Page 167 of Really Truly Yours

I saw him with his arm around that beautiful woman.

But…

He kissed her.

It could have been on the cheek…

But—

Running out on him was rude, Sydnee.

Childish, even.

It was, wasn’t it?

And I say Sam is immature, Gray, impulsive.

“Father…I’m no better, am I?” I sigh into the empty car. I know what I need to do. I’ll pray about it tonight, when things are quiet and I can think. I still don’t see how things could work for us. We’re too different…but he didn’t deserve to be abandoned. He deserved a chance to be heard.

Yep. I messed up again.

A quick glance down the drive running along Donny’s unit prompts me to veer for the front lot instead. The place is packed with visitors today.

I manage the half-dozen bags and my purse in a single trip. I weave one hand far enough through the plastic handles to turn the knob to Donny’s apartment. Two bags slide to the floor, spilling bread and coffee and apples.

Forget the groceries, the scene ahead freezes me. Gray, kneeling, embraces Donny. Hard and cold—not—Tripp has his hand on Donny. He spies me first and smiles with genuine warmth.

What? No. I…can’t think straight. Tears, different than the ones I cried all night, spring to my eyes in the face of Donny’s joy.

Something big happened here.

Tripp squeezes his brother’s shoulder. “Bro, someone’s here to see you.”

But Gray has a game tonight.

He twists, awkward on one knee. His eyes rivet to mine. A lump bobs my throat. He’s so handsome, and his expression suddenly turns as hopeful as I’ve been bleak.

My purse slides down my sleeve. “What are you doing here?”

His magical eyes squint. “Is that a serious question, Syd?”

I look from face to face, finding no answers. “You have a game tonight.”

“Nope. Not me.”

“Yes. You do.”

Tripp sputters. “For heaven’s sake, Tuff, help your girlfriend with those bags.”

I whip my gaze over to Tripp. “I’m not his girlfriend!”

His palms lift, the innocent babe. There’s humor—annoying, misplaced humor—in the spasming of his mouth.

Gray scrambles from the floor and rushes to me. Our skin brushes as he relieves me of the dead weight. He stills, smack in front of me, his gaze boring. “I’m not at the game because nothing is more important than you.”

That’s crazy talk. I adjust a piece of hair that flopped forward when I tried to stop the bags. “If you messed your career up for me, you shouldn’t have.”

But I’m as foolish as any woman on the planet, because the touch of your hand has zapped the strength from my knees.

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