Page 55 of What I Like About You

He needs to be Kels’s. Only Kels’s.

I turn around, the jagged edges of the keys digging into my palm.

“Take the hint. Leave. Me. Alone.”

Nash blinks. Takes a step back. “Wow. Okay. I get it. Message delivered, loud and clear.”

I can’t deal with the hurt on his face for one second longer, so I turn my attention back to unlocking this freaking door, while Nash’s footsteps become farther and farther away.

I pull the handle, throw the door open, and lock myself in, then pull out my phone to … what? Message Nash? He’s fifty feet from me, silhouetted in the front window of Molly’s house. He’s never felt farther away.

I look away, back at my screen without seeing it.

Tap. Tap tap.

When I look up, Gramps is looking at me through the passenger-side window, his nose squished against the glass, hisbreath fogging it up. As soon as I unlock the doors, Ollie slides into the back and Gramps flops into the passenger seat. His bloodshot eyes look into mine and he smells like grapes and whiskey.

“What?” Gramps snaps. “You wanted to go. Drive.”

“Fine.”

I shift the car into drive and my foot tentatively releases from the brake to tap the gas. My heart beats a million miles beyond the speed limit but it’s okay because we’re on the road and I’m driving and we will get back in one piece. I focus on the road, on getting us back to Gramps’s.

Gramps shifts in his seat. Adjusts the back multiple times, unable to find a comfortable position. Then he flips through the radio stations, shunning all things country before cutting the music entirely and stewing in the silence.

“It’s the first one,” Gramps slurs. “That damn song.”

My breath catches in my throat becauseof course. When Nash led me up the stairs and through the soundproof basement door, the music followed me.

“I miss her,” I say. It’s the first opportunity he’s given me to say it, to talk about her.

“Me too,” Ollie adds.

“You don’t evenknow,” Gramps says. He leans back in the seat and closes his eyes once more, his index and middle fingers rubbing his temples.

I grip the steering wheel so hard my knuckles turn white. He acts like he’s the only one who’s allowed to be hurting. It’s beenalmost a month and I’m still completely walking on eggshells around him. He can eat the cupcakes but can’t bear the baking. He can laugh and joke at temple but ignores us completely in the house. We can talk about Grams, but only if he starts the conversation. I’m so sick of grieving on his terms.

“I want the books,” I say, the words falling from my lips before I can take them back.

“What?” Gramps’s asks.

“Grams’s books. I’m going to get them this weekend. I want them,” I say.

Gramps shakes his head. “They’re not yours.”

“Because you’re definitely putting them to use,” I snap.

“Halle,”Ollie says. “Stop it.”

“If you won’t remember her, someone should.”

My hands shake violently and tears blur my vision. We’re on a residential street that connects Molly’s neighborhood to ours. I pull over and put the car in park.

Gramps exhales. “Just take us home, Hal.”

I shake my head. “Grams would hate what you did to the house.”

“I know.” Gramps’s voice is hollow.

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