Page 98 of Every Chance After

“We’re beyond it, you’re right,” he says. “It’s like we started a book together but skipped to the tenth chapter.”

“More like twentieth,” I smirk.

“Itwasterrifying.” He glances from me to the stagnant water surrounding us, the herons and ibises pecking along the shores, the cattails swaying in the light breeze. “It’s almost worse now because Iknowyou. It kills me to think that you could’ve been lost.”

“But I’m not lost. I’m here.”

“I’m forever grateful for that. And it means you get a free pass. As many as you want. You have nothing to apologize for. And honestly, I love that we’re beyond fucking pleasantries and basics. I hate that shit.”

“Me, too.” A laugh rolls out, bringing my hand to his strong arm like a magnet. “So, we’re good?”

“Always.” He drapes his hand over mine and holds it between us, oblivious to how this might play into my fantasy files later.Marnie, stop.“Still, I worry about you. What happened hits me every day like a freight train. I don’t think it’s hit you yet. Not fully.”

My brow pinches, but I laugh him off, pulling my hand free from his. “That’s because I stay off the tracks, Grady.”

“Yeah, that’s what I used to do, too. But you can’t avoid it forever. It’s not healthy.”

A scoff takes the place of my usual smile. “Agree to disagree? I’m not avoiding anything. I’m moving on. Kicking ass and taking names.” I motion to the new smoking porch, where the guys still arrange their spots while Wren dutifully assists. “What should I be doing, huh? Should I be at home? Throwing darts at a corkboard with Ashe’s picture on it? Or crocheting little knit hats for babies I’ll never have?”

I cover my mouth with my hand, shocked and immediately regretful that such a thing came out. What is it about this man that crumbles my carefully constructed barriers? My mouth is set to unfiltered gushing whenever he’s around.

With a gentle touch, he shifts my hand away from my mouth, easing me closer. “It’s okay. There’s nothing you can’t say to me. Remember what I said to you? I want it branded on your brain.”

My thoughts swirl with his words, the ones I know he means.I’m here, Marina. Whatever you are. Whatever you need. Whenever you’re ready to fall apart.

“A sweet sentiment,” I allow, diplomatically. “For sure. But honestly, Grady, minus that one exception you witnessed at the hospital, I don’tdofalling apart. Or neediness, generally. It’s just not who I am. I’ve been alone for over a decade, and, if anyone’s counting, years before that, so I’m sorry, but falling apart isn’t?—”

He steps closer, cutting me off. “You’re not alone anymore.”

I suck in a gasp along with my leftover words, my entire body alighting with shock over his abruptness and, at the same time, his almost mystical gentleness. His closeness isn’t intimidating but tender, reminding me ofthatday and the comfort I took in a stranger holding my hand.

I nod, unable to deny him anything, not with his soul-penetrating stare.

“Good.” He says in that gravelly voice of his. If that weren’t enough to make my heartbeat thump at exorbitant speeds, he reaches up, fingers grazing my forehead as he tucks a wayward lock of hair behind my ear. My toes curl in my shoes, and my entire body lights up at his touch.

“Anytime for anything still stands, Marina. Always.”

The loud clang of a wind chime draws our attention to the bank, where Christie stands awkwardly on a lawn chair to hang the decoration on a tree branch near the smoking shed.

I stumble backward. “Um, wow. An emotional roller coaster ride on the Grady Tripp Express is better than coffee.”

He chuckles, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “Happy to be of service... and I want to help, so what can I do?”

It surprises us both how quickly my finger wags between us. “Oh, no, Grady. It’s your day off. I want you on your dock with your dogs, fishing. Besides, they’re like putty in my hands now. I need to see how long I can drive the momentum, and I need you to relax, huh?”

He shuffles on his feet, seeming almost disappointed that I’m not putting him to work. A beat passes as we both take in a hawk diving for something in the brush—a mouse that wriggles free from his beak midair, lucky little guy. The hawk fails to find him again and retreats to his tree branch perch for other opportunities.

“How do you do it?” Before I ask the inevitable follow-up, he goes on, “How do you keep smiling through all the bullshit?”

“I have this little thing I say to myself that helps me through tough times. I’ve recited it since I was fifteen, and it’s the only thing that has stayed with me through it all. Don’t you have a mantra or something that guides you?”

He blanches but recovers with, “Don’t get involved.”

I laugh. “That sounds like you. You aren’t practicing it, though.”

“Yes, I am, just not with you. Rules don’t apply to you. You’re myoneexception.”

I swallow the lump lodged in my throat.

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