together. We kept our conversations light, mostly out of self-preservation. If we started getting too heavy into a conversation, then emotions would run high, and there was too much danger of me falling right into those incredible arms. As much as I wanted to do just that, I knew that I needed to keep my head clear. Something that was not possible around Griffin Stone. With any luck, I'd be done with my terrible baggage soon, and Griffin and I could pick up where we left off. And what a leave off it was. I couldn't stop thinking about being with him, physically and emotionally.
And just thinking about him pushed me into a moment of vulnerability. I wanted nothing more than to be sitting with him right now, cuddled under the blanket and soaking in his body heat. I reached forward and grabbed my phone from the coffee table.
"Just thinking about how much I miss being in your arms." I hesitated at first but then sent off the text. It was Friday night, so I was sure he was out. What if he was out with a woman? I allowed myself that annoying question. After all, I wasn't delusional. I had no doubt there were many women in Griffin's life. And if he was out with someone, then that made perfect sense. Why should he have to wait around for me while I dealt with my ugly problems? I put the phone back down. It was stupid to expect a text back, and I felt silly for wearing my neediness right out there for him to see. I was starting to work up a nice internal lecture for myself when the phone buzzed. I reached forward and picked it up.
"Trust me, ballerina, these arms are waiting for you to be back in them. What are you up to?"
"Just sitting drinking hot cider under a throw blanket like a proper little old lady," I wrote back.
"Sounds better than my night. Sitting in my aunt's bar eating nachos with my cousins and spending the whole time wishing I was with you."
I double tapped a heart emoji on his text and put the phone down before I sent myself into a sob session. I rested back with the cider and closed my eyes to relax when an all too familiar noise made me sit up so fast, I spilled the cider. The house vibrated, and the rumble outside churned up a wave of nausea.
"No," I cried. "I had another week." I got up and quickly moved the furniture back to its usual place. I'd kept the dance floor all week, but I was erasing it before the dark swirling shadow walked inside to obliterate my dreams.
The motor stopped, and the rattling windows quieted down. I heard him fumbling with the back door lock, and a string of cuss words followed. The door swung open, and the wind swooshed through the house, sending a stack of napkins all over the kitchen floor. He always entered like a terrible, menacing storm. His laundry bag landed with a thump on the kitchen floor. "Why the fuck does it stink so much in this kitchen?" he bellowed. "That better be dinner."
I took a deep breath and walked out to the kitchen. Seeing him always obliterated all my energy, and I felt myself physically shrink down. My stomach churned around the cider.
"I wasn't expecting you," I said. "I could make you some eggs." I hated hearing my voice. It was the other voice, the one I used when standing in the same room with him. It was weak and submissive and pathetic, but it was a hard habit to break.
"Eggs? Fuck, I just drove ten straight hours and you're offering eggs?"
"You could have texted that you were on your way back. You told me you'd be gone two weeks."
"Yeah, well one of the jobs fell through. I'm going to shower, and I sure hope there's something better than fucking eggs on that table when I get out."
I stepped well clear of his path. He was in an extra bad mood. I thought I had another whole week to strengthen my plan, but that wasn't the case. One part of my plan was already in place, make sure to catch him in a mellow mood. Those moods were fewer and farther between every day, and my patience was growing thin. Tonight, though, was out of the question. He'd just entered like a category 5 tornado, and I was going to need to "take shelter" for the rest of the night.
I made Tate a grilled ham and cheese sandwich, and he sat to eat it without complaint and without a thank you but then I didn't expect one. I was still reeling and trying to gather my composure after having my second week of freedom pulled out from under me. I quickly cleaned the kitchen while he ate.
