Page 16 of Falling for the Grumpy Orc (Monsters of Saltford Bay #1)

Something inside me shatters, sharp and jagged. Months, years , of doubt and second-guessing and bending myself to fit someone else’s mold presses against my ribs, clogging up my throat.

“What is so wrong with believing in me?” My voice is a whisper now, raw and hollow. “Why can’t you just say you support me?”

Patricia exhales sharply, rubbing at her temple like this conversation is exhausting her, but I don’t miss the way her lower lip trembles. “Cassidy, please, I just want what’s best for you. ”

The heavy thud of boots echoes from the hallway in a slow, deliberate rhythm that cuts through the tense atmosphere like a blade.

A towering, mountain of a man appears in the hallway, walking toward us with a frown scary enough to send an entire army running with their tails tucked between their legs.

Patricia doesn’t even spare him a glance, too caught up in the exchange to turn around to see who’s coming.

Then he steps into the room.

Gerralt stops just inside the doorway, his broad shoulders nearly filling the frame. His amber eyes sweep over the room, lingering on me first, assessing, before locking on my mother with a gaze carved from stone.

Patricia turns slowly, eyes narrowing as she takes in the sheer size of him. Her lips press into the thinnest line imaginable, and she exhales through her nose in that particular way she does when she's faced with something beneath her standards.

"I see at least you hired some help." Her gaze flicks over his worn flannel, the tool belt slung low on his hips, the faint traces of sawdust still clinging to his boots. "But please tell me you made sure to check his reference first."

Gerralt doesn’t flinch under her scrutiny. If anything, his jaw sets a little tighter.

"Cassidy was very thorough in her selection," he says, his voice low and steady. "And the renovation project here is well underway."

Patricia’s expression doesn’t shift, but I can see the subtle way her upper lip slightly purses at the way he stands up to her.

"I see," she says lightly, and I know that tone. It's the one she uses when pretending she isn't silently cataloging exactly how little she thinks of someone. "A contractor’s opinion on his own work is rarely anything but glowing, dear. Especially an orc."

Gerralt’s arms cross over his chest, casually, like he has all the time in the world to entertain whatever preconceived notion she’s fishing for.

"Is me being an orc a problem?"

Her smile is thin, practiced, and I know she’s going to attack without mercy.

"Not at all." She turns slightly toward me. "As long as you keep your relation strictly professional. Not that I would expect anything less from you."

My stomach clenches.

Gerralt doesn’t react, at least not in the way I expect. A muscle ticks in his jaw, but his voice remains calm, steady.

"Cassidy doesn’t have to prove anything to anyone and she certainly doesn’t have to entertain anyone judging her in her own house."

Patricia stiffens. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me." He shifts his weight, grounding himself, but he doesn't move beyond the threshold. "She’s doing just fine without your interference and her relationships are none of your business."

My mother has been many things in my life. She’s been unyielding, critical, overbearing, and many times all at once. But I have never seen her at a loss for words.

For a long, tense beat, no one speaks.

Then Patricia exhales, slow and deliberate, her gaze flicking between me and Gerralt. Her lips curve into something that might pass for a smile if it weren’t so sharp .

“So this is what you’ve chosen,” she murmurs, her tone syrupy sweet but laced with poison. “Running yourself ragged for a run-down lodge in the middle of nowhere. With an orc.”

My stomach churns with bile. I knew she’d disapprove. I expected the judgment. But something about the way she purses her lips at that last word makes me want to throw something at the wall.

Gerralt shifts beside me, and I swear the temperature in the room drops by ten degrees.

I open my mouth, but he beats me to it.

“Cassidy worked every day, from sunup to sundown,” he says, voice flat, final.

There’s no bark, no theatrics, just the weight of absolute certainty, like a brick through a window.

“She already transformed this place more than I could ever imagine and she’s going to make it the best bed and breakfast this town has ever seen.

And I won’t allow anyone, not even her mother, to stand here and talk down to her like that. ”

Patricia’s nostrils flare. She turns from Gerralt to face me.

“I’m warning you, Cassidy. You have no idea what kind of life you’re setting yourself up for.” Her hazel eyes, so much like mine, slice through me. “If you think I’ll just stand by while you throw your future away in a pathetic little town with some barbaric orc contractor, you’re wrong.”

Heat flashes through me like a slap.

“You’ve been warned.” I’m surprised at the firmness in my voice. “Now you need to leave.”

Patricia stills and stares at me like I’ve turned green and grew tusks.

“You heard her,” he says, folding his arms over his broad chest. Gerralt doesn’t even blink.

His voice stays low, calm, even as something dark and dangerous simmers just beneath the surface.

“This is not your house and it’s not your life, either.

Cassidy’s got more guts than most people I know.

You don’t see that, you don’t respect that?

Then turn around and walk your fancy shoes right out that door. ”

Patricia’s mouth tightens. For the first time in my life, she looks… uncertain.

But only for a moment.

"I can see I’m not wanted here," she says stiffly.

She pulls her gloves back on with sharp, clipped movements, like she’s reasserting control of what little she has left.

"I will be there for you when this place crumbles from under you,” she adds, voice quiet but cutting. “But I might not be able to save you from yourself forever."

Then she leaves, her heels clicking against the wooden planks as she disappears down the hallway. When the door opens and closes, I release a breath I didn’t realize I was holding.

The kitchen is silent. The only sound is the slow tick of the clock on the wall.

I turn toward Gerralt and the weight of everything crashes down on me like all at once. My mother’s words. The fear she put in me, stirring up old wounds I thought I had buried.

Maybe she’s right. Maybe I’m just playing a game I’m doomed to lose.

Maybe I’ll never be good enough.

My breath hitches, a sharp, ugly sound, and suddenly, Gerralt is there, solid and unmoving in front of me.

"I—" My voice cracks, and I hate it. "I just… I don’t know if I can do this. What if I fail? And she’ll be right, and Jason will be right, an d—"

Gerralt moves before I can finish. His arms wrap around me, pulling me against his chest.

For a moment, I freeze. After he gave me the cold shoulder for two days, I shouldn't just throw myself at him. In fact, I shouldn’t need or want the comfort of a man.

And yet despite all that, I cling to him like he’s a lifeline. Like his hard, muscular chest can shield me from the pain that’s blooming inside my chest like a malevolent flower.

The new Cassidy doesn’t need a man. The new Cassidy doesn’t need her mother’s approval or permission. The new Cassidy—

The dam breaks.

I erupt in full-on ugly sobs, my face against his shirt, my fingers gripping the fabric. He doesn’t say anything at first, just tightens his hold slightly, his large hand splayed between my shoulder blades.

He has no way of knowing it, but it’s exactly what I need. To be held, to be comforted without judgment, without giving me advice or telling me all the ways I shouldn’t be as upset as I am now.

For a long time, I sob, snot and all, my face in Gerralt’s shirt almost swallowed by his arms.

I have no idea how long I cry, but Gerralt doesn’t budge. He just cradles me against him and pets my spine up and down in a soothing, slow cadence. Finally, I have no more tears to cry and my sobs subside to the dry cackle of a crow.

“I can’t fail.” I whisper to his chest. “If I fail here, it’ll mean Jason was right. It’ll mean my mother was right. I’m incapable of taking care of myself, of standing on my own two feet. ”

His hand stops moving along my back. After a long silence, he murmurs, “You’re not a failure. You never were. It’s their own fault if they can’t see this.”

I squeeze my eyes shut, the tension in my chest unraveling bit by bit, breath by breath.

I don’t know how long we stand there, but eventually, I pull back just enough to look up at him.

“All I see when I look at you is a woman capable of grabbing life with both hands to reach up for her dreams.”

There’s a dizzying moment where Gerralt’s gaze darkens and his eyes drift down to my lips and I think he’s going to kiss me.

Then he opens his arms to release me and I pull away. All I want is to press my lips to his and kiss him into oblivion, but I’ve already done that once.

I won’t do it again. If Gerralt Banesman wants to kiss me a second time, he’s going to have to make the first move.

Or more like the second move.

Since it doesn’t look like it’ll happen anytime today, I reluctantly stand up and take a step back. Gerralt gets to his feet as well and I pretend I don’t notice the massive hard-on that stretches the front of his pants.

“I’ll be back tomorrow night with the wood for the mantelpiece.”

Then he’s gone. And the lump in my throat is back.