Page 51 of Craving Francesca

“I mean, it’s partly my fault. I know what a condom feels like. I should’ve—”

“Quit it,” he ordered roughly, shaking me gently. “Don’t do that.”

“What?”

“That’s on him. That’s not on you.”

“I could’ve protected myself better.”

“You were fuckin’ him pretty regular?”

“Yes,” I replied slowly.

“In a relationship?”

“I guess, yeah.”

“You ever talk about goin’ without a condom?”

“Never.”

“That’s on him. You trusted someone you shoulda been able to trust. The agreement was that he wrapped it. End of fuckin’ story.”

“He acted like I was overreacting about it all,” I replied, my voice almost a whisper.

“That’s bullshit,” he said firmly, gently pressing my head back down against his shoulder. “The motherfucker.”

“I’m just glad it’s over,” I said with a sigh. “Now I just need to find somewhere else to work.”

“That’s fucked,” he muttered.

“I can’t keep working with him.”

“Don’t need to worry about it today,” he said, turning to kiss my forehead. “Close your eyes. See if you can get some rest.”

“I don’t think I can,” I confessed, my eyes heavy. “What are you going to do?”

“I’ll read for a while,” he replied nonchalantly, reaching for the novel on the bedside table.

I took in a deep breath and let it out slowly as I closed my eyes, but I couldn’t turn my brain off. I listened as Gray turned the pages, his cheek resting against my head.

“Gray?” I called softly. “When you picked up the Tahoe did you fill up my gas tank?”

“You had less than a quarter of a tank. Shouldn’t let it get that low.”

I swallowed against the knot in my throat. I’d wondered if he’d done it, but for a while I just thought I hadn’t remembered filling up again.

“Why are you so good to me?”

He didn’t reply.

When he finally spoke again, his voice was soft, and the words weren’t his own.“‘It’s in God’s hands,” said Sancho. “I believe everything your grace says, but sit a little straighter, it looks like you’re tilting, it must be the battering you took when you fell….’”

I lay there, listening to Gray reading aloud, and the timbre of his voice lulled me to sleep.

When I woke hours later, the sun was setting, and Gray was no longer in bed with me. Stretching my legs, I looked around the minuscule bedroom. There were four books piled neatly on the bedside table. A photo of Gray’s family sat next to it. It looked like it was supposed to be a staged photograph by the way they were standing, but Gray’s dad Leo must’ve said something because he was smiling proudly while the others were caught mid-laugh. Harper was bent at the waist, Lily’s arm was splayed out like they’d caught her just before she’d smacked his chest, and Gray’s head was tipped back.

Hanging on one of the cupboards was a larger photo of a baby Gray held by a woman I didn’t recognize. She was wearing a polo with a little emblem that I couldn’t read because it was half hidden by baby Gray’s bare belly. His hands were gripping her cheeks as she grinned at him.

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