For Life (12 page)

Grady

Thank God, there’s no apology. No wishing it away, no justifying it with grief - none of the things I was sure would happen when we pulled apart. The kiss stands and we cling to each other and recover from it, our heartbeats slowing until we’re both able to breathe normally again.

Stopping was the hardest thing I’ve done in years, because all I wanted to do was take more and more and more until I was drowning in her. My younger self, the one who got to kiss Cassie like that any time he wanted would’ve pinned her to the picnic table and had his way with her already. I don’t think I’ve kissed anyone that innocently since ninth grade. I’ve definitely never kissed Cassie like that. But though my body thinks that we’re doing this, my head knows I can’t take it any further that that kiss right now. She’s not sure. I can feel the uncertainty rolling off her in waves, spoiling the sweet aftertaste of our kiss. I don’t want that. I want her in my arms because that’s where she longs to be, and I’ll hold out for that.

She shifts against me, but doesn’t pull away. Right here, with her face buried in my chest, her hair in my hands, is where she belongs. She’s unsure, but not so unsure that she’s pulling away. There’s still something between us, more than I even imagined there was. I was sure I was going to have to work so much harder for this, but we moved together like it had been months instead of years.

But I’m growing impatient with myself. If I had my way that kiss outside would’ve culminated in her being in my bed tonight, all night. But I have everything to lose if I blow the timing with her.

I know what I want, and this week solidified all my dreams. Feeling it could actually work between us again has me as giddy as a ten-year-old on the last day of school before summer break. We could do this. It would be an adjustment for the kids, but they loved us being together this week. If they could have us together every day they’d love it even more.

Waking up in the same house with her every morning and knowing she’s down the hall is torture. I need to open my eyes and feel her heat in the bed next to me. I need to roll over and watch her while she wakes under my touch. I need to kiss her and move inside her and start the day making her writhe with pleasure.

It’s so close I can taste it, but if I scare her off, I won’t have any of it. She said we could be friends, and I’m being as much of a friend as I can stand to be with her. Cassie’s got the ball in her court now, and I’m going to give her some time - though not much time - to figure things out. I know her wheels are turning, and I know she desires me, but that’s not enough. She had to be able to love me again, or it’s all for nothing.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Cassie

It’s a relief to be back in my own house on Monday. I told Jai I’d be home today and tomorrow. I have too much unpacking and laundry and grocery shopping to do, and thankfully Jai doesn’t need me there - it’s pretty slow at the moment, and he’s excellent at running the office. For an entire hour I feel guilty that I’m not there, but I force myself not to call him and eventually the guilt is lost in the shuffle.

Mr. Tibbles is frenzied with joy that we’ve returned home and rewards me by racing around the house in an orange blur until he makes himself sick and pukes hairballs on the hall carpet. I’m fortunate enough to spot it before the kids get up. Even though Mr. Tibbles is supposed to be Chloe’s, I do the bulk of the hairball cleanup, because it takes me two seconds and I don’t have to hear her whine. I don’t need any more drama from Chloe this morning. She’s been great all week, but almost as soon as we got home last night she resumed her usual surly attitude.

In the late morning I hit the grocery store and then head to the garden center to pick up two beautiful russet mums for Mrs. Dempsey. I fill up the car with gas and run it through the car wash, then head home to make some calls.

When I check my phone, there’s a text from Grady.

—Kids get to school ok?

—
Yes
, I reply. He texted last night to make sure we got in safely, because he was planning to leave this morning. I can’t deny that seeing proof of his concern on the screen of my phone felt nice, but I can’t allow myself to get carried away over one kiss and a text message.

—
You leaving DE soon?

—On the road. Should get to town about 4.

—Be safe.

—Yep. Will you be home then?

—I will be. Kids have practice, so they won’t.

—See you around 4, then.

That’s a new one, but I tell myself there’s absolutely nothing wrong with a few words between ex-spouses who are trying to be friends. There’s nothing to get worked up about.

Except if he wants to see me without the kids, then…

Oh. Shit.

He didn’t say that exactly.

Except he kind of did. I said “kids have practice” and he said “see you then.”

Oh, shit.
He wants to talk about that damn kiss that never should’ve happened. At the time I was glad it happened, but now I’m terrified. You can’t undo a kiss. I felt him under my skin for the rest of the time we were in Delaware, simmering, heating me like a fever. If he was even in the same room as me I ached. And that aching, feverish simmer cannot be. I have to leave whatever happened in Delaware. We have lives to lead here, separate lives.

But that kiss…

Today I’m full of excuses for why my body might light up like a Christmas tree around my ex. Hormones. The fact that he’s hot and any woman would want him. Loneliness. Too long without sex. I repeat the reasons like a mantra, promise to schedule myself a massage and buy a new vibrator if that’s what it takes. Maybe that one that simulates oral sex, because
good gravy
could I use some of that. But thinking of oral sex just gives me all sorts of amazing memories of the last time I had really amazing oral sex. And that brings me right back to Grady.

Which brings me back to the kiss. And before that, to the night before the funeral when I held him and we almost kissed. I recount every moment in the past week we’ve touched or gazed at each other. There has been so much longing and tension, and all of it secret because both of us know what’s riding on whatever’s brewing between us.

He wants you
. My sly little voice says
. And what the hell are you going to do about this mess?

I don’t have an answer. I finish my work calls, including a call to Sandra to tell her the board loved the proofs and we’ll go with the lapis. I was surprised and thrilled when I got the e-mails back raving about her invitations, and I can’t wait to share it with her. I want so badly to confide in Sandra about what’s going on, but I’m afraid she’ll tell me I’m crazy. She doesn’t pick up anyway -
probably having hot sex with the boy toy
, I think wryly - so I leave a message.

As I get dinner started, I remind myself of all the reasons - very
valid
reasons, I might add - that it didn’t work out between Grady and me. The drinking. The late nights. Him playing in that fucking band. The fact that he couldn’t stop being twenty-five for three seconds and be a husband and father instead of an overgrown boy.

I remember the night I kicked him out and try to conjure that fury, but all I can feel is the warmth he’s given me all week. Grady has become the man he wasn’t able to be then, the man he was on his way to becoming when I married him. I know with absolute certainty that the man he is today would never do the things he did eleven years ago. Never.

He no longer drinks. He doesn’t break promises. He puts his kids first. He is as dependable as the sunrise, just like the boy I fell in love with who vowed to give me the world. Grady was always a good person, he just did a lot of not-so-great things during the final two years of our marriage. If I’m being absolutely and perfectly honest, I was no saint, either. I was a raving bitch for most of our marriage after Caden was born. But he has never held that against me, has never thrown it in my face the way I’ve done to him, and the thought is more than a bit humbling.

The hours crawl by. It’s one o’clock. Then two. At two-thirty I jump in the shower and spend far too much time shaving and exfoliating.
Like a slut!
the voice in my head cries gleefully, until I shut it down by reasoning that I have a very important event to attend on Wednesday night and this is the only day I’ll have to pamper myself that much.

The voice in my head is not fooled.

I almost put on lacy underwear, then decide that’s really taking it too far and opt for a satin set, telling myself it’s because I’ve had a rough week and I want to feel pretty. I pull on jeans, the expensive ones that make my butt look good, and apply just a touch of makeup.

Then I make the biggest mistake of all, which is plopping down with my e-reader to kill the last bit of time. The dominant ginger-haired billionaire’s moves with the ice cube don’t do much to cool me down. All I can think about is Grady calling me “goddess” and touching me on the front porch until I’m begging for him.

What if he wants to have sex? What if he wants to get back together? What control will I have if he touches me? I don’t have answers for any of these questions, and the more I think about things the more confused I am.

And then I hear his truck in the driveway, and I absolutely lose my shit. I duck my head between my knees and breathe deeply so I won’t start hyperventilating. I have worked this whole thing up in my head to the point where I’m freaking myself out unnecessarily. All he said was he was coming over. He didn’t say anything about seeing me in or out of my underwear and he didn’t say anything about getting back together. It’s a visit, not a marriage proposal.

Except it’s a visit when he knows the kids are at practice, and the electrical current that’s been running between us for the past week is stronger than ever. We
kissed
, and that kiss means unfinished business between us. Whatever this is, it’s more than just a visit.

Thump, thump, thump
. Three brisk knocks. I clutch my chest and breathe deeply as I open the door, and then there’s Grady on my front porch, looking like something invented for the sole purpose of making me suffer.

Dear lord, he looks good. He’s overdue for a haircut, and I want to twine my hands through those soft, dark curls like I did in Donna’s hallway. There’s about three days’ worth of dark growth on his jaw that I want to feel scratching on the insides of my thighs, and knowing that his lips would be cold if they brushed against my skin right now sends a little shiver through me. His blue eyes fix on mine and he smiles. He’s so beautiful all I can do is stare.

Underneath his waxed canvas jacket I can see the open collar of a flannel shirt. I long to press my tongue in the warm hollow of his throat, taste him while his pulse surges against my mouth. How is it possible that he looks even more gorgeous today than yesterday when I saw him last?

“Cass.” He looks slightly amused that I’m gawking at him while he freezes in front of me. It’s much colder here than in Delaware, and his breath is frosty as he shifts impatiently from one foot to the other.

“Right. Yeah, sorry.” I open the door wide and when he brushes past me I get a faint whiff of cedar.
Oh, God.

When I hang up his coat I resist the urge to bury my face in it. It’s still warm from his body, and I want to wrap myself in it.
You are truly losing your mind
, I chastise myself.
It’s a coat. Get a grip.

“Coffee?” I ask.

“Sure, that’d be great,” he replies, rubbing his hands together to warm them and following me into the kitchen.

“Was it okay coming back? Was there much traffic?” I ask.

“Not so much. I made good time.”

“The kids will be sorry they missed you.”

“I hope I’m still here when they get home,” he says.

Oh. My. God.
“Oh?” My hands tremble a bit as I open the fridge for the cream. “Would you like to stay for dinner?”

Where in the hell did
that
come from? My cheeks burn and I stick my head deeper into the crisp air, hoping to cool myself down.

“We need to finish the conversation we started earlier this week, and that might take a minute. Not till dinner. But I’ll stay if you’re asking.”

The conversation we started earlier this week.
My heart is pounding so hard I can’t hear myself think, which is just as well since my brain is a jumble of thoughts anyway. I motion to the kitchen table. Grady sits and wraps both hands around his coffee mug, warming them. I walk to the table and sit down before my legs give out on me.

“Thank you, Cass,” he begins.

I manage a smile, though I’m not sure what he’s thanking me for, and he continues.

“For a very long time I’ve had an apology sitting on my chest.”

“Grady, I already told you, you don’t—”

“Let me finish.” He’s firm, but his voice is gentle. “I know I wasn’t a perfect husband, but you need to understand that I never meant to hurt you.”

“I know that,” I say, but it’s a knee-jerk reaction and I can tell he knows it.

He shakes his head. “I don’t think you do. At the time I was so wrapped up in
more
. Doing more. Giving you more. I thought if I played extra shows or worked overtime I was giving you more because I was earning more money. I didn’t understand that what you needed more of was my time and attention, and I’m sorry for that.”

That’s huge. I take a deep breath and start to speak when he holds up his hand to stop me and presses on.

“The drinking there’s no excuse for. I did it at first to blow off steam, and after that to deal with my own disappointment. When I finally realized what a problem it was I stopped.”

“When did you…” I don’t know if I’ll want this answer, but I ask anyway. “When did you realize it was a problem?”

“The morning after the first Valentine’s Day I spent apart from you in nine years.” He shakes his head. “Huge wake-up call.”

“What happened?” I almost don’t want to know.

He leans close to me and takes my hand. I hold my breath as he threads my fingers through his hair until they’re touching a knot of scar tissue on his scalp, just over his temple. “I woke up that morning still drunk and covered in my own piss and blood. Feel that, right there? I split my head open on the sink. Still not sure how. And the first person I thought of was you.”

He releases my hand and I draw it back to the table. I have no idea what to say. This isn’t at all what I thought he was going to tell me. And I’m a bit pissed off that his stupid cracked-open skull was what made him quit drinking and not losing his family, but I wait for him to continue.

“I imagined what you would think if you saw me that way, and I was so ashamed - mostly that it didn’t occur to me earlier. How could you love me if I was so much like your dad, let alone stay with me? I get it now, but at the time it was a revelation. I was so fucking stupid, Cass.”

A sob wrenches from my throat at the mention of my father but there are no tears. My hands shake and I flatten my palms on the table to steady them.

“You grew up that way, and I put you right back in that awful place. The one thing I swore I would never do. And the worst part is…” He shakes his head and covers one of my trembling hands with his. “You tried to tell me, didn’t you? You told me what you needed, and I never even heard you.”

He knows. He gets it. All this time, and he’s figured it out on his own. My eyes begin to burn and there are tears before I can stop them - fat, hot tears rolling down my face and dripping from my chin.

“I realized that day I owed it to everyone to get clean. Myself, yeah. And you, because of what I put you through. But mostly for the kids. I didn’t want Chloe or Caden to have to go through what you went through with your father. And I had already started them down that path. Because I wasn’t
with
them.”