Page 131 of Painted Scars
I watch him head for the stairs, a flicker of warmth melting the dread coiled in my gut.
He flips Grayson the bird as if sensing him smirking at the back of his head. Spoiler alert—he totally is!
Grayson gets up from his chair to make a fresh coffee, appearing moments later with two steaming coffee mugs like he’s been expecting me to need one. He passes me a plain mug, keeping the one that readsWorld’s Best Hacker,and settles in a chair opposite me.
“Christmas present from four years ago.” He thumbs the worn gold lettering that’s seen a lot of use. “Back before the man I called best friend decided to vanish off the map and take half my sanity with him.”
His eyes flick to the photo of them taped to the computer. Two teenagers, grinning like idiots, arms over each other’s shoulders. Taken before life burned and scarred them.
“Figured if he was going to erase himself, I’d keep one thing they couldn’t scrub.” He straightens the photo that’s sagging to the left. “Even if it’s just a damn mug and photo.” His voiceholds that brittle edge of when people glue themselves back together in the aftermath of tragedy.
For a moment, I question whether he means himself or the wreckage August left behind.
“Did you follow him?” I ask softly since it’s a touchy subject. “Or did someone make sure you didn’t have a choice?”
Grayson’s hand stills. “I didn’t want to build cages for people. The Romans don’t like that kind of attitude.
I cup my mug to trap the warmth that threatens to recede at the mention of them. “They came after you?”
He exhales a slow breath. “They offered me everything. Money, clout, endless resources with no questions asked. Said a mind like mine shouldn’t be wasted on security upgrades.”
“What happened?” the reporter in me probes.
“I said no.” He taps the edge of his mug twice like it’ll solve a glitch in his program. “So they erased me. Made me look unstable. Created false allegations that I was a danger to myself and clients.”
“That’s kind of their thing, huh?” I say, shifting in my seat.
His eyes flick to mine, then away.
Grayson braves a sip, then tackles a new topic. “So, he fucked up?”
“Yep.” I rub my throbbing temples. “We’re working on it.”
Last night I was influenced, not just by alcohol, but also atmosphere, adrenaline and the whisper of danger in the air. I said fuck it and took what I wanted, both at the club, and later at August’s loft. I don’t regret a thing, but I know I have a lot to consider now that my first article is out of the way and Burt is gone from my life. Like how we move forward and what conditions we both agree on.
Rational me says that August’s willingness to work this out, grovel, and win back my trust ought to count for something. Book Girlie is screaming to forgive him. Both gang up on meto turn the page instead of slamming the book shut. Wanting to forgive and being ready aren’t the same thing. He’s earning inches back, not miles.
Celine Dion joins the piling on. Cue the big budget romance with me leaning on a ship bow’s railing, arms spread wide, wind in my hair, promisingMy Heart Will Go On. Instead, I’m in a high school basement, cradling a coffee, discussing heart life support with August’s colleague.
“I warned him to nip that in the bud.” Grayson cups his mug in his palm.
“Clearly, he doesn’t listen to either of us.” I blow on my coffee, using the steam as a cover while I weigh up whether to try again with August, or go back to where it was colorful and safe. Before I met him. Before I was reckless and threw myself at him. Before I fell deeply for the man under the helmet and his shadows spilled into mine.
“For what it’s worth, he never got over you,” Grayson says gently, like it’s meant to explain the way August is willing to burn the world down in my name. “Time doesn’t change anything. Neither does his quest for vengeance. You were always tattooed on his heart.”
The coffee’s scalding and terrible, but it’s nothing compared to the new heat blooming in my chest.
I take another godawful sip, letting the caffeine slowly defrost my frozen veins, and pretend I’m not halfway to writing my grumpy stalker a redemption arc in my head… and not without some serious groveling and crawling on his knees, begging me.
Thoughts of my complicated love life fall away as my gaze catches on Grayson’s computer terminal. An open photo of Charlie.
I tilt my head and do another sweep of him. Computer nerd. Seems shy. Quiet confidence that mirrors my friend’s. Someonewho doesn’t get out much, judging by his color and affinity for technology. OMG. They’re perfect for one another, and I wriggle my little Cupid fingers.
“Huh,” I mutter. “Didn’t have you pegged as the stalker type.”
Grayson’s fingers snap over the keys and close the window. “Occupational hazard.”
“Uh-huh.” I narrow my eyes. “Want to try that again? I’ve just been lied to for nine weeks by August and am not in the mood for more.”
