Page 70 of Falling Into Forever
Great. I’m going to walk out of here with swamp-ass. I avert my gaze, choosing to stare at the gleaming bar in front of me and silently praying they’ll all leave me the hell alone.
“You’ll have to ask him,” I grumble, not caring if they can hear me or not.
“When will you give them their happily ever after? Are you waiting to see how you and Dante get yours before you write it?”
My head hits the cool bar top with a thud. Maybe if I get a concussion, they’ll leave me alone.
I’m not even sure where that question comes from. Why does this room have to be so small? Grady seriously needs to check the fire codes because we are definitely over capacity in here.
“What about when the hero took her standing up at the county fair behind the food trucks? Is that even possible? Did you ever get caught?” Mrs. Walker has no shame, but my entire body tries to shrivel up from embarrassment.
“Okay, people, tone it down,” Cassie says after standing on a chair to get everyone’s attention. “This is supposed to be book club where we discuss the dynamics of the hero and heroine, plot, you know, all things story. We’re not here to put Sassy on blast. She didn’t sign up for a Q&A session.”
I take back everything I’ve ever said about having friends. Right now, I could kiss Cassie Holly.
Low grumbles of dissatisfaction filter through the semi-private tasting room we’re set up in, but eventually, they die down, and Mrs. Walker leads the discussion on character motivation. I tune them out. I wrote the damn thing—I don’t need to dissect it now too.
A glass of white wine appears in front of me, and I follow the arm holding it. Grady. “Hey,” I mumble, taking the glass. He doesn’t sell wine in the brewery, but he always has a pinot grigio for me and mysteriously has various kinds for other people who show up occasionally.
The guy is a big teddy bear with the heart of a giant and the attitude of a porcupine. But he’s a good friend to those of us who need him and probably to those who don’t yet know that they need him.
“Hey,” he grumbles in return. “We put Thompson through the paces over there.”
I turn my head toward him so fast, my hair swings and blocks my vision. “Why would you do that?” I hate how my chest flutters with nerves. Dante’s a big boy, he can take care of himself.
Grady throws me anare you seriousexpression with one raised brow and turned-down lips, then shakes his head.
“Because we all want you to be happy, and no one wants to see you…” He doesn’t finish that sentence, but we both know where he was going with it—no one wants to find me on The Landing again—where Shannon took her last breath.
Grady and I are close because he found me sitting on the rocks there when I didn’t know where else to go. It was the lowest point in my life. I’d pretended to hold it together for nearly a month, but that night I couldn’t do it anymore. I couldn’t deny that I needed help after that, so I pushed Dante away, then checked myself into the hospital.
Since then, we’ve met each other there anytime one of us was struggling. Grady’s depression is different from mine, but we understand each other in a way that’s hard to describe.
“I’ve never given an opinion before,” he says. His voice is pitched low so only I can hear him, making me swivel on my stool toward him. “But I think you were wrong to push him away.” He holds up a hand to stop me when I open my mouth, ready to fire a snarky defense.
“I know why you did it. But now that I’ve readCome September, as your friend, I’m obligated to tell you that you fucked up.” His brows furrow as he stares at me. “I don’t want you to get hurt again, Sass. But I do believe that man loves the hell out of you even now.”
My throat tightens. Since when does he have retractable walls in the brewery? I need them to stop closing in on me.
“Did everyone and their freaking mother read it?” I grumble.
“Why wouldn’t they, Sass?” He sounds almost angry, and Grady rarely gets angry with me. “Everyone in this damn bar loves the hell out of you, but we didn’t know how to help.” He shakes his head, and his features relax when he rakes his fingers through his hair. “Trying to push our way in only made you retreat more, but don’t think for one second that this entire fucking town hasn’t been rooting for you because we have.”
My throat is too tight to breathe properly.
Raucous laughter comes from the poker table, and we both incline our heads that way. The men are picking up cards with mischief radiating from their bones. “He never stopped loving you. That’s something you don’t just walk away from ’cause it’s hard. That’s something you fight for because it’s worth the risk.”
“That’s, yeah.” I rub my now-sweaty palms on the denim covering my thighs. “I.” Damn it, why is my voice so pitchy? Clearing my throat in a way that sounds like a fisher cat, I continue. “I think you’re right. But what if love isn’t enough? What if he can’t handle—me?” For the first time in a long time, I wear no mask. I don’t hide my fears. I’ve torn down my walls and asked for help in rising from the ashes of my broken life.
“If you love him, trust him enough to try. He deserves that chance.”
I lift my tenuous gaze to his. “I thought you didn’t like him?”
He flashes me a rare grin. “I don’t like anyone. But I can respect a man who goes after what he needs, and that man needs you. Almost as much as you need him. I will always be here for you—you’re one of the only people I can tolerate at length—but you deserve a love only he can give you.”
I bump his shoulder with mine. “When did you start playing matchmaker?”
“When some asshole started spreading lies about my best friend and forced her hand at fixing the biggest mistake she ever made.” His words set off explosions in my chest.
