Page 39 of Every Chance After

Do you think he’s single?

Did his heart seem dead from euthanizing so many animals?

That came from my reluctant protege, Wren Christie, whose pitch-black hair, piercings, and witch vibe provide an unusual challenge in customer service, not that I don’t rise to meet it. I don’t care how black your eyeliner is or how many piercings you have, a smile works wonders.

The point is, Grady Tripp’s existence doesn’t match mine. Not by a mile. And the distance between us is full of thick forests, rocky terrain, bodies of water, and booby traps.

Anyone with theluxuryof being a grouch doesn’t have a clue what Marnie-land is like.

Knowing this, his question shouldn’t bother me. But it does. It’s niggling away at my insides like his words are toothy termites.

WhywouldAshe deny me his love and care?

Whywouldn’the choose me over himself justthis once?

Or choose his mom’s advice overhis promise?

The more I think about it, the more it hurts.

But Grady does me a favor and says nothing else until we reach Seagrove.

CHAPTERTEN

Grady

Her house isn’t a shed,as those idiots in the coffee shop said, but close. It’s a small cottage, maybe five hundred square feet, oozing with forced homeyness, like it’s convincing itself it’s a house with plants all over the tiny porch and a front window that’s too big for a place this size. A sprawling brick rancher with an enormous attached garage and workshop overshadows it from thirty yards back and they share a driveway, like the tiny house was an afterthought. Or a lawn decoration.

Her place is within walking distance of Seagrove’s downtown and a half-mile from Sunny’s, making convenience its best amenity. She directs me to the gravel lot between her front door and the road, and The Beast comes to a squeaking stop.

“Thanks for the ride,” she says, not sounding as chipper as usual. She works the handle, barely pushing the heavy door open and wincing with each movement.

“Wait. I’ll come around.” I rush to meet her there before her stubbornness puts her in more pain with a move that’s too quick.

She looks unsure when I lean into the cab beside her.

“Where are your keys?”

She motions to the bag at her feet. I maneuver around her, finding the keys and putting them in her left hand.

“Let’s do this easier than we did at the hospital,” I say, locking eyes with her. “What’s your pain level, one to ten?”

“Six.”

“Let’s not let it get any higher. I’ll carry you.”

“Um, no. That’s unnecessary. It’s just to the door?—”

“It’s getting out, walking, stepping up. You feel the most pain when your body is straight. I can keep you bent like you’re sitting.”

Her brow pinches into a worried V. “I could hobble.”

“You could, but the trip was hard enough. I only want to make it easier for you.”

When she hesitates again, I slip my hand over hers, taking a chance that she’ll remember my comfort, not just the pain I’ve caused. “I look rough, but I promise I’ll be gentle.”

Her soft smile widens like she’s almost breathless. “You are gentle. I know that already. It’s just…”

“Weird,” I finish for her. “I get it. But I’m here and happy to help. Or not. Whatever you’d like.”

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