Page 62 of Teach Me Your Ways

25

GRADY

Iwas outside The Library, crouched by the new oak door with a screwdriver in my hand, tightening hinges, when she showed up. The air had turned sticky with late afternoon humidity. My shirt was clinging to my sweaty back. I was certain there were a million gnat carcasses stuck to my body. One would think I’d be used to the damn bugs by now but nope.

Cece rolled in like a thundercloud. Her red hair was wild, her cheeks flushed, and her blue eyes burned with a fire that could’ve lit the whole damn bar ablaze. She didn’t say a word at first, just stood there, arms crossed, glaring at me like she was trying to decide which bone she was going to break first.

I straightened up slowly, wiping my hands on my jeans. “Cece,” I said, keeping my voice calm even though my heart was suddenly pounding like a jackhammer. “What’s up?”

“What’s up?” she repeated, her voice sharp enough to cut glass. “You’re asking me what’s up? Really?”

I sighed, setting the screwdriver into the toolbox so that she wouldn’t stab me with it. “Look, if this is about the email⁠—”

“Oh, it’s about the email,” she snapped, taking a step closer. “You think you can just bench me from the dive trip because of some storm? Really? Or is it because you found out I have a kid and suddenly I’m not your perfect little fantasy anymore?”

My eyes widened. “Whoa, that’s not⁠—”

“Don’t,” she interrupted, holding up a hand. “Don’t even try to spin this into something less shitty.”

“I’m not⁠—”

She cut me off. “What the hell is wrong with you? Diving trip canceled—just like that, I get an email?”

I closed the toolbox lid. “It’s short notice, but there’s a storm front scheduled to roll in Friday morning. Pressure’s building offshore.”

She stared at me, shoulders tight. “Storm? So you’re rescheduling the dive? Or is that your lame ass excuse for trying to be alone with a certain, perky blonde?”

“I’m protecting you.” I said it too loud. Immediately I regretted it.

She laughed like I pissed her off and it was the funniest thing on the planet. “Protecting me? Because I have a kid?”

Her tone was as sharp as broken glass.

I stood. “Yes. Because⁠—”

“Because I’m a mother? That I’m somehow less capable?” She spit the words like venom. “That I can’t make a choice or be an adult with responsibilities?”

My throat closed. I hated this. Hated every bit of it. She didn’t seem to understand I made the call for her. Not against her.

I stared at her, my jaw tightening. “It’s not about you being less capable, Cece. It’s about the fact that you have a kid who needs you. A kid who can’t afford to lose her mother because I made a bad call and sent you out into dangerous conditions.”

Her eyes widened, and for a moment, she looked like I’d slapped her. The fire in her gaze flickered, replaced by something softer, more vulnerable. But it didn’t last long. She shook her head, her red hair catching the sunlight as she took a step closer.

“That’s ridiculous,” she said, her voice quieter now but no less fierce. “Just because I’m a mother doesn’t mean I’ve stopped living. I don’t need to be put up on some shelf and treated like I’m made of glass. I can take risks. I have to take risks if I want to build the life I’m working for.”

I ran my hand through my hair, frustration bubbling up. “It’s not about treating you like you’re fragile. It’s about responsibility. If something happened to you out there⁠—”

“I’m not a novice,” she spat. “I’m probably a better diver than you. And I’m sure as hell not walking around with a death wish. I know better. If it was truly dangerous, I wouldn’t get in the water. I’m well aware of my responsibilities.”

“I’m just saying, it’s a risk you shouldn’t take.”

She clenched her jaw. I worried she would bite her tongue if she wasn’t careful. We were alone, but if she raised her voice any louder, people inside the bar were going to hear and that would be bad. I casually walked away from the door and around the corner, hoping she would get the hint and follow me.

Thankfully, she did.

“What if the roles were reversed?” she asked. “What if you were the one with a kid? Would you stop diving? Stop doing the work you love because it’s dangerous? Or would you find a way to make it work?”

I opened my mouth to respond but stopped myself. She had a point, and we both knew it. If I were in her shoes, I wouldn’t let anyone tell me what I could or couldn’t do—not even for the sake of my kid. But that didn’t make this any easier.