Page 26 of Griffin (Stone Brothers #5)

TWENTY-FOUR

SHAY

A wind kicked up outside, and it whirred around the small rental house in a frenzy, blowing the overgrown oak tree branches hard enough that they scratched against the siding.

The fall weather went perfectly with the treat I'd made myself.

I'd bought some apple cider at the store and heated it with cinnamon, cloves and nutmeg.

The fragrance in the kitchen should have been bottled or, at the very least, turned into a holiday candle.

I'd danced for an hour, and my muscles had that good ache that came after a successful workout.

My tone and strength were coming back. I was signed up to start ballet lessons in two weeks, and I wanted to be sure I was ready.

An entire week had gone by, which meant I was a week closer to Tate's return.

I hadn't figured out exactly how to go about asking for a divorce.

Blurting it out plainly and with a burst of confidence seemed like my best option.

I'd been working on all of it—courage, confidence, resolve.

I needed to be free from Tate Kennedy forever.

I sat on the couch and pulled a throw blanket around me as I sipped cider.

The only thing missing from the moment of perfection was Griffin Stone.

We'd spent the workweek pretending that we were just a pair of coworkers.

I was in the office trailer, and he was mostly out on site.

We didn't have that many natural chances of running into each other, but when we did, like out at the break tables or walking out to our cars, it was obvious that both of us were dying to be together.

There was such a pull between us, you could almost see electric charges going back and forth whenever we stood together.

We kept our conversations light, mostly out of self-preservation.

If we started getting too heavy into a conversation, then emotions would run high, and there was too much danger of me falling right into those incredible arms. As much as I wanted to do just that, I knew that I needed to keep my head clear.

Something that was not possible around Griffin Stone.

With any luck, I'd be done with my terrible baggage soon, and Griffin and I could pick up where we left off.

And what a leave off it was. I couldn't stop thinking about being with him, physically and emotionally.

And just thinking about him pushed me into a moment of vulnerability. I wanted nothing more than to be sitting with him right now, cuddled under the blanket and soaking in his body heat. I reached forward and grabbed my phone from the coffee table.

"Just thinking about how much I miss being in your arms." I hesitated at first but then sent off the text.

It was Friday night, so I was sure he was out.

What if he was out with a woman? I allowed myself that annoying question.

After all, I wasn't delusional. I had no doubt there were many women in Griffin's life.

And if he was out with someone, then that made perfect sense.

Why should he have to wait around for me while I dealt with my ugly problems?

I put the phone back down. It was stupid to expect a text back, and I felt silly for wearing my neediness right out there for him to see.

I was starting to work up a nice internal lecture for myself when the phone buzzed. I reached forward and picked it up.

"Trust me, ballerina, these arms are waiting for you to be back in them. What are you up to?"

"Just sitting drinking hot cider under a throw blanket like a proper little old lady," I wrote back.

"Sounds better than my night. Sitting in my aunt's bar eating nachos with my cousins and spending the whole time wishing I was with you."

I double tapped a heart emoji on his text and put the phone down before I sent myself into a sob session.

I rested back with the cider and closed my eyes to relax when an all too familiar noise made me sit up so fast, I spilled the cider.

The house vibrated, and the rumble outside churned up a wave of nausea.

"No," I cried. "I had another week." I got up and quickly moved the furniture back to its usual place. I'd kept the dance floor all week, but I was erasing it before the dark swirling shadow walked inside to obliterate my dreams.

The motor stopped, and the rattling windows quieted down.

I heard him fumbling with the back door lock, and a string of cuss words followed.

The door swung open, and the wind swooshed through the house, sending a stack of napkins all over the kitchen floor.

He always entered like a terrible, menacing storm.

His laundry bag landed with a thump on the kitchen floor.

"Why the fuck does it stink so much in this kitchen? " he bellowed. "That better be dinner."

I took a deep breath and walked out to the kitchen. Seeing him always obliterated all my energy, and I felt myself physically shrink down. My stomach churned around the cider.

"I wasn't expecting you," I said. "I could make you some eggs." I hated hearing my voice. It was the other voice, the one I used when standing in the same room with him. It was weak and submissive and pathetic, but it was a hard habit to break.

"Eggs? Fuck, I just drove ten straight hours and you're offering eggs?"

"You could have texted that you were on your way back. You told me you'd be gone two weeks."

"Yeah, well one of the jobs fell through. I'm going to shower, and I sure hope there's something better than fucking eggs on that table when I get out."

I stepped well clear of his path. He was in an extra bad mood.

I thought I had another whole week to strengthen my plan, but that wasn't the case.

One part of my plan was already in place, make sure to catch him in a mellow mood.

Those moods were fewer and farther between every day, and my patience was growing thin.

Tonight, though, was out of the question.

He'd just entered like a category 5 tornado, and I was going to need to "take shelter" for the rest of the night.

I made Tate a grilled ham and cheese sandwich, and he sat to eat it without complaint and without a thank you but then I didn't expect one.

I was still reeling and trying to gather my composure after having my second week of freedom pulled out from under me.

I quickly cleaned the kitchen while he ate.

"We're moving," he said between bites.

I dropped the dishtowel on the counter. "What? We just got here."

"I don't like this place or this town, and like I said, I don't want you working at that construction company."

His abrupt decision and command had opened a door for me. A night of sleep should help his mood and give me the courage to let him know he could move to any damn town he wanted, but I wasn't going with him this time.

I wiped my hands off on the towel. "It's late. We can talk about this tomorrow."

His fist pounded the table hard. I shrieked and ducked, sure something would fly my way next. After a few seconds, I straightened from my defensive posture and looked over at him.

"Nothing to discuss," he said coldly. He got up from the table, grabbed a beer from the fridge and seconds later, the television turned on. With any luck, he'd fall asleep on the couch, and I wouldn't have to see or hear or smell him for the rest of the night.

I finished up in the kitchen. Tate had the news blasting on the television. It was an arrest scene with the large flashing chyron beneath announcing that Toby Barron had been arrested for the murder of Roxi Carhill.

"I'm going to bed," I said.

"Shhh!" Tate said as he waved a big hand at me.

I was glad he had something to occupy his time. Roxi was one of the many beautiful influencers who took up a lot of Tate's spare time, and now, it seemed, her murder would do the same. I headed into the bedroom and reached in my pocket for my phone.

I froze in fear. I'd left it on the table.

Griffin came up as Greta, but the whole fake name trick was silly.

Our texts were not exactly banal like two acquaintances asking about the weekend.

We'd even come darn close to full on sexting a few times.

It was all we had since I'd put up the wall between us.

My heart was beating as I hurried back out. It just about jumped from my chest when I saw Tate reach forward and pick up my phone. I held my breath waiting for him to read the last few texts, but he didn't take his eyes off the screen. They were holding a press conference about the arrest.

"Ha!" Tate laughed. "Asshole deserves to go to jail for life." He tossed my phone at me without looking. I managed to catch it before it hit me or the floor.

"Why don't you stay up? We could watch a movie together," he suggested.

His tone was much lighter and that menacing scowl, the one that always warned me to stay out of reach, had vanished.

His whole demeanor had changed. It might have been the food or maybe just hearing that one of his social media sweethearts was going to get her justice had brightened his mood.

"No, I'm tired. It was a long workweek."

"Shit, you're such a fucking bore." He leaned back on the couch.

"Well, go then. Don't let me keep you." With that, he turned up the television to an annoyingly loud volume knowing full well that there would be no way to sleep through it.

That was all right. It gave me time to think about exactly what I would say to him in the morning to let him know my little slice of hell had become too much for me.