Page 33 of Gravity

Chapter Ten

Grayson

Her body heat ricochets against mine, but it’s the rage in her tiny frame that has me fighting to not pull her against me. This little pocket rocket is a lot stronger than I ever gave her credit for; or maybe I’ve just pushed her to the point where she can’t take anymore.

I know I’ve upset her, and she has every right to want and need answers, but how can I tell her that the one true reason I’ve stayed away is because she’s all I’ve thought about. All I think about. Add that to the fact the last bottle of vodka my mother drank before she died was the very one I bought her. That shit is enough to fuck a guy over.

I’m a mess. I don’t know which way to turn anymore without coming up against my past or a future that’s impossible to have. And she’s only gone and got a job in my bar where I’ll see her every. Fucking. Day. But I can’t have her thinking I hate her. I could never feel that toward her.

“I don’t hate you, Nora,” I correct her, my voice low as I try to ease the sudden tension that has caught alight between us. Her blue eyes darken when she’s angry, and that alone makes me want to push her against the wall and kiss the hell out of her. Her 5ft frame is a bundle of sass when she’s like this. Whoever said that short girls come with an attitude was not wrong.

“You don’t hate me? But I’ve clearly pissed you off somehow, right?” She raises a brow, hands on her hips, goading me for more information because it’s clear as fuck she’s not leaving here without it.

“No, you haven’t pissed me off.”

“Then what, Grayson?”

Stepping away to try and gain distance, I return to the window and look out across the parking lot, trying to rationalize my thoughts and work out how I can explain myself. I’d known she’d see through my bullshit: she’s too good at shit like that, and it’s an excuse I shouldn’t have used.

Nothing seems right anymore—nothing seems real—and I’ve tried so damn hard to find whatever normal I can. But it’s never there. Not until she’s within touching distance. That’s when my life begins to make sense. However, the freedom I’ve been searching for has now suddenly become a battle, too.

“I don’t know,” I sigh. It’s all that falls from my lips, and even that isn’t good enough. I’m tired. I’ve fucked up. I’m still fucking things up, and the frustration inside is starting to bubble because I can’t get out what I’m trying to say.

“You don’t know if I’ve pissed you off, or how?”

“I just said you hadn’t.”

“So what then? Did you wake up one day and just think you’d treat me like dirt?”

“No, I—”

“You’re more puzzling than a hormonal teenager, Grayson. I just don’t understand.”

She needs to stop. The more she bites back at me the more my patience is running thin. It’s hard enough to even begin to describe life right now, but she’s not helping when she’s going all batshit on me and not giving me a chance to try and explain.

“You stopped contact. You practically ran away every time I was home from college. And now that I’m back, you’re even more confusing because one minute you can barely be in the same room as me then next you’re saying you’ll never let anything happen to me. What’s happened to those good old times we all once had?”

Old times. For fucks sake.

“Jesus, Christ,” I scoff, slamming my hands against the wall in frustration and turning to look at her. Old times was when people didn’t get hurt and lives were never taken. Old times was when I had a mother who didn’t depend on booze and a father-figure in Pete who I could sit and have a conversation with at ease. Old times was when Nora was just my best friends’ kid sister and not a sexual fantasy, someone I couldn’t breathe without. It was when Asher would open up to me more instead of me having to watch him head down a slippery slope of his own with a beer in hand. “What is it with you and the old fucking times? You wanna know why I’ve been absent from you, why I stopped my calls? It’s because of that alone. Those old days are gone, Nora, and we’ll never get them back. And sitting doing puzzles or blowing fucking bubbles to re-enact what we all did when you were younger doesn’t change anything for us now. We’ve changed. I’ve changed. Move the fuck on!”

She gasps, stepping back as if I’ve wounded her, and I despise myself when tears form in her eyes. It’s not the fact I loathe the good old days, it’s the fact that in those times I’d felt happy. I’d felt free. Now, I’m just broken and missing a mother I loved dearly despite everything, and they’re a reminder of exactly what I’ve lost.

Stepping toward me, Nora seethes, and her verbal come back feels like a slap across the face when I realize her intentions. “I don’t do it for you. I don’t even do it for myself. I do it for Dad, and if re-enacting what we used to do puts a smile on his face then I’ll stay stuck in the good old days every second of every fucking day. It’s all he has left. It’s the only time I’m not wondering when his next stroke will be in case that one kills him. It’s the only time I get to see him forget about all the things he can no longer do. It’s the only time I feel like my family is normal, even though I know it never will be again. That is why I do it. That’s why I don’t move the fuck on! But you are certainly right about one thing, Grayson. You have changed. And you’ve become the asshole I never thought you would. We’re done here.”

Fuck.

“Nora, wait.”

“Fuck you.”

Taking two strides, I grab her upper arm to hold her back when she opens the door. Pushing it closed, I press myself up against her back so she can’t move. Caged between the door and my body, her forehead presses against the wood, her small frame trembling with fury and distress. Any words that I wanted to speak have been stripped from me as every nerve ending inside me comes to life having her this close. Her body heat, the smell of her hair and the same sweet perfume she’s worn since her eighteenth birthday. Everything about the woman drives me crazy in the best and worst way.

Needing to see her, I gently pull her hair over her shoulder and down her back, letting my fingers trace down her arms. Chills cover her, and her chest rises and falls fast as my fingers draw circles over her skin.

For a moment, I question if she, too, feels the longing I do when we are together. But now is not the time to walk down that road. I have to make right what I’ve just shattered, but the question is how?

This is where I need her dad.