Page 116 of Resting Beach Face
I aimed my phone at the broken window and clicked my camera app open. “Vandalism isn’t a fun wake-up call.”
Kissing Declan while he pet me like a cat? That had been much, much better.
“It’s not just that,” Gray said, surprising me.
I took the photo, then joined him on the porch. “What’s up?”
He shook his head. “Just…family shit.”
I raised an eyebrow. “I know something about that. Hit me with it.”
He sighed and raked a hand through his hair. “You don’t need to hear this today. We’ve got enough to deal with.”
“It’s bothering you, and honestly, today is gonna be shitty enough without this storm cloud over your head. So spit it out.”
Gray tugged a folded piece of paper from his back pocket. “Got this letter from my foster brother.”
“Foster?” I said in surprise.
“Yeah, my parents died when I was a kid. I bounced from one place to another, but I was lucky to land in a house when I was eight and pretty much stay put.”
“So you had a brother there.”
“Three brothers, actually,” he said with a rueful smile. “We were a real handful, but my foster mom was great.” His smile faded. “She died when I was seventeen. Everything kinda fell apart without her there as the glue, you know?”
“I’m so sorry.”
He shook his head. “Anyway, turns out the old man finally croaked too.”
I could tell by his tone he didn’t have the same fondness for his foster dad.
“Holden is trying to save the business Dad ran into the ground. Wants me to come back.”
“Do you want to go back?”
A series of emotions too complex for me to read crossed Gray’s face. “That’s the million-dollar question,” he said quietly. “Part of me never wants to see Riverton again. The other part?” He shrugged. “Feels like I have unfinished business, you know? My brothers—” His voice cracked, and he had to clear his throat before continuing. “My brothers never knew why I left. I didn’t want to drag them into the conflict with our dad.”
“Why did you leave?”
He shot me a tight smile. “I liked dick too much for his liking.”
“Ah. Damn.”
“He found out, pitched a fit, said I couldn’t bethat wayunder his roof, so I took my gay ass and found another roof.”
“I’m sorry, man.”
“Water under the bridge.” He returned the letter to his pocket, but not before I saw it’d been folded and refolded about a dozen times. He was going to wear a hole through that paper soon.
“Not entirely. You wouldn’t be angsting over that letter if it was all behind you.”
“Guess not.” He pushed to his feet with a groan. “But moping about it won’t fix this cabin.”
“True that.” I nudged him. “But maybe deciding to visit home would take a load off you, huh? You don’t have to stay forever. Just put your ghosts to rest.”
“Maybe.” He reached for the door. “Come on, let’s get started. This mess won’t clean itself.”
“No, it won’t.” I lifted my phone and took a photo of the battered door, then followed him inside to capture the rest. My heart was heavy as I documented the damage.
