Page 6 of Griffin (Stone Brothers #5)

SIX

SHAY

I poured maple syrup on my frozen waffle and downed it quickly with a cup of coffee.

The small kitchen had been dirty and squalid when we moved in, but the owner had given me permission to paint the cupboards white, and the blue tile, which looked outdated but was growing on me, had cleaned up nicely with a good scrubbing.

I'd hung the two pieces of artwork I'd brought with me, a fun one with a little girl riding on the back of a silver dragon and one where a bunch of cows were gathered in a field of lavender.

Keeping the house cozy was one of my coping mechanisms. It helped me get through days when things felt especially grim.

And whenever that six-foot-two pillar of darkness took off for his next job, I could pretend that I was living in my own little house, a house decorated just for me.

It was one of the ways I stayed sane in an impossible marriage, and since Tate took no notice about how the house was decorated, I was free to do as I pleased.

It was possibly the only part of my life that felt free.

The waffle was tasty, and I was enjoying a few more minutes more of relax time when the kitchen table vibrated.

The familiar and much-despised rumble that followed made the waffle turn over in my stomach.

It was just the tractor of his truck, but it made enough noise to set off the neighbor's car alarm.

The brakes hissed as he parked the truck in front of the house.

My phone vibrated next, and I was so on edge already, I jolted at the sound.

"Move that fucking car out of the driveway. I need to pull in and work on my engine."

I texted back. "I'm leaving anyway. Be right out."

"I'm going to need your car. I'll take you to work. Thought I told you to quit that job."

"I'll take the bus." I grabbed my keys and purse and walked out to move my car. He stayed in the truck, and I was glad. That way I didn't have to see him, and I could leave the house without us exchanging any actual words.

I pulled the car out and parked across the street. He backed up his tractor and pulled into the driveway. I started off on foot to the bus stop. I was going to be late for sure. I wouldn't have to quit. Tate would make sure I got fired.

Tate dropped down from the driver's seat.

I only saw his boots, and that was enough to send a chill through me.

He'd stepped on my hand hard one day when I reached for a fallen piece of toast. I can't even remember the lie I had to come up with at work to explain red tread marks on the back of my hand.

I just remembered a lot of looks of sympathy for the rest of the day.

There was nothing I hated more than being pitied.

"Shay, where are you going?"

"I'll be late for work!" I picked up the pace and was relieved when I reached the corner.

I turned down the next street and took my first real gulp of air since hearing his truck.

The nearest bus stop was only a mile away, but according to the app on my phone, I'd have to wait fifteen minutes for the bus that would drop me just a few blocks from the construction site.

Being late on my fourth day on the job was going to look bad.

I'd been enjoying the job and working hard.

Colt had told me at least three times that I was doing a great job and that he was really glad to have me on board.

Now I was going to give him reason to question his decision.

I had a hard time catching my breath, and my head felt light as if it was no longer attached to my neck.

It was that terrible panic moment where it felt like gravity was working extra hard to hold me down, and at the same time, my body was fighting extra hard against it, so hard that the two forces, working against each other, might just tear me in half.

The explosion of anxiety had started the moment I heard and felt that truck come around the corner.

I was relieved to reach the bus stop. There was a bench with a cover over it.

An older woman with dark gray hair pulled back by a silver hair clip was sitting on the bench holding three stunning pale-yellow roses.

Each soft petal was edged in cherry red.

A beautifully knitted bag sat next to her on the bench.

She pulled it closer to her and patted the empty space on the bench. "Have a seat. You look as if you could do with a rest."

I offered her a faint smile and took a seat. "That's a beautiful bag, by the way."

She patted it. Her fingers had a slight tremble, and her hands were spotted with age.

"Thank you. I knitted it myself, back when these fingers …

and eyes"—she pointed to her pearl-framed glasses—"were still cooperating.

Now it takes me all day to knit three rows and then I usually end up pulling it all out to start again.

My knitting basket is filled with curly, tangled pieces of yarn.

Looks like a basket of colorful spaghetti.

" There was something comforting about her apple-cheeked grin and the way she spoke, sweet but with a nice edge of humor.

The short chat had already eased the sickening anxiety that had gripped me.

She reached into her bag, fished around for a second and pulled out a tiny tin of mints.

"Would you like one? I find that my throat is always dry at this time of year. "

"Thank you." I held out my palm, and she dropped a few mints on it. My throat was dry too, only it was from anxiety and seeing my wretched husband and not the brisk fall air.

"I can smell the perfume from those roses all the way over here," I noted.

She held them up for me to take a deeper whiff.

"Really nice. I've never seen that color before."

"They're called Double Delight. My daughter's favorite. I visit her most mornings, when my arthritis isn't giving me the runaround and when the sun is shining." She squinted up to the blue sky. "Best time of year, even if it does dry my throat."

A bus came around the corner. It was the one I'd been waiting for. I was almost sorry to see it. I was late now no matter what, but I was enjoying the conversation. It was way more effective than the dozens of meditation techniques I'd tried for anxiety.

"Well, here's my bus. I'm Annie, by the way." She held out a shaky hand. It was warm and soft as I took it.

"I'm Shay, and this is my bus too."

"Wonderful, then we can sit together. I must warn you that there'll be a group of youngsters on there this morning.

They take the city bus to their school, and they are a bunch of stinkers.

I retired two years ago from the school cafeteria.

I worked well past the usual retirement age, but I loved it and it kept me busy. "

We stood up from the bench and walked to the curb. The bus door opened with a hiss. I'd purchased a bus pass when we first moved in because I knew Tate would use my car whenever he was in town. I much preferred public transportation to sitting in a car with him.

Annie hadn't exaggerated about the "stinkers" on the bus.

Boys mostly and at that annoying early teen age.

They were talking over themselves when we boarded.

They took up the rear few rows of the bus, and three of them stood up to whistle at me as I walked down the aisle. They hadn't seen Annie behind me.

She looked past me. "Sit down, Kyle, Robbie and Evan, or I'll let your moms know how you're behaving." That sent them right back down to their seats. A few of the other passengers applauded Annie.

"How many stops are you going?" Annie asked.

"I'm getting off at Greenwich Street," I said.

"I'm off two stops earlier, so I'll sit on the aisle if that's all right."

"Of course." I scooted in and sat down.

Annie released a loud sigh as her bottom hit the seat. "Didn't used to sigh like that. I sound just like that bus door when it opens and shuts." Right on cue, the bus doors shut with a loud sigh, and the two of us settled back for the ride.

Annie pointed to the gold band on my finger. "How long have you been married?"

Too long was the answer that popped into my head. "Uh, four years, I think."

Annie looked over at me. "Oh dear," she said quietly and then patted my hand.

She didn't ask anything else about my marriage.

I hadn't meant for my answer to be so telling but then it was a genuine response.

I'd tried hard to dash all memories of my dreadful little wedding and the months that had followed out of my head.

I was living half a life and the other half was cold and harsh and weighed down by a dark shadow, the man I once thought I loved.

Annie entertained me with stories of her childhood growing up on a wheat farm in the Midwest. I could have listened to her all day. Her stop came much sooner than I wanted. Annie pulled her bag onto her shoulder and kept a tight grip on the roses. "Take care, Shay, and I hope we meet again."

I smiled up at her. "Your daughter is very lucky."

She winked at me and then shuffled down the aisle.

Fortunately, the boys had gotten off on the stop before because something told me they were only behaving because Annie was on the bus.

My stop came just a few blocks later. The remnants of my earlier anxiety were sitting quietly in the corner of my mind waiting for something to come along, dust them off and send them fluttering through my whole body again, but for now, I was feeling all right and ready to start my day.

I hoped Colt wouldn't be too angry. He seemed like a reasonable man.

Of course, what did I know? I'd married the most unreasonable man on the planet.

I hurried to the construction site and realized halfway there that I'd never packed a lunch. I so badly wanted to leave the house once Tate arrived, I'd forgotten all about it. Colt was sitting at his desk when I got inside. He didn't look angry but definitely disappointed.

"I'm so sorry, Colt. My husband got home from the road this morning, and he was having problems with his truck, so he needed to use my car for the day. I had to take the bus. I won't let it happen again."

"Hey, we all have mornings like that. I've left some lists on your desks for purchase orders, and there are a few phone calls to make."

I nodded. "I'll get on it right away and really, I'm so sorry about this morning."

He walked over. "Please don't stress about it, Shay. You work hard, and you're doing a great job."

I had to hold back tears. I was so used to only being criticized and told what a failure I was, it was overwhelming to be treated kindly and with respect.

There was no way I was leaving this job.

Tate could go straight to hell over it. In fact, he could go straight to hell anyway. It was where he belonged.