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And, truthfully, it is inappropriate for him to be all over me. “Paul, that’s enough,” I tell him when he grips my hips, laughing in my ear.
“Last time I checked you weren’t married.”
I shake my head, pushing back against his chest. “No, I’m not, but I’m also not yours to grind against.”
My eyes dart to Grayson who stands from his place at the table, knowing he’s going to emerge from the shadows and cause a scene. I can tell by the fury in his eyes, he didn’t like what Paul did. Knowing his temper lately, I have a feeling where it’s heading, so I step in front of him, my hands on his chest. I catch of glimpse of Wyatt and Julia watching us, but everyoneelse seems to be preoccupied in wedding bliss, completely unaware.
“Grayson, I know you’re mad, but please don’t cause a scene. Don’t ruin her day.” My voice is cold as ice, my eyes narrowing. Not only that, he cannot get into a fight. Imagine what one hit to his head would do? I don’t want to even think about it.
Gently, he takes his hands in mine, staring over his shoulder at Paul. He doesn’t say a word to him, or me.
Paul shakes his head, glaring at Grayson and then getting in his face. “C’mon, man. Relax. I didn’t mean anything by it. We were just dancing.”
Paul, no! No, no, no! He’s going to kill you.
Maybe because he knows his boundaries at the moment, Grayson only shoves Paul out of his face. “Looked like it meant something from where I was sitting.”
Grayson and I hold a stare, my body vibrating that he’s doing this now. This is the kind of shit Shane did, not Grayson. “Grayson, stop it.”
He raises an eyebrow, a ghost of a smile appearing on his lips. The muscle in his clenched jaw eases and he regards me momentarily. “Whatever,” he snaps, and despite the nonchalant shrug that follows, I can see the underlying irritation as he turns around and walks away from us.
On his way toward the parking lot, he reaches over the bar, grabs a bottle of something and leaves.
Fuck.
Kelly sighs. “All because Paul tried to grind on your booty?”
“I don’t know,” I sigh, feeling the pressure build in my chest. “It’s probably something else entirely and that’s just what set him off at the moment.” I motion over my shoulder. “I’m going to check on him.”
She nods. “Okay, I’ll keep Frankie distracted so she doesn’t see you’re gone.”
I snort. “Right? She’ll freak out on me. I’ll be right back.”
It doesn’t take long to find Grayson. He’s in the parking lotsitting on his dad’s tailgate, bottle in hand drinking straight from it. Stupid fucker. I just… I can’t even believe he’s putting himself at risk like this, but I try to remember that I don’t know what he’s going through. I have no idea what it’s like to live his life every day.
He also has no idea what it’s like in mine, loving a man who is only a version of the one I fell in love with, and the very real possibility, this might be all we ever have.
“What the hell was that about? And you shouldn’t be drinking!”
“You know, you have a lot of fucking demands for me,” he snaps from the edge of his dad’s tailgate. I hate the reminder of the truck bed and the harshness in his eyes. “Don’t cause a scene. Don’t drive, don’t get stressed out, don’t get you off,” he growls, tugging on his tie, a bitterness to his sharp Southern tone. “Stop acting like my fucking mother.”
I stare at the bottle as he brings it to his lips, his eyes on mine as he takes a long drink, hating the fact that I’m obsessing over him mixing it with his medications. I’m suffocating him, and I know it. They warned me about this, the changes in his personality. I just didn’t think they’d be directed at me, the one wanting to help him.
I step toward him, my hands on his thighs hanging over the edge. I touch them higher, squeezing. Our eyes meet, suffering in mine, restlessness in his. “I’m not trying to act like your mother, Grayson. The doctor said you shouldn’t be drinking with your medications. It can cause a stroke or a seizure. I’m only trying to look out for you because I love you.”
He lies back on the bed of the truck, staring up at the sky. “Yeah, well, the doctor isn’t here. And if I wanted a goddamn lecture about what I should and shouldn’t do, I’ll go find him.”
That pisses me off. I don’t know why, but his harsh words are my breaking point. I can feel it rising, the tightness in my throat as the heat creeps up my chest, throat and to my cheeks. Hell, my lips go numb at the sudden onset. “You know what, fuck you.I don’t need this shit from you too. I put up with it from Shane for over a year. He constantly made me feel bad about myself or the situation because he wasn’t happy. I let him manipulate me into believing it was something I was doing. I’m not going to let my best friend do that to me too.”
He sits up angrily, his face inches from mine, and I can tell the motion sends pain through him by the sudden sharp intake of breath, but he’s hurt by what I just said. The look of confusion and sadness on his face is like I stabbed him in the chest. I’m not sure what hurts more, the fact that he’s been hurting me the last couple months or that I destroyed him with one sentence. “Don’t you ever fucking compare me to that piece of shit! I’mnothinglike him. Don’t youever…. That’s a slap in my goddamn face and you know it!”
I want to take back what I said, but I can’t and I know I need to explain. “Look at the way you’re treating me now,” I point out, swallowing like crazy to get the lump in my throat to ease up. “Over a friend hugging me playfully while drunk. I told him to stop, and guess what, he did, Grayson. You can’t blame me for that.”
“I’m not blaming you!” he shouts, throwing the bottle to the side. I jump back away from him when it breaks against his dad’s truck, glass shattering in jagged pieces. I hate the sound, the reminder, the memory that surfaces from months ago. “I fucking wish I could dance with you like that!” His face breaks with the words. “I wish I could hold you and it not hurt, but it does. I can’t give you any of that right now.”
His words hurt more, because I don’t know what he’s going through. I don’t know what Shane took from him. Physically, yes, but emotionally, no, I don’t because he won’t let me.
“I can’t look at you and not be reminded of it,” he whispers, staring at his hands. “Do you know how fucking frustrating that is? I can’t sleep, touch you…. All that shit I went through in Iraq isnothingcompared to this.”