Page 52 of What Hurts Us

She blew out a dismissive breath. “Nonsense. No one expects you to raise kids on your own. That’s what you’ve got us for.”

I cocked an eyebrow. “You running a bootleg daycare out of the garden shed?”

She snickered. “No, smartass. But you’ve got Sepideh and me. Layla comes from a top-notch family. And you’ve got a whole host of Creekers ready to pitch in. Besides that, I know damn well you two won’t be like your momma and daddy. You’ll do better. You’ll do right by your kids.”

“That’s your son you’re talking shit about.”

“And I’ve walked this earth long enough to know that when someone’s a dumbass, you have to call them out. That’s exactly what I did before you came to stay with me. I was still angry from the funeral, and I turned it into some righteous indignation. Losing your grandad was the kick in the pants I needed to find the courage to say what needed saying. And my son needed to be told that he wasn’t doing right by his boy.”

I hadn’t been privy to that conversation, but I’d heard enough whispers as I bounced between my mom and dad’s houses to know that my parents were pissed at Gran.

My dad and Gran had mended fences over the years. Me and my dad? Not so much.

“I saw the picture in the paper,” Gran said with a wistful sigh. She sat back on her haunches, satisfied with a hard day’s work. “Cut it out and picked up a frame at the Dollar General this morning so I could put it on my mantle.”

One of the aforementioned Creekers had snapped a photo of me, down on one knee, proposing to Layla. She looked even more ethereal in the second photo when she kissed me. It ran as the front-page headline of theFalls Creek Gazettethe next morning.

Today’s paper had a follow-up story with a grainy close-up of the ring I had proposed with. Next to it was a photo of my Gran and Grandad on their wedding day nearly sixty years ago. A much younger version of Gran beamed at her husband. Her hand lay on top of his, showing off the brilliant red gemstone set in gold filigree.

“You did good, Callum,” she said quietly. “Real good.”

My stomach churned, sending bile rising into my throat. I didn’t want to hurt Gran or disrespect the history of the ring. But she had given it to me to give to my future wife.

No one would have believed the proposal if I had given Layla anything but that ring.

As I got in my department vehicle and drove back into town, I thought about the words I had said to Layla.

Words about trust. About healing. About the goodness in her soul.

It was a good thing this engagement was a sham because Gram was right about one thing.

Layla was way, way out of my league.

I wish I could erase the hate in my heart. Hate for my own blood. For the people who brought me into this world. I wished I could harness even an ounce of her goodness.

Carrying her up those stairs each morning felt like part of my restitution.

But it would never be enough, no matter how much I wanted it to be.

18

LAYLA

Steam floated into my bedroom from the open door. The shower squeaked off, and the pitter-patter of water droplets faded. I looked back into the mirror and swiped the powder brush over the apples of my cheeks.

The bathroom door opened, and Cal stepped out. A thick towel was wrapped low around his hips. Dimples in his lower back winked at me as he bent at the waist while he toweled off his hair. His delicious Adonis belt was on full display. A smattering of dark hair covered his chest, trailing past his navel and disappearing below the edge of the towel.

Droplets of water clung to his skin. Gray eyes met mine, then trailed down the silk robe that was tied around my waist. “Bathroom’s all yours,” he said with a tip of his head.

I grabbed my dress, slipping the thin straps onto a coat hanger to steal some of the steam still lingering in the shower so the wrinkles would fade. The door to Callum’s room was still open. The moment I stepped into the hallway, his towel dropped.

He pawed around in his dresser drawer for a pair of boxers, unconcerned about the fact that I could see every curve and crevice of his magnificent ass.

Holy shit.

Even his ass had muscles. It was taut and tight, supported by two thighs that could have been marble pillars.

My lungs ached at the loss of oxygen as I watched him.

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