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Maybe it’s not my job to be there for Grant that way even though it’s what I want.
“I don’t think anyone really knows. They just feel it out and do the best they can.” Faith turns her head to give me a little smile. “I see it a lot now. People who in the old world might have been the strong, silent type but would still be soft with the people they loved, don’t really know how to do that anymore. Be soft. Open up. Because the world feels so much like a war zone where you always have to be on guard. Jackson was kind of like that before. And honestly I was even more like that than he was. I was so afraid to let go—even a little, even with him. It took time, but we managed it. I think you and Grant will too.”
The words make me feel better. Deeply. But a rush of self-consciousness warms my skin. I stare down at the dishrag again. “I don’t even know… if he wants to… I mean, we’re not even… that.”
Shit, I can’t even get that much said.
Faith laughs softly. Wryly. “Oh please. You two are definitely that.”
I’m not sure what I would have said after that. Maybe I would have finally admitted a few things—even just to myself. But someone comes striding into the room just then. He heads straight for Faith.
She’s barely managed to turn around when Jackson is scooping her up in a big hug and spinning her around with the momentum of his warm greeting.
She laughs and hugs him back.
My heart leaps. Because if Jackson is back, that means Grant must be too.
“Is Grant—?”
“He’s fine,” Jackson says, thankfully recognizing my worry despite his preoccupation with Faith. “He’s still out by the Jeep.”
The first thing Jackson did was run in here to find Faith. He clearly didn’t like being away from her even for less than twenty-four hours.
Grant evidently didn’t give a shit about being away from me.
He didn’t follow me when I walked away after our argument yesterday. He didn’t try to make it better or say goodbye.
He just left me. And now he apparently doesn’t care enough to come see me and let me know he’s still alive.
It’s silly to be so upset about it. It’s hardly the most important thing happening here. People’s lives are in jeopardy, which matters a lot more than the state of my heart. But I feel like crying anyway. And also shaking him at the same time.
I go out to the porch and see the Jeep parked right out front. A couple of others have come over to talk to Grant, evidently interested in getting a report on the trip.
And he’s talking to them casually. Calmly.
Not even glancing around for me.
At least he’s alive. Still dressed in worn, dirty jeans and T-shirt. His brown hair burnished almost auburn by the sun.
His back is to me. He doesn’t know I’m standing here. And he doesn’t care.
Despite everything Faith just told me and the glimmers of hope it gave me, reality hits me hard.
If the man doesn’t care enough to find me after being gone the way he was, then how much feeling can he really be hiding, no matter how tightly wound he happens to be?
Tears are pulsing behind my eyes, and my throat aches painfully. I don’t head for Grant. I walk to the left. Ham is out there, working on cleaning out one of the outbuildings. I might as well go help him.
At least Ham likes to have me around.
I’ve reached him and managed to say hello and pick up a rake to help him clear out hay when I suddenly feel a strong grip on my left shoulder. Ham grins and shrugs as I turn around to see an unsmiling Grant standing a few inches away from me.
My heart jumps. It actually jumps at the sight of his familiar face, big body, and deep blue eyes. “So you’re back.” I’m not sure how my voice reflects such disinterested irony. It’s not at all a reflection of how everything inside me is struggling to leap out of my skin right now.
His eyes narrow slightly. The tension in his expression is almost fierce. Without a word, he propels me forward with that hand on my shoulder, walking me out of the barn and across the yard.
“What the hell?” I grumble, although I don’t try to get out of his grip. I walk with him willingly, soon realizing he’s taking me to our room in the bunkhouse. “Are you still mad about yesterday? Because I’m not sorry about that. You were shitty to me, and I don’t deserve to be treated like that even if in your own obnoxious way you were trying to protect me.”
We’ve gotten to our room. He guides me inside and then closes the door before he turns us both around so my back is to the wall and he’s standing right in front of me.
