Page 164 of Really Truly Yours

His finger won’t stop tapping. “So, uh, marriage, huh?”

Here I am, freaking losing my mind with worry, though slightly less so than an hour ago, and my brother thinks this is funny? I scowl. “You moved fast with Avery, from what I understand?”

“Oh, yeah. Maybe even quicker than you. I didn’t say I didn’t get it. More like, confirming what I’d already figured out.”

My neck nearly snaps my head off. “Did not.”

“Did too.”

“Did—” I bite my tongue. Vague memories of this same variety of argument in childhood swim in my head, warning me away from being childish in the present. “Shut up.”

Head back, he laughs. “You’re an open book, Tuff. Besides, falling in love is practically a spectator sport. Lots of times, everybody sees before the players themselves.”

The mood shifts. I squeeze the wheel. “Does Sydnee feel the same as I do?”

“You’re asking me?”

“But you said…”

He’s quiet so long, my hopes and dreams fade in front of me. “My thought with Sydnee is that the question is not love.”

I peek over.

“The question is trust. Of you, yes.” His long sigh feels personal. “But, probably most of all, of herself. She’s got wounds, Gray. Deep-seated reasons not to trust.”

“But it’s other people who have hurt her. Wronged her. Why would she doubt herself? She’s held strong and made something of herself in spite of all of it.”

I know I’ve scraped a personal raw spot, he takes so long to answer. “Because she knows, deep in her heart, how much she’s trusted in the past. How much she hoped for the best from people time and time again, but the best never came.”

I digest that, then peer over. “Your best did come, though…right?”

“It did.” A real smile turns up the corner of his mouth and lines his eyes. “Now we’ve just got to get you your happily ever after, Tuffman.”

Chapter 36

Grayson

Tripp has downshifted from got-your-back mode and settled into spectator gear. He’s sprawled into the single easy chair in Donny’s apartment, feet kicked onto an ottoman, listening and watching like a hawk.

Do hawks eat popcorn? Because that and a Coke look to be all he lacks for enjoying the show.

Donny’s scowl is lethal. “I told you Sydnee was like a daughter to me!”

I frown down at the shriveled man in the recliner. “You did.”

“What that meant was, don’t hurt her. Well guess who called me bawling her eyes out this morning?”

I don’t take a second of pleasure in her pain—but tears? Tears indicate feeling, feeling I hope like crazy is about me.

He shakes his gnarly finger. “I also warned you about those phony, plastic women. Now, I ain’t been right about a whole lot in my life, but I been right about that. If that’s the kinda woman you want, I told Sydnee she’s better off without you, son of mine or not.”

My shoulders pull tight. Are we at the level where Donny gets to talk to me like this and still hope for a relationship?

Sure enough we are, especially since it’s sweet Sydnee he’s dressing me down for hurting. He’s wrong about me, but his heart is in the right place. He’s looking out for the woman I love.

I snatch one of the two dining chairs and plunk it down in front of Donny.

My father. Guess there’s no getting around it. More, the impulse to do so has waned like the wind after a thunderstorm.

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