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His words hurt her as much as if he’d taken a blade to her skin. Played house. That’s how he saw their time together?
“I’m not built for what you want.”
“You don’t know what I want,” she replied, eyes stinging with unshed tears.
“Sure I do. You’re no different than all the other women I’ve been with. You want a family. A husband. Couple of kids. Maybe a dog or two. A cat.” His face was harsh in the dim light. “You want the white picket fence, and that’s not something I have any interest in.”
Her teeth began to chatter. “I don’t believe you.”
Something changed. A subtle shift in his eyes and he walked to her. He took her shaking hands into his and pulled her close. But it wasn’t so that he could kiss her or hug her and make her feel better. It wasn’t to draw comfort from her or accept her love.
“It was a good ride while it lasted but we were never going to work, Grace. This is as good a time as any to make a clean break. I don’t want or need your help. I just…I have to deal with this on my own.”
His words hurt. So badly that she bit her tongue in order not to cry out.
“Why won’t you let me help you?”
He stared at her for so long that her eyes blurred and her throat closed painfully.
“When you finally have time to think about everything I just told you, you’ll realize that I’ve done you a favor. I’m not the guy for you, Grace. You deserve a hell of a lot more.”
“You don’t get to decide who I want and what I deserve.”
“I am deciding. You should go.” Matt dropped her hands and turned away. He crossed the room and sat on the chair near his father’s bed, leaving Grace shaking and alone.
She slowly turned and, without another word, left the room because if she didn’t she’d fall to floor and melt into a puddle of tears.
Her heart was breaking and there was nothing she could do.
30
There was an old Hank Williams song that Matt couldn’t get out of his head. He sat by his father’s bed for hours and the only thing he could hear was Hank’s mournful voice. The song was a stark, barren ode to loneliness and Matt felt every word as if they were his story. He’d been on his own since he was sixteen and not once did he remember ever feeling this lonely.
It was nearly noon and he was dead tired. His father wouldn’t last the day and here he was, about to collect a brother he’d only seen once so that the kid could say goodbye to his dad.
Delilah had insisted on staying with Benjamin and that rubbed Matt the wrong way. He couldn’t figure her out. It bothered him that he didn’t know what angle she was playing. And there was no question that an angle was in play, but which one?
He pulled up in front of his father’s modest bungalow and cut the engine just as his phone buzzed. He fished it out of his pocket and scrolled through the messages.
One was from Dory assuring him she was fine, staying on a few more days at his place and looking after Rosie and the pups.
The second was from Betty.
“Call me now.”
He stared at the screen and when his phone buzzed again, he answered on the first ring. It was Betty.
“Hey. Are you…how is Benjamin?”
Matt cleared his throat. “Not good.”
There was static and he asked the question that had been in his head for hours. “Where are you? Where’s Grace?”
“I’m at a hotel waiting to see if you need me.”
“I’m good.”
“Bullshit. You’re not good.”
