Page 32 of Hearts of Fairlake

"Let's find out," I said with a wink, closing the door before he could reply with more than a scowl.

I waved at him as I brought out my phone to turn off the alarm before unlocking the door and letting myself in. The air was a little stuffy, immediately telling me he hadn't spent much time at home lately. Admittedly, he was planning for the upcoming festival and all that involved, but somethingtold me it was more than that. Of the three locations his bakery operated out of, the one in Fairlake was one of two safe places he would retreat to when he wanted a break from the world. His home, especially when it had becomeourhome, was another, and the distinct lack of food smells was a sign he’d been avoiding our home.

With a sigh, I sat my stuff on the counter and approached our bedroom, stopping when I saw something on the living room floor. After letting my eyes adjust to the dark, I saw a single sock on the floor next to the couch. There was no way in hell Grant would have left that sitting around before going to bed. I stepped down into the living room and peered over the back of the couch, chest tightening, when I found Grant asleep on his back.

Now I definitely knew he hadn't been staying in the house because here he was, avoiding using the bedroom. The last of my time in LA was a series of extended visits, and this last one, which lasted over a month, must have been too much. We knew something like this could happen after we talked about me taking a final role, and we’d braced for it. Even then, I felt guilt twist my gut as I looked down at him, wondering how often he'd spent nights on the couch because he couldn't face sleeping alone in our shared bed.

I gently let my fingers run over his arm, making him stir as I rounded the couch and sat on the chair across from him. I desperately wanted to sit beside him, to feel him pushed up against me after so long. But I’d learned from the first few times we’d been separated that it didn't matter how much either of us had missed the other, Grant always needed time to get back into the flow of things. It was part of who he was and something I’d learned to accept and try to find ways to work with.

His eyes fluttered open, his fingers flexing as he stretched. Then, he froze as he saw me on the chair, watching him. Iwould bet good money that although he’d known I could show up before he woke, considering I’d kept him updated on my flight problems, he was still startled to see me. Even with all the strides he and his brother had made to move on from their past, there would always be scars left behind. Sometimes, those scars still ached, and sometimes, they summoned demons that would never truly go away.

He unfroze, finishing his stretch but never taking his eyes off me. I could see him looking me over, either soaking in the sight of me or trying to confirm I was really there. After a moment, he gave a heavy yawn and pushed upright, so he sat at the edge of the couch and continued to stare at me.

"You're late," he said, his voice rough from sleep.

"Eh, more like the planes were late. I was on time. Hell, I was super early," I told him with a chuckle. "But even with all the money and fame in the world, there's not much you can do about an unexpected storm...well, the storms were expected, but how strong they were wasn't."

"You can't control nature," he said, and while it might sound like he was reminding me of that to some people, he was, in fact, agreeing with me. The worst part was I couldn’t tell anyone how to look for the difference. It was something that came to me intuitively. Sometimes, the lines of delineation when it came to Grant were easy to see; other times, you simply had to be around him and learn as you went. "I can smell Luke on you. Didn't you take an Uber?"

"He insisted," I said, again not batting an eye at the comment about Luke. It might be strange to some people that Grant would put the effort into knowing what another man smelled like and say it aloud. The first didn’t take effort. His mind latched onto details the rest of us ignored or trained ourselves not to notice. As for the second, well, Grant's ideas of what was and wasn’t appropriate were different from most people's; you just learned to navigatethem. "Literally insisted, even when I told him it would be hours before I could leave. Pretty sure he missed me."

"He did," Grant said with a nod. "And so did I. Quite a lot. Sometimes, it surprised me how much I missed you. Especially when I couldn't sleep in our bed anymore because it didn't smell like you. That's how long you were gone."

Ah, that made me ache, and I yearned to reach out to him, but I maintained a respectful distance. He needed to be the one to cross the distance, especially if he was upset. "I'm sorry. I missed you too."

"You did."

"I...yes, I did, though I wasn't expecting you to say it."

"I saw part of your interview."

"Interview? Wait, the one I did with Gina? I thought that wasn't supposed to go live for another day or two."

"They released parts of it for people to see. A couple of parts were you talking about here...and me. And you had that look on your face."

"Er, sweetheart, you might restrict yourself to only about ten facial expressions, but I definitely have a lot more than that. You'll have to be more specific."

"I used to see it sometimes...very rarely. It was always when you and I were alone, and you talked about your mother or your childhood."

"I looked pissed?"

"No, you looked sad...heartbroken."

I flinched. “Oh."

"I hurt you."

"No, it's..." I took a deep breath, never prepared to speak openly about my feelings, but hell, this was Grant. Not only did I learn to expect the unexpected, but I didn't want to shut him out. "Sometimes I don't like to think about my mom and how much all that...sucks. It's easier to be angry with her, tospite her, than to admit what she does still hurts, even after all this time."

"She's your mother," he said softly. "Of course it hurts. It still bothers me what my parents did, what they tried to do. It's not wrong to expect that your parents should be someone you can trust not to hurt you."

"And it's a common, sad story that at least one of them isn't like that," I said with a sigh, thinking of my mother, who hurt me with her actions, and my father through his inaction. "And I'm sorry if seeing that upset you."

"Well, it made me happy too."

"Did it?"

"Yes. I don't like knowing you're upset, but it was nice to see it for myself."

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