Page 20 of Eight Years Gone

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Jagger settled his sunglasses in place as he stepped out of the shop’s short alleyway. He passed Simplicity’s storefront as Grace opened the big glass doors in anticipation of the day’s patrons.

She paused with her hand on the Open sign as their eyes met. Then she turned away, heading farther into the shop.

“Damn,” he muttered as he kept his pace steady on his walk down the pretty tree-lined stretch of Main Street, barely paying attention to the fall flowers decorating window boxes or the fact that a few of the stores along the block had changed hands since the last time he’d been there.

He exhaled a long frustrated breath because the last twenty minutes had gone far worse than he’d expected. Cornering Grace had been a bit of a dick move, but he hadn’t known what else to do, especially after she’d locked him out.

This entire situation was boggy ground. Everything about the present was new territory.

Clenching his jaw, he flared his nostrils, remembering how Grace had looked at him while he followed her around the store—hostility and poorly guarded vulnerability. That was new, too, and he didn’t like it.

He’d watched her. When he pulled up at an empty spot by the coffee shop, he hadn’t realized she would be sitting by the window with Christy.

Initially, he’d planned to walk over to Maggie’s place and find Grace there, but he’d stared across the street instead, studying how easily Grace talked and laughed with her longtime best friend.

It was a shame when that had changed. He’d known the exact moment when she spotted him—when her eyes had grown huge with shock and her shoulders stiff with tension.

“Damn,” he said again because things used to be so easy between them. He and Grace had spent long stretches of each day together for the better part of five years.

Occasionally, they had argued or pissed each other off, but they’d never been able to stay mad at each other for long. Laughter and fun had always followed apologies and hugs—or a hell of a bout of sweaty makeup sex.

Clearly, those days were over. But he rubbed at the back of his neck because even as he thought it, he knew it wasn’t that simple. He’d seen the flash of desire in her eyes—had heard the breathiness in her voice after he’d touched her. Time had passed—years—but there was still something between them.

They needed to have a conversation, even if Grace wasn’t necessarily excited about the idea.

Is there really anything we need to say?

He shook his head as her last words to him stung. There was plenty to talk about because Grace had her hands full. When he’d left her behind, her life was supposed to have been better for it. She was supposed to have capitalized on her opportunities and made her dreams come true.

Obviously, that never happened because working full-time in Aunt Maggie’s shop had never entered the original equation.

But Logan was never supposed to have hurt his shoulder in the last tackle of their senior year game. He was never supposed to have gotten hooked on pills and died. Jagger was never supposed to have walked away from the love of his life so he could spend the next eight years overseas.

He stopped at the end of the block, crossing over to the next at the crosswalk, letting his shoulders relax when he spotted the dojang he’d spent countless hours in over the long-ago summers.

Master Todd had eagerly accepted him as a student and part-time instructor whenever he’d spent time in Preston Valley between football camps.

Pulling open the door, he stepped inside, breathing in the odd mixture of sweat, mat cleaner, and crayons. The smell was familiar and immediately comforting.

“Hello?”

Jagger smiled at the deep voice coming from the office. That was familiar too.

Seconds later, Todd hobbled into the main room with a clunky gray boot on his right foot. His brown eyes grew wide as he grinned. “Jagger Tennyson. What the hell?”

Jagger’s smile widened as he studied Todd’s tough body and salt-and-pepper hair. This place was the next best thing to home—the next best thing to Grace. Closing the distance between them so Todd wouldn’t have to walk, Jagger extended his hand.

“Fuck that, man. Give me a hug.”

Jagger wrapped his mid-fortysomething teacher up in a hug, slapping his back as Todd slapped his. “It’s been a long time.”

Todd eased back. “Look at you, Muscle Man. Where the hell have you been?”

Jagger sighed. “Nowhere and everywhere.” He shrugged. “Overseas.”

“Doing the military thing.”

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