Things Remembered (Accidentally On Purpose Companion Novel #3) (20 page)

Grant looked like I had just hit him with a mac truck. He took a couple unsteady steps back from the impact of what I had just said. I didn’t even know that my words carried that kind of weight.

His voice was hoarse and shockingly weak when he spoke. “You think… All these years, you’ve believed that I had a choice between you and Sharice and that I chose you?”

“It’s not what I think,” I snapped. “It’s what happened. I was
there
.”

He closed his eyes for a long time and let out a deep breath. When he opened his eyes, his body relaxed with a resignation I didn’t understand. He moved forward swiftly and framed my face in his hands before I had time to get away. His eyes glistened as they peered into mine, and that alone left me temporarily immobile and without speech.

“Baby,” he whispered gently. “If I truly had a choice, I would have chosen to save you both. I would have given my own life to save both of my most favorite girls, but the fact is that I didn’t have a choice. Mayson, honey,” he said, his voice so thick with sympathy and sadness that my whole body jerked from the emotion in him. “When I found the two of you, Sharice was already gone. Her body was cold. She was already gone,” he repeated. “She was dead already.”

Stunned, I could only stare at him for a silent moment until I found the will to move my head side to side in negation. I tried to pull away, but Grant’s hands held on to my face, almost to the point of pain.

“Mayson, you had overdosed. Your brain and body were fried. You weren’t even conscious when I found you. Whatever you remember is inaccurate. I never chose you over her, I would always choose both. It is not your fault that Sharice is dead.”

My knees wobbled as I stared up at him with misty eyes.

“But I remember…” I whispered.

“What exactly do you remember?” Grant asked, running one hand soothingly over my hair.

I opened my mouth to tell him, but other than seeing Sharice’s laughing face just before we got high, my only other memory was of Grant holding her in his arms as he’d sobbed.

“I...” I said and paused. “I saw you holding her and crying,” I whispered as a tear fell from my lashes. “Is that right?”

He swallowed hard as he fought off the misery of the memory, but nodded before asking, “Anything else? Do you remember what happened after you shot up?”

I closed my eyes and leaned into him. He pulled me against his body and wrapped his arms around me as I pressed my forehead to his chest.

“I remember the incredible beauty of dying,” I said honestly. Then I cried as thirteen plus years of guilt began to fall away, and thirteen years of grief crushed me.

“Good morning, my beautiful, splendid, soaring, gorgeous, sexy, sexy butterfly,” Grant crooned.

I opened one eye and found him standing beside the bed holding a large tray in his hands.

“What is that?” I asked, my voice heavy with sleep and hoarse from the tears I’d shed the night before.

“Why don’t you sit up and find out?”

Slowly, I pushed myself up and leaned back against the headboard. Grant placed the tray over my lap and removed a silver lid from a plate. I smiled as I looked down at the arrangement of pancakes, bacon, and eggs. There were also two slices of wheat toast cut into triangles and lightly buttered. A small bowl overflowed with strawberries and blueberries, and there was a carafe of coffee, a small glass pitcher of cream, and another with syrup. Blue and yellow carnations stood inside a skinny vase, and beside that was a crayon-drawn picture of a crooked heart and a dark figure I suspected to be Dusky.

“This is very nice,” I said to Grant and angled my face toward his for a kiss.

It was more than nice. Still feeling a little raw and emotional, I was surprised and irritated to feel tears building again.

“How are you feeling?” Grant asked after kissing my hair. He sat down on the edge of the bed in front of me.

“Better. I’m sorry I had another meltdown.”

“Don’t apologize to me for that,” he said sternly. “I’m sorry you’ve been carrying Shar’s death on your shoulders for all these years.”

“Now that I know what actually happened, I do feel…lighter, but I still feel some guilt. I can’t help that.” I shook my head as if trying to shake away the impending sadness that threatened to take me down again. “I don’t want to talk about it again, not for a long time anyway. Like I said last night, I’m ready to move forward.” I gave him a pointed look. “With all things.”

I offered him a forkful of eggs and he accepted it. Quietly, we shared my breakfast for a few minutes. I wasn’t fooled by his silence, though. I knew he was thinking, and I knew he’d say something I probably wouldn’t like. He didn’t disappoint.

“I think we should wait,” Grant finally said, meeting my eyes. He held his hand up, much like I had done the night before to stop him from talking. “I know that you want to, and I know that you want me to try to talk you through if you have another flashback, but I can’t do that, Mayson. What if I can’t get you through it? I would stop, of course, but what kind of condition will you be in then?”

I didn’t reply because we both already knew the answer to that. I would be in terrible shape, and there was no telling how long I would stay that way. A few minutes? An hour? A few days? Moreover, in my traumatized state, I might unfairly blame Grant. Then where would that leave us as a couple?

However, how else were we supposed to move forward? We were both very healthy, relatively young people. Although we hadn’t said it to each other in over thirteen years, I was two-hundred percent positive that he loved me as much as I loved him. The desire to be intimate would only get stronger. The flashbacks may never go away, or it was possible that I’d never get another.

Were we never going to have sex? Did he expect us to be forever abstinent?

I was about to object. I was ready to toss the tray aside and insist that we try right that moment, but Grant’s next words made me sit absolutely still.

“I can’t watch you cry and panic and try to talk you through it,” he said, his voice low and harsh. His eyes closed and pain tightened his facial features. “Every time I remember the horror and despair on your face, and the panic in your eyes and the way you scrambled away from me, my mind forces me to imagine what you must have looked like when it happened. I
see
you, on the floor and faceless men
on
you…” He opened his eyes, but they were unfocused. “I don’t even know if you ever made a sound,” he whispered. “I don’t know if you screamed, cried, or begged, but in my wild imagination, you did all of that and more. I
hear
you in my head like it’s real.”

He finally looked at me, his gaze emotional, but unyielding.

“You’re not the only one who will have flashbacks, Baby Girl. Real or imagined, I refuse to put either one of us through that. I don’t know what it is going to take for you to feel safe with me in that way, or if you’ll ever feel completely safe, but I want to wait until we have some professional help so we know how to handle this.”

I shrunk a little as my shoulders fell.

“You want me to have therapy,” I said flatly.

He reached for my hand and held it firmly in his.

“No, baby. I want
us
to have therapy together. You’re not alone anymore, and it’s not just
your
problem anymore. We’re in this together.”

I bit my bottom lip as I tried to hold back the Negative Nancy question in my mouth, but it came out anyway.

“For how long?” I asked.

Grant raised an eyebrow and smiled a little.

“I hate to burst your little glass-half-empty bubble,” he said, leaning over the tray. “But I plan on keeping you forever. Not for a few weeks or a few years, but forever. That is, for an eternity. For infinity.”

I smiled a little, too. “If each digit of Pi represented a year, are you stuck with me for that long?”

His grin warmed me right down to my toes. His lips touched mine as he spoke.

“And you said that
I
was corny,” he murmured against my mouth before kissing me.

“And what is your answer, Mr. Alexander?” I asked after the heated kiss.

He kissed me again for a long time. When he finally answered me, it took me a hazy moment to remember what the hell I had asked him to begin with.

Rubbing his nose with mine, he whispered, “Longer.”

I stilled his face with my hands and looked into his dark eyes.

“I love you,” I said fiercely. “I never stopped and I never will. I love you for forever, for an eternity, and for infinity. I love you for Pi.”

I did a mental fist pump for totally melting his heart right then. I could see it on his face, in his eyes, and hear it in the breath he released on my lips. His voice was tight with emotion.

“I love you, Mayson. For forever. For an eternity. For infinity and for Pi, even though that is incredibly corny.”

“Shut up and kiss me, Repo Man.”

He chuckled softly, and then he kissed me.

“Come with me to the beach?” I whispered against his sexy mouth moments later.

I felt his smile and then his kiss. “I thought you’d never ask.”

“Me too.”

He kissed me again, and it was so slow and sensual that my toes curled in slow motion and a slow heat rose in my body. If he’d been aiming for abstinence, he was going in the wrong direction.

“Say it again,” he murmured as he kissed my neck.

Definitely going in the wrong direction.

“It again.”

“Smart ass.”

“I did exactly what you told me to do,” I said pertly.

He nipped my neck and I let out a soft moan.

“You know what I want to hear,” he purred against my skin. “Say it again.”

“I thought you didn’t want to…” I whispered breathlessly as he continued to kiss my neck, using teeth and tongue.

“I
want
to, but I won’t. That doesn’t mean I can’t and won’t do other things to you. Now say it.”

I knew what he wanted to hear, and I wanted to say it again. So I did.

“I love you Pi,” I sighed, closing my eyes.

Another chuckle, and then, “I love you Pi, too.”

Chapter Seventeen

“It’s good to see you, honey,” Samantha Grayne said as we stood in the middle of the foyer. We were at the dead center of chaos as Emmy’s and Donya’s families arrived and Tabitha’s family met them. Kids cried, shouted, and ran about as parents yelled and laughed and ran about as well.

“Why?” Emmy’s voice was heard over the noise. “Why did I think it was a good idea to take a road trip
with my mother
?” She came to me, kissed my cheek in a greeting, and practically threw her baby into my arms. “Hi, Mayson. I need a drink.”

With that, she left her husband and children in the chaos and headed toward the kitchen. I looked down at Grace, Emmy’s youngest. She looked up at me with her father’s blue eyes, opened her mouth, and howled as she cried for her mother.

“You’re so pretty,” Sam cooed, touching my face lightly. Her eyes dropped down to my shirt and her smile faltered. “Do you like that shirt?” she asked carefully.

“I am wearing it,” I pointed out, shifting a wriggling Grace so I wouldn’t drop her.

She gave a little, nonchalant shrug. “Well, if you like it…I don’t see how any man is going to come anywhere near you while you’re wearing it, but if you like it, honey, that’s all that matters.”

Thus began my vacation, with an insult to my wardrobe and a screaming child in my arms as I stood at the center of anarchy. At that moment, I wished I was wherever Grant was.

Hours before we were supposed to leave for Belmar, Grant got a phone call that would take him not just out of the state, but clear across the country to catch a bad guy that he had been after for some time. Since he didn’t know how long he would be gone, the kids were left in his mother’s care, and I had to go alone.

“I’m sorry you can’t come,” I had said truthfully as we’d parted ways. As sorry as I was, I was just as relieved.

I had been dreading introducing Grant to the family—not because there was anything wrong with
him
. My cousins would have had me in a wedding dress and had named the children I would never give birth to within hours of meeting him. That was another reason I had skirted the topic of Grant Alexander so many times that my cousins had finally given up asking about him over the phone.

It wasn’t that I hadn’t thought about it myself, at least, the marriage part, but they would apply unnecessary pressure. I didn’t respond well to pressure. I wanted us to get used to being an us before anyone else further complicated an already somewhat complicated us.

No one was surprised to find me alone as the Graynes, Kesslers, and Pescianos began to arrive in Belmar beginning on Sunday afternoon, three days after I’d arrived. No one asked me if I needed privacy before sticking me with a bunch of little girls to sleep with. I was the equivalent of the harmless, crazy spinster to them. The spinster and her faithful dog. Put the wee children who still wee in their pants in bed with her, because there would be no man occupying it with her.

I didn’t argue and I didn’t correct anyone. In due time, I would open up and tell everyone about Grant, but I wanted to enjoy the little bit of privacy we still had. There was something exciting about keeping our relationship a secret.

The first two days at the house after everyone had arrived were a mess. With nine adults, ten children under the age of nine, and one dog, the house was a bona fide insane asylum. It was crazier than any mental institution I had ever been in.

In addition to the general chaos, because I was the odd man out—the alleged single person—people kept sticking me with their kids or sending me to the store. Good ol’ expendable, single Mayson.

At the end of the third day, when all the kids were in bed or otherwise occupied, all the adults sat down outside for dinner, drinks, and a salted caramel cake my Aunt Sam made earlier in the day. She and Uncle Fred were the only ones that didn’t join us, as they went to some restaurant down by the beach for a date night.

I was both nauseated and fascinated that at their ages they still had date nights. Maybe that was why their marriage had held up for well over fifty years. They made time for each other, they always had for as long as I could remember. My mother and father could have taken a page out of their book.

The conversation at dinner, as it always seemed to do, lingered on the uber-successes of my cousins and their spouses. Luke and Emmet talked about Luke’s ever growing law firm, some of the cases they’ve had, and Luke’s arch nemesis, a fierce female attorney named Vivian.

Donya and Emmy chattered on and on about Emmya, the name of the boutiques and designer label Donya had begun a couple years ago. Emmy was her right-hand woman and handled a lot of the business side of the label.

Tabitha, a best-selling romance author, babbled on and on about her new releases, the success of her past release, and told everyone that there was some talk about one of the books getting made into a movie.

Leo proudly bragged about the success of his restaurants, and how they were featured on a Miami morning news show recently and had rave reviews on various websites. Of course, they also all congratulated themselves on going forth and populating the earth with endless stories about their ankle biters.

When finally, the conversation came to me, where I could actively participate, Luke asked me how my job was going. My
job
. None of them looked at my “job” as a career, because why would anyone want to be in middle management when they could be in the upper ranks of a company, or be their own boss? No, it was just a job to them, a place where I showed up to miserably earn money and go home. I liked my “job” and had worked hard to get it. I thought it was a career, not a job, but all the uninterested gazes thought otherwise.

“My career,” I said with a little bit of emphasis on the word, “is going well. Sterling Corp is expanding faster than anyone would have expected after all the trouble we’ve had in the past. We’re also getting more involved with the community. I am actually on the Sterling Corp Street Team, which is basically a group of us that participates in various community events. For example, we may have a Sterling Corp tent at a festival, and give out little gadgets, or hats, or toys with Sterling Corp printed on it. Last year we were a sponsor for a 5K run and walk for breast cancer. Just so we’re clear, I didn’t run, but I did walk.”

I thought that all I had said was, at least, interesting—maybe not as interesting as a multi-million-dollar settlement, or having superstars wearing clothes I designed, or having a bestselling novel or having a hip place to stuff my face, but it was interesting. However, the only thing Luke could comment on was the name, Sterling.

“You don’t have to say that name so much,” he said, trying to appear like he was joking. “We all know who you work for.”

He gained a few smiles from around the table, albeit uncomfortable smiles as their eyes darted to Emmy, who had the good grace to keep her head bowed.

I tilted my head inquiringly, and asked, “What name would that be, Luke? Sterling?”

He threw a hand up and pasted on a smile that lacked depth. “There you go again.”

I felt myself getting rather bristly. “It is the company that I work for. I work for Sterling Corporation. You work for Kessler, Keane, Grayne, and Associates. Donya and Emmy work for Emmya. Tabitha works for TTMedia, and Leo works for Pesciano LLC and whatever the names of his restaurants are. You have all mentioned the names of your workplaces repeatedly in the past hour and a half. Why should
I
omit the name of the company where I have a ‘job’?” My air quotes were so exaggerated, my knuckles cracked.

Luke stared at me, incredulous.

“Are you kidding me? You
know
what the difference is, Mayson. None of those names dredge up bad memories and sour feelings.”

“Okay, you guys,” Tabitha said lightly. “No fighting when there’s salted caramel cake at the table.”

“No fighting when there’s salted caramel cake
and
good wine,” Emmy chirped, pouring herself a glass of wine, no doubt in a hurry to change the subject. “Let me tell you guys the story behind this bottle of wine.”

Donya groaned and shook her head. I was sure that it must have been a freakin’ hilarious story, but my panties were in a twist and it was chafing.

I cut Emmy off mid-sentence as I glared down the table at her husband, who I usually got along with swimmingly.

“What happened to your wife has nothing to do with me,” I snapped. “It has nothing to do with my career.”

The whole table fell silent.

“How can you say that?” Luke asked in astonishment after a moment. “Emmy is your family and your best friend. How can you say that what that bastard did to her has nothing to do with you?”

Emmy growled with exasperation and gave Luke an equally exasperated look.

“Can we not?” she said to him.

It was too late. We were already doing it.

“I’m sorry for what happened to her,” I said, and meant it. “But I wasn’t talking about her. I wasn’t even talking about Kyle. I was talking about me and my career at Sterling Corporation. I sit here quietly and let you all yammer on about your lives, but I’m supposed to be quiet because you don’t like the name of the company I work for? Because you are unable to differentiate between the company Sterling and one single man named Sterling? That’s not
my
problem. That’s
your
problem.”

“You’re right. You’re absolutely right. I can’t differentiate between the company and the piece-of-shit, low-life, abusive, asshole drug addict.”

“Luke,” Emmy sighed his name heavily.

“Then you can’t differentiate between him and me,” I snapped at him, ignoring his wife again.

Luke shook his head. “You’re
not
the same.”

“We are the same!” I shouted. “If you are going to call him a piece-of-shit, low-life, abusive, asshole drug addict after his years of sobriety, and after all the good things he’s done since that incident, then I
am
the same.
I
am a piece-of-shit, low-life, abusive, asshole drug addict, too! Nothing I’ve done or accomplished since my hardcore drug days counts, if that’s the way you want to look at things.”

“Why are you defending him?” Emmet asked, jumping into the melee. His hands were fisted on the table and his jaw was tight with tension.

“Because he’s the only real damn friend I’ve got,” I responded immediately.

Eyes narrowed, some with suspicion, some with confusion.

“What is
that
supposed to mean?” Emmy asked. “You
hate
Kyle Sterling.”

I looked directly into her eyes. I knew I shouldn’t say what I was about to say, not with her husband right beside her, but my filter was gone, probably washed away at sea.

“I don’t love him as you love him, but I don’t hate him.”

I could tell that Emmy stopped breathing for a second. Her body stilled and tensed and she looked at me like she wished I’d take the words back because she couldn’t deny them any more than Kyle could deny still loving her. I understood it better after talking to Kyle, but I knew Luke wouldn’t be able to see it quite as clearly as I did.

As my eyes reluctantly looked away from Emmy and fell on Luke, I knew I was right. He still looked furious, but there was no missing the pain in his eyes, either, as he looked at his wife’s profile.

His voice was ice cold when he spoke, still unable to tear his eyes from Emmy, who had finally turned her head to look at him.

“So,” he started and paused. “You have befriended your cousin’s abuser.”

Everyone was silent as they looked at me for my response, everyone but Emmy and Luke, who still stared at each other as their hands locked together on the table.

“I befriended the man who saved my life,” I said quietly. Emmy and Luke both finally looked at me again.

“What do you mean?” Tabitha demanded beside me. “We know everything about you and I don’t recall Kyle Sterling being your lifesaver at any time.”

“You don’t know me,” I snapped at her, and then looked around the table. “None of you really know me. You don’t know who I am!”

“I’ve known you since you were born!” Tabitha snapped back at me.