Page 17 of Back to You
“Oh, I hope you bopped the cat on the head with that broom,” she said.
“Only a little.” I grinned. “Sorry about the chicken. We can find something else to have with our…” I glanced over at the stove real quick to assess the situation. “Mashed potatoes and gravy. Aw, Gran. Did you make the gravy from scratch?”
“Bah, there’s no other way to make gravy. Of course I did. Fat lot of good that’ll do us now.” She grunted and took another swig of her tea.
“I can run down to the grocery, see if they still have some of their rotisserie chickens on display? It won’t be homemade, but at least it’ll be a chicken dinner. Hmm?”
That earned me a smile. “Oh, Hollister. You are a good boy, you know that? If it’s not a hassle…” She waved me off, rubbing at her swollen knuckles.
“Not a hassle at all.” I kissed her atop her pile of curls, then grabbed my keys off the kitchen table. It really wasn’t that far out of my way. We lived right in the middle of town. It’d take me twenty minutes, max. “Be right back.”
Scott’s Grocery was oddly barren for a Friday night. Hopefully that meant that there’d be a chicken waiting for me, all juicy and delicious, begging to be scarfed down. My stomach gurgled just thinking about it. I grabbed a shopping basket and went through the sliding doors, which opened up into the deli section.
A guy in a white apron and a hairnet gave a little wave, then continued dishing out potato salad into small plastic tubs and labeling them. His movements were slow and mechanical. “If you need anything, let me know.” He sounded bored out of his skull, but I wasn’t there to give him a job.
“I’m good, thanks.” There, sitting on the metal shelf with steam piping up from the vents in the bag, was the last rotisserie chicken. “Jackpot.” I snagged it off the display rack and tucked it into my basket. I glanced up at the deli clerk. “Have a good—”
All words fled me the moment I turned around. I froze in place, gaping helplessly at the young man browsing the cheese assortment. He had a wheel of cheese in one hand and he seemed intent on reading the packaging.
Holy shit. It couldn’t be him…
“Dane Fisher?” I blurted out, unable to help myself.
The man’s head popped up. He looked around wildly for a moment, then stared. My heart nearly stopped. His ice-blue eyes drilled a hole straight through me. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t move. My soul was vaporized the minute our gazes locked, but his expression remained blank.
He must’ve recognized me, though, because the block of cheese dropped from his hand, to land on the floor. God, he was even more gorgeous than I remembered—andinked—and that leather jacket he was wearing? Damn.
His fingers curled into fists as he seemed to regain his composure, but he didn’t smile. My foolish hopes nosedived. Of course he wouldn’t smile. I ditched him when he needed me the most.
“Hollister? Is that really you?” His voice was huskier than I remembered, but it was him. It was Dane, but it wasn’tmyDane. I’d given that up the day I ran away with my tail tucked between my legs. Emotion caught in my throat. I didn’t trust myself to talk, but I nodded slowly. Dane pinched the bridge of his nose and inhaled sharply. “Fuck.”
My insides turned to stone. Not exactly the reunion I’d always hoped for. I swallowed my stupid feelings and tried to explain myself, but what was there to say?
“I’m sorry. I’m probably the last person you want to see, and I don’t blame you. I’m a bastard and I—” What I didn’t expect was for him tohitme. His palm cracked against my cheek hard enough to sting, knocking the words right out of my mouth. My hand flew to my face, my jaw dropping open.
Dane’s eyes widened in shock, like he couldn’t believe what he’d just done. He stumbled away from me, both hands gripping at his hair. He yanked on the strands. “Fuck…”
Then, before I could register what was even happening, he turned around and ran out of the store. I stood in the center of the aisle, frozen in place, with one hand still pressed against my smarting cheek. Tears filled my eyes. I deserved that, but god… I didn’t expect for it to hurt so goddamn bad.
Sniffling back the emotion swelling in my throat, I paid for the chicken and drove home. The road blurred in front of me. I gripped the steering wheel harder and focused on the road best I could, but try as I might to blink the tears away, they just kept falling. By the time I pulled into Gran’s drive, my heart felt as if it’d been trampled by a herd of elephants.
Damn it.
I went inside and dropped the grocery bag on the kitchen table. “Here’s the chicken,” I said dully, already headed for the stairs. I needed to be alone right now.
Apparently that wasn’t on the agenda.
Grandma Gin cleared her throat and tapped the end of her cane on the floor.Tip-tap-tip.“Well? Aren’t you going to eat? You have to be about starved by now.”
The idea of food made my stomach turn. “I’m not really hungry.”
“Too bad,” she replied, matter-of-fact. Pointing to my chair, she added, “I didn’t slave over a hot stove for nothing! Sit your ass down. Besides, you worked all day. You need to feed that body of yours, child.” She raised a silvery brow, silently daring me to defy her.
Of course, I couldn’t, so we took our seats and said grace. I barely managed to choke down my dinner. Inside, a hurricane of emotion battered my heart and lungs, making even breathing seem impossible. By the time I helped clean up and put the leftovers away, I felt as though I was drowning.
Leaving Gran to entertain herself with her sitcoms, I escaped up to my bedroom. Without bothering to take off my shoes, I collapsed into bed and buried my face in the pillow. A muffled sob escaped me.
This time, I let the tears flow.
