Page 37 of Giving Grace

“From now on, if you want to spend time with Molly, you ask me first—understood?”

I swallow hard against the lump in my throat and nod my head. “Understood.”

“Good.” She pops her car door open and hops out, slamming it close a little harder than necessary. A few seconds later, she has the rear hatch open and she’s retrieving her backpack.

Scrambling out of my seat, I reach the rear of the car just as she slams that closed too.

“I’m late for class,” she says, shouldering her backpack while giving me little more than a passing glance. “I’ll see you around.”

Before I can say a word, she’s gone, walking across the parking lot toward the building without so much as a backward glance.

Twenty-three

Grace

I enjoy approximately twenty minutes of righteous indignation before I realize what a colossal bitch I was to Ryan. Twenty minutes to savor the memory of him standing next to my car in the parking lot, looking angry and contrite, while I rode away on my high horse before I came to the sudden and unwelcome conclusion that I have nothing to be angry about.

Certainly not when it comes to Ryan.

Because he’s right. I was the one who broke things off. I’m the one who tapped out. Told him that what was happening between us was unfair to me and that I didn’t want to do it anymore.

But I’m angry just the same. Probably because he let me do it. Let me walk away. Didn’t chase me down and drag me back under. Heard what I had to say and had the audacity to respect my decision.

He did exactly what I asked him to do.

He let me go.

Instead of being angry at him I should be… what? Grateful? Relieved?

I am none of those things.

What I am is confused and apprehensive because when I exit the building that houses my 10AM medical ethics class, Ryan is sitting on a bench directly outside door, waiting for me. It reminds me that last time we were here together. The way he sat on a bench and waited for me on the sidewalk while I took my entrance exam nearly six months ago.

The day he kissed me.

The day he took me back to his room at Sojourn and pushed me against the door to his room. Pulled my pants down and—

“Excuse me.”

As soon as it’s said, in an exasperated tone that’s practically in my ear, I’m jostled to the side and I realize I’ve been standing in the middle of the walkway, staring at Ryan like he has two heads and six arms for the last thirty seconds.

Smooth, Grace.

Real smooth.

Squaring my shoulders, I dodge foot traffic to cross the sidewalk to where he’s sitting. Next to him on the bench is a tall, white to-go cup with my name scrawled across it in black sharpie and a pastry bag, both from my favorite coffee cart. “What are you doing here?”

Did I say smooth?

I meant super smooth.

“Waiting for you,” he tells me, a slight scowl settling between his dark brows when he catches my tone.

“I thought you said you didn’t need a ride home,” I counter eyeing the pastry bag and coffee like they might be a trap.

“I don’t, I just—” He shakes his head, the scowl marring his face smoothing out into something else. Something sad that tightens my throat and makes me feel like an asshole. “Will you please sit down? People are starting to stare.”

A quick look around tells me he’s right. People are looking at us. Some are whispering. Because I don’t like to be the center of attention any more than he does, I sit on the bench next to him, letting my backpack slide off my shoulder and onto the ground between my feet. “What’s all this?” I say, jogging my head toward the cup and the bag between us like I’ve never seen a coffee cup in my life.

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