Page 56 of Giving Grace

The crazy, jealous part of me wants to charge across the hall and bang on Kaitlyn’s door because that crazy, jealous part of me is sure that’s where he is. It thinks about the easy, familiar way she moved around his space. Knew where he keeps his drinking glasses. His medication. That knew exactly what to say to him to make him take it. That he did what she asked. That she probably know why he doesn’t want to take them in the first place.

The front door opens again about an hour later and I’m up and over a softly snoring Molly before I can think. Standing to the side of it to keep hidden, I watch through the crack in the bedroom door as he quietly limps his way into the kitchen and opens the fridge to stare into it for a few seconds before shutting it again without reaching inside.

Leaning against the counter, he works his boots off and kicks them across the floor with an audible groan of relief.

The crazy, jealous part of me stops howling because it realizes that he wouldn’t have bothered with shoes if he was just going across the hall to fuck his neighbor.

Without warning, Ryan aims a look directly at the door I’m hiding behind and lifts a hand to crook a finger at me in a come here gesture that has me backing away from my hiding spot and deeper into the shadows.

He knows I’m awake.

He knows I’m watching him.

That I’ve been laying here since he left, waiting for him to come home.

Go back to bed. If he comes into check, pretend to be asleep. He won’t risk waking up Molly. He’ll leave and you can avoid being embarrassed again.

Because I was never good at taking advice, I pull the door open and step into the living room before pulling it shut quietly behind me. Treading softly, I cross the space between us until I’m standing in the kitchen too.

“Your father called me,” he tells me without preamble. “That’s where I was—I went to see him.”

I open my mouth to ask why.

What they talked about.

If he’s changed his mind about us staying.

“He wanted to know if I’m in love with you.”

“Oh god…” I groan it, everything else that has happened between us tonight forgotten while I silently wish for a hole to open up in the floor so I can jump into it. “I’m sorry, Ryan. I—”

“I changed my mind,” he tells me. “I don’t want you to stay the week.”

“Oh.” I nod, because it’s all I can do—nod and form one-syllable words that are practically nonsense. “I see. Okay. Well—”

“I don’t want you to stay for a week—I want you to stay forever.”

Wait.

What?

“Ryan…” I shake my head and sigh. “We talked about this. It’s cra—”

“Yeah, I know—it’s crazy.” He folds his arms across his chest and leans his hips against the countertop behind him. “But I love you, Grace.” He drops his arms and shrugs. “That’s it. I love you so fucking much I can’t breathe past it.” Straightening away from the counter, he takes a step in my direction, closing the distance between us. “That’s what I told your father—that I love you and I love Molly and I want to be it. I want to him—I want to be her father and your… whatever you’ll let me be. I want to be him for the rest of my life. As long as you’ll let me—so, whaddya say, Grace?”

“I say I love you too.” I whisper it, sure that this is a dream. Sure that I’m going to wake up alone and stay that way for the rest of my life because somewhere along the way, I decided that I can’t have Ryan, I didn’t want anyone.

Before I can blink, his hand is wrapped around mine and he’s pulling me away from the kitchen and across the living room to his bedroom, leading me across the threshold,

Sitting on the edge of the bed, I watch while Ryan shuts and locks his bedroom door. “I thought you said we’re keeping things platonic,” I say quietly as he closes the space between us.

“Did I?” He cocks his head at me and gives me a crooked grin. “I guess that makes me a liar, doesn’t it?” It’s what I said to him in the car a few hours ago but before I can form a proper response, he reaches for me. Making short work of my clothes, Ryan pulls off my borrowed T-shirt and boxers before dropping them at the foot of the bed.

And then he just stands there and looks at me, his dark gaze sliding up the length of me, heavy with desire, the rigid line of his erection pushing against the front of his jeans. Seeing it, I feel my nipples tighten in response. Heat pool in my lower belly. “I swear, if you change your mind again…” I whisper, squeezing my thighs together when the heat in my belly pushes lower to settle between them.

He shakes his head, the grin on his face winking out in an instant. “I’m not going to change my mind,” he says and for some reason it sounds like an apology. Then he moves, reaching back to catch the neckline of his T-shirt to pull it up, over his head. Tossing it on top of mine, he uses that practiced flick of his to undo the top button of his jeans. After a moment’s hesitation, he pushed them down to his feet before kicking them off.

He’s not naked—not completely. He still has his boxer briefs on but he’s naked enough for me to see the scares I felt the night we were together. The old stab wounds and slash marks that litter his torso. The pair of bullet holes in his left shoulder, just above his right pec. What looks like a bite mark around his left bicep. He’s more muscular than the last time. His pecs heavier. His abdominal muscles more defined.

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