Page 38 of With You Forever

He waves her off, takes everyone’s drink orders, and heads in the direction of the bar.

“House is finally done,” Jace says to Griff. “How do you feel?”

Griff lifts his bottle of whiskey. “Like we’re ’bout to get stupid up in here.”

Cheeks flushed pink, Alabama giggles. “Lord, pass the ammunition.”

“And by ammunition you mean whiskey,” Lacey says.

A roar of laughter goes up and Lacey presses fingertips against the smile on her lips.

Tonight is for fun. For forgetting about her surgery, about her cancer, and spending time with her friends and family. No pity or sorrow in anyone’s eyes, just support and love. As the music from the live band swells, she memorizes their faces, their smiles, their laughter, Seth’s strong arm around her waist, and she doesn’t want this perfect moment to end.

Ever.

He wants to watch her.

His hurricane girl.

Content to wallow in his own misery, Seth stands on the back porch, peeling the label off his bottle of Bud, eyes on the party happening inside. Lacey’s dancing with Sal. The group of girls all doing the running man and screaming with laughter. Seeing her so damn happy, too damn gorgeous for words, has his heart in a vise. In a short black dress, her hair waved long around her shoulders, Lacey’s got that California glow she’s been missing. She’s happy. She’s smiling, when he hasn’t seen a smile out of her in days.

Earlier tonight back at the apartment, she felt so small, so fragile in his arms. All he wanted to do was keep her there, keep her home. But he can’t. He can’t rope Lacey because he’s scared.

Something was on her mind. He could see it.

He wants her to talk to him, to tell him what’s wrong, but ever since he punched that goddamn wall, it feels like he punched a hole in their relationship. He saw it in her eyes the second Luke dragged him inside. They were doing okay and then he fucked shit up. He scared her. Showed her he couldn’t handle it. And Lacey closed up, worrying about him, when she should be worrying about herself.

Christ, he’s a fucking idiot.

With a soft whoosh, the sliding back door opens. Griff Greyson steps onto the porch, into the chilly night air, the clink of his rings on the amber bottle he holds. “Brought you some whiskey.”

Seth arches a brow. “Bottom shelf?”

Griff chuckles. “Fuck you.” Then, “Bottle or glass?” he asks like he knows where Seth’s mind has gone.

“Bottle.”

Griff hands it over.

“It’s a great party, man,” Seth says to Griff, shifting his stance on the porch railing he leans back against. “House is somethin’ else too.”

“Glad y’all could make it.”

Seth takes a swig of the whiskey. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

Griff eyes the bandage on his hand. “How you doin’? With—” He cuts off, swears, slaps the thighs of his jeans. “Shit. I don’t know how to do this.” He shakes his head, looking at Seth. “I’m sorry about Lacey, man.”

Seth smears a hand across his face, the grit on his jaw. “I can’t make her okay and it kills me. I can’t fuckin’ do a goddamn thing.”

Sorrow softens Griff’s rugged face. “That’s gotta be scary as hell.” His throat works, his eyes finding his wife amidst the party guests. The flash of Alabama’s red hair like a beacon to the man’s gaze. “If it was Al ... I’d be a fuckin’ mess.”

“I am.”

Griff shoves his hands into his pockets. “Whatever you and California need, you got it.”

“I just ... I just don’t fuckin’ get it.” Seth spits his words, unable to hold back. Like this happy goddamn night wants him to break. “Why Lacey? Why her?”

The door opens. Luke and Jace exit the house, beers in their hands. They exchange looks of concern with Griff, then settle in a loose circle around Seth.

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