Page 44 of Never Always
“What kind of question is that, Ariel?” Grange booms. “Going back to give Sierra every fucking detail?” His breathing speeds up, and I hadn’t thought about this angle, yet. Grange’s anger. His response to Ariel and the betrayal. Stupid, stupid Sierra. “You’re lucky I’m not closing the door in your face. Or calling the cops. You fucking drugged me. Sierra may be a twisted bitch, but she knows what she wants. You, on the other hand, are dangerous. You were easily corrupted, influenced, bought. How much did she give you?”
Ariel looks at me like I’ve critically wounded her. “I had to tell him. It wasn’t fair,” I explain, talking with my hands. “He had a right to know the truth. You have to see it was the right thing to do.”
Grange doesn’t let our exchange go any further. “Fuck right off, Ariel. You reap what you sow. Stay away from me. Stay away from my girl. It’s no wonder your boyfriend stormed off. Do you have to drug him to fuck him too? Go away.” Grange closes the door and locks it. He’s seething, a picture of a warrior. Jaw ticking, forearms bulging. It’s frightening. Enlightening. A turn-on save for the fact that I know his heart is hurting right now despite what his body language conveys. “You can’t trust her.” He hisses the words.
“Sierra manipulated her. Used her. She’s not innocent by any means, Grange, but maybe she got caught up with what her friend wanted and judging by the way she was looking at you tonight, she probably wanted to… have sex with you anyway.”
“Mark me, Fire. That woman knew exactly what she was doing. Fear her. Do not give her sympathy. I may not have been the best judge of character back then because Sierra had me blinded, but trust I have my thumb on that woman’s pulse now and she’s bad news.”
Tentatively, I approach him, laying my fingers on his chest. “Okay. I trust you,” I say, looking up at him through my lashes. “I’m sorry she ruined our night.”
He clears his throat, trying to bring his temper back in. “Not the whole night. Just the finale.” Grange shakes his head. “She makes me prickly. I don’t want to think about her or my past.” Sitting down on the sofa he picks up my glow stick that’s still shimmering a neon yellow light. Rolling it on his palm, he looks up to where I’m standing. “Want to plan out the menu for Thanksgiving? Or tell me things I don’t know about you? Distract me.”
I crawl onto his lap and wrap my arms around his neck. He inhales sharply, and I feel the tension leave his body as he exhales. “Thanksgiving menu. I’ll grab my notepad. I’ll also grab my Lord Tennyson poetry book.”
Grange chuckles. “I fucking knew it.”
I cluck my tongue. “No jokes. I’m telling you about myself.”
In between recipes, I tell him the harrowing story of growing up with a name that didn’t fit. He loves it more than he should, and surprisingly when the menu is planned and I begin reading one of my favorite Tennyson poems from the book, he recites the last stanza before I can. He had it memorized.
When I gawk at him, he merely shrugs. Another secret. But this one makes me fall a little bit more. I grab us a couple of cookies from the kitchen and catch sight of my office in the window as I pass by. The lights are on.
Chapter Fourteen
Tennyson
“BUT MINE DIDhave more glitz and pizzazz. Let’s be honest here,” Sue-Ellen says, voice lilted with contempt. “The dress was to die for. Everyone thought so.” She tosses her hair over her shoulder. I wince.
Clover sips her sweet tea while eyeing her old adversary over the rim of the glass. Mercer wraps an arm around her waist. I’m sure it’s a reminder that other people are around, and that it is Thanksgiving, not the climactic scene in a teen movie. “Ah, I don’t recall much, I’m sorry darlin’.” Clover taps her chin with a perfectly manicured finger. “Except the center stone in that crown I won. It was an impressive crown that year, so big and filled with baubles. I think my mama still has it in the trophy case back in Greenton.” Zing. Zip. Match. The bickering about their old glory days was entertaining at first, but now it’s just pathetic watching my sister try to save face. “Didn’t you get second runner-up at that one?” Clover adds, just to drive the nail in the coffin. “Or was it third?” I turn my face away. I love them both separately, but together they are not my favorite.
Sue-Ellen looks like she’s trying to kill Clover with her eyeballs. “Hors d’oeuvres,” I say, clapping once when Grange peeks his head into his living room from the kitchen. I was excited when Clover and Mercer agreed to join us for an early dinner. More people means less awkwardness from my parents. They have more people to talk to. As it stands, my daddy hasn’t shut up once. He has Rexy and Grange pinned, sitting at the island flinging questions about missions he’s read about and wants to know details.
Rexy is more jovial in his rebuttals about the top secret information they’re not allowed to talk about, Grange is just quiet. I’m not sure if it’s because he’s afraid of saying the wrong thing or if he’s nervous to meet my family. It’s a huge deal that if they don’t like him, they at least accept him as part of my life. Southern families are thick, and Grange will need to deal with these people on a semi-regular basis.
“Your hair is still looking glossy and perfect, T,” Clover says, running her hands through my hair on her way to join my father, sitting on another bar stool. “Call me up as soon as you want a change.”
Sue-Ellen is still huffing, crossing her arms over her flannel, flouncy dress. Ironically, Clover has on something similar and it’s pretty much par for the course. They like the same things. Which brings me to the way my sister keeps looking at my boyfriend. I wish I didn’t know what the look meant, the way she bats her eyelashes, but it’s been in her flirting toolkit since she was old enough to realize she could get her way by using her looks.
Swallowing hard, I look away when Grange says, “Who’s hungry?” He sets a large cookie sheet of stuffed peppers on the empty side of the granite island. When he opens his mouth to say anything, everyone looks. Including my sister. Maybe it’s the tone, all gruff and commanding. Maybe it’s because he’s been a man of few words this morning. Or maybe I’m reading too much into it. Sliding my hand into the back pocket of my jeans, I read a text I got a few minutes ago.
From Grey:Sorry I couldn’t make it today. I made plans last week. Wish I didn’t.
The last sentence hangs there in a weird, I’m not sure how to interpret, way. I’m trying to decipher it when I feel him near. Looking up, I’m met with Grange’s hard body.
“You okay?”
This is where I tell him I’m feeling self-conscious because of my past colliding with my future. “I’m fine. How are you doing? This has to be a lot.” I keep my voice down to a whisper. “My dad must be driving you nuts. I’m sorry. All his questions. Knowing when to stop isn’t a strong suit for him.”
He grins. “Everyone thinks I’m cool, Fire. Don’t apologize. It’s, ah, well I guess I’m just worried that while he knows I’m a cool badass, he won’t think I’m good enough for you.”
I choke on spit. “Really? What makes you say that?” With everyone busy devouring another appetizer Rexy just set out, I guess he assumes no one is paying attention to us. I know better. My sister and my mom will be watching Grange and I like a hawk. Analyzing my every move and his every gesture.
Grange cradles my face in his hand. I lose my breath when my gaze meets his. “Look at you. You are by far and away the most spectacular creature in the world. And you definitely take first place amongst the people under this roof right now.” He leans down and kisses my cheek, a swift, full of love gesture. “I’m not fucking around. I need your dad to think I’m the tits.”
Shaking my head. “The sweetest compliment ever followed by something that ruins it.”
Running his hand down my arm. “Did I really ruin it though?”
