Page 162 of Wicked Minds
He drops gracefully into the driver’s seat, closing his door, and immediately, I feel like I’m suffocating. His cologne wraps around me, and his body is way too close. The proximity has mine responding and I become hyper-aware of every little movement I make.
As he pulls away from the curb and drives down the street, I cast furtive glances in his direction. This is awkward as fuck. Or perhaps it’s just me. He seems perfectly comfortable.
He looks great, dressed in pants and a shirt that will fit in perfectly with the clientele at Lux. The scruff on his chin that had appeared in recent weeks is still there, giving him a ruggedness he didn’t have before, although the bags beneath his eyes have lessened and he doesn’t look so weighed down.
“I can hear your brain working all the way over here,” he drawls, not once taking his gaze off the road. “Why don’t you just ask me whatever you’re thinking?”
“How are you doing?” I ask after licking my dry lips. “You seem… better.”
He flicks his gaze my way momentarily, and I don’t miss how his hand tightens around the steering wheel before he forces it to relax. “I am, in some ways. The not knowing for sure… it was driving me insane. There’s still things I don’t have answers to, and maybe I never will…” His mom. My heart clenches for him. “But I know now what type of man my father is. While it’s still difficult to wrap my head around, knowing that gives me some peace of mind.”
I fiddle with the hem of Logan’s hoodie that I put on tonight to block out the chill in the air. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry he’s not the dad you thought he was. I know what that feels like, and it sucks, so, yeah… ”
The feel of his large hand on my knee stops me, and I blink down at where his heat seeps through my leggings and into my skin. His hand on my leg looks so out of place yet feels so right all at once.
He gives it a tight squeeze, and when I lift my head to look up at him, his features are twisted in pain. “I’m sorry you had to go through that. I’m sorry”—his voice breaks over the words—“You were alone. That you didn’t feel you could come to me.”
Tears burn the backs of my eyes, and I deliberately look away so he can’t see how choked up I am. “I thought I was sparing you,” I admit. “Although I think I only made things worse.”
Grayson sighs, and his voice is rough when he speaks. “My father is the one who made everything worse. Not you. You were a fifteen-year-old girl trapped in a horrible situation.”
“And you were a seventeen-year-old who didn’t know to look out for anything wrong,” I counter, sensing that he’s beating himself up for missing the signs back then.
“Maybe,” he says wearily. “I’ll still forever regret not paying closer attention.”
That’s the thing about regrets. Thewhat-ifsof choices made and paths untaken. They linger in the corridors of your mind, haunting with a poignant reminder of what could have been. Each regret a ghostly whisper keeping us awake at night. However, the bitterness of them comes from their permanence. Grayson and I can both wish we’d made different decisions, but that’s all they’ll ever be: hopeless wishes.
Perhaps if we’d done things differently, we wouldn’t be where we are now. But it’s equally possible it wouldn’t have changed anything at all. We’d still be standing here awkwardly at this impasse, unsure how to venture forward with the past casting the way in shadow, tinting the colors with a muted hue of what could have been.
We’re both silent as he pulls into the parking lot at Lux and turns off the engine. However, before I can unbuckle my seatbelt and get out, he reaches across the center console until his face is all I can see.
“Regardless of the past, I’m paying attention now. I forced myself to stay away from you, and look what happened. I’ve learned from that mistake. From now on, you, Riley, haveallof my attention.”
Well fuck, I don’t know if that’s good or bad.
Based on the blazing intensity in his eyes, I’m going to guess it’s not exactly good. Yet, the clenching of my core says it’s definitely not all bad.
“Don’t be sick. Don’t be sick. Don’t be sick.”
Glancing over my shoulder, I find Kelsey standing behind me. We’re all in line as we wait for our cue to head onto the stage for our first performance of the night.
“Still getting performance anxiety?” I ask her.
Wringing her hands, she lifts her head, looking at me with wide, owlish eyes. “Once I’m out there, I’m fine, but the entire day before my shift I’m a nervous wreck.”
I nod, understanding. “I promise it gets easier. I used to be the same way.” Although for entirely different reasons. “The more you do it, the easier it will get. Just make sure you’re attending rehearsals and practicing in between shifts.”
“I have been.”
I smile reassuringly at her. “You’re a natural out there. You don’t have anything to worry about.”
“Thank you, Riley. I really appreciate that.”
The lights in the club go out, our signal to get into position, and I wish her good luck before we step onto the stage.
Strangely, I find myself more nervous than usual as I get into position, waiting for the lights to burst to life above me. I know it’s got nothing to do with performance anxiety and everything to do with a certain someone sitting in the crowd watching me tonight.
It feels weird not having the weight of Royce’s gaze brushing against my skin. I’ve gotten so used to the feel of it—of him—that I feel almost naked tonight knowing he’s not here.
