Page 91 of The Holiday Clause
“I’m sorry if that’s upsetting for you to hear, Grey, but I’m tired of being alone. I want someone to come home to, someoneto ask me about my day. I want to be kissed and touched and treated like a woman deserves to be treated. You have this delicate image of me that just doesn’t exist anymore.”
She crossed the kitchen, needing to touch him. “Your dad got it wrong, Greyson. Loving someone or showing emotion does not make you weak.”
“This isn’t about that.”
“Yes, it is. Magnus is sick. All those feelings you had when you lost your mom, they’re starting to repeat.” She squeezed his arms. “Salting the roads won’t save him, Grey.”
His brow creased as he looked away.
Their mothers would still be alive if the salt trucks had shown up that night. Since then, Greyson made it his job to keep everyone in Hideaway Harbor safe. But no amount of salt could save his dad, and there wasn’t time to fix the parts of their relationship that were broken.
“You always took care of me, Grey, even at the height of my grief. I let you in. I let you see the ugliest sides of me, and you didn’t run. Do you think I would abandon you? All I’ve ever wanted was for you to let me in. Let me help you with everything you’re feeling.”
His tense, pensive stare averted hers, but by the way his shoulders moved with every breath, she knew he absorbed every word.
“Let me in, Greyson. Let me be there for you so you don’t have to go through this alone.” She gently rubbed his back as the kitten played on his shoulder. “I want to comfort you, to be everything you need, but first you have to be honest about the things you’re feeling.”
As always, silence followed.
“Please, Grey. Just talk to me.”
He looked ready to shatter, every muscle coiled with the effort of holding himself together, and then something shifted.That ever-present mask of composure slid back into place. “I have nothing to say.”
He broke her heart. “Go home, Greyson. You don’t get to be jealous and still shut me out.”
She stepped back, and he caught her hand. “Wait.” Something desperate flashed in his eyes. “I’m trying, Wren. But I honestly don’t know what you want me to say.” His hand tightened around hers.
“What do you feel for me, Greyson?”
His breath turned labored as he tried to find the right words. “Everything! Too much.” He pressed a fist to his chest. “You touch me, and I forget how to breathe.”
It was the first time he ever honestly gave her any sort of confirmation. Relief left her shaken, her knees threatening to buckle under the weight of fifteen years of hoping. “It’s the same for me.”
Waiting for Greyson to think through his feelings felt like waiting for the glaciers to shift from one side of the ocean to the other, but when he finally found the right words, they hit a million times harder than all the painful silences.
He shook his head, still unsatisfied with his words. “I forget how to stop myself.”
“Then don’t.”
“You deserve better?—”
“I don’t want better.”
“One day you’ll need it though, and I’ll let you down.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do.” He looked at her then, his eyes desperate to get through to her, but his mouth unable to speak the words he wanted to say. “You’re perfect, Wren.”
“I’m not?—“
“But you are. To me, you are.”
She looked down and untied the sash of her robe, letting it drop like a whisper to the floor.
“What are you doing?”
Standing in only a linen nightgown, she looked up at him. “I’m giving myself to you.” She pushed the straps of her nightgown off her shoulders, and down it went.
