Page 123 of Peaches & Pistols

Spring in the Rocky Mountains still carries a chill, but the May sun makes the weather perfect with a light jacket.

“Well, he asked me to drive him out here around lunch. That’s when he started hacking up the remaining ice in the parking area. He insisted I go home to relax before picking up the girls from school. I got back here about an hour ago and found him detailing what looked like every piece of tack on the ranch. So, four-ish hours?” I wince.

“I take it the talk went badly.” Delilah winces.

“You could say that.” It isn’t for me to say. This is Greyson’s to tell.

I’m positive he hasn’t stopped moving since he got here—keeping his hands busy to quiet his mind. I wish I could do the same, to turn off the nightmare loop playing in my head from our talk with Meredith this morning.

She reminds me of my ex in a lot of ways. As narcissists, they both lack empathy and have a skewed sense of entitlement. Their arrogance knows no bounds and can manipulate even the strongest-willed person.

The difference is that while he was full of himself and wanted attention and accolades professionally and in his parent’s circles, Meredith survives on it. She feeds off the admiration and compliments, the envy of others. Anything to feel superior.

It’s no wonder she was a miserable bitch while she was married to Greyson’s dad. She couldn’t bear to be associated with somewhere as “lowly” as a hardware store, or to live in an “above store apartment.”

I’m not a violent woman, but I wanted to rip the overly processed hair from her head when she implied Greyson was one of the “lowly” things she couldn’t be associated with.

“Don’t be dramatic, darling. I had places to be and people to see that you weren’t suitable for. It was best you stay away,” she said, checking her nails.

“You were fiiiiine, Greyson. You were housed, clothed, fed, and educated.” Meredith brushed Greyson off, but he wasn’t having it.

“But I wasn’t loved,” he seethed.

“Again with the dramatics.” Meredith sighed, bored with the conversation.

“Why do you want to be in Harper’s life when you had no interest in being in mine?” Greyson asked as calmly as he could.

“It’s a small town, Greyson. Everyone knows I have a granddaughter running around and I don’t even have pictures to show them,” she said as if he’s stupid.

Greyson’s hands were balled so tightly into fists, I was sure he’d cut through his palms.

“So, you want to be in her life to parade her around like a new shiny toy, so you don’t look like a piece of shit grandma?” he bites out.

“Don’t be crass. I’d also buy her things and want her to come to family gatherings so everyone else could see her,” she said, completely unaware of how cruel she was being.

Fury rolled off Greyson in waves like the black smoke of a dragon before it incinerates its enemy with fire.

“What about my other daughter?” he asked, and I knew he’d already made up his mind.

“Other daughter? Who’d you get pregnant now? Hopefully not another waste of space like that Victoria girl.”

“Vanessa,” Greyson corrected.

Meredith shooed away his comment.

“She’s my daughter,” I said, entering the fray, voice wavering but resolve strong.

“Who are you?” Meredith sniped, looking me up and down like yesterday’s trash.

“She’s my fiancée, and Harper’s mother.” Greyson wrapped his arm around me.

“Just lovely. An unwed mother latching onto my son, so her child isn’t a bastard.”

My gasp could be heard for miles, but it was the sharp slap across her face I delivered that was heard by the heavens.

Greyson turned me into his chest in a protective stance and delivered his final verdict.

“You will never be in our daughters’ lives. I don’t want their names leaving your overfilled lips. Stay the hell away from my family. It’s a miracle Olivia turned out to be the incredible woman she is, growing up with a poisonous cunt for a mother.”