Page 50 of Play Me

CHAPTER

THIRTY-ONE

Gray

My headlights light up the dark, dead-end street as I creep my way toward Astrid’s house.

It takes every ounce of self-restraint not to slam on the gas and race the last few yards to her.

But it’s late, and people are probably sleeping, and I can’t make my problem anyone else’s … anymore than I already have.

Astrid’s car is in the driveway alongside a small blue coupe that I haven’t seen before. Who the hell is that?

I park beside the curb and am practically out of the truck before I turn off the engine.

I jog across the lawn, vaguely aware of the exhaustion settling in my bones, and rap my knuckles lightly against the door.

There’s too much energy coursing through me to stand still—too much anticipation of the upcoming conversation with Astrid, so I try to peek in the windows for any signs of life.

I should’ve called her and warned her that I was close by, but figured I’d let her sleep as long as I can.

“Come on, sweetheart,” I mutter, knocking again—a little louder this time. “Please answer the door.”

Finally, a light turns on in the hallway and the door handle turns.

I start to step forward, my heart in my throat and words touch my tongue, but I recoil when I realize it’s not Astrid greeting me. It’s taser girl.

“What are you doing here?” she asks, dressed in pajama pants and a tank top. Her hair is wild and her eyes groggy like she’s been asleep.

“Is Astrid home?” I narrow my eyes, stopping myself. “I’m sorry. What’s your name again?”

She sighs. “I’m Gianna, and you aren’t seeing Astrid tonight, so fuck off.” She starts to close the door, but I catch the edge with my hand.

“Excuse me?” I ask, flinching. “What do you mean that I’m not seeing Astrid tonight? She’s expecting me. I told her that I was going to come by when I got back to town.”

“Cool story, bro.”

“Gianna, please ,” I say, unnerved by the look in her eyes. I’ve been through far too much today to deal with her. “I need to talk to Astrid.”

She glances over her shoulder, then turns to me.

The icicles she throws my way would kill a lesser man.

“I’ll tell you what you need, Gray, and that’s to get in your truck and go home.

I just got Astrid to fall asleep, which was no small feat tonight since you left her a fucking mess.

She’s finally resting, and you aren’t waking her up. Period.”

I left her a fucking mess? I lick my lips, as my mind spins. Yes, I talked fast on the phone and it probably could’ve been construed to be suspicious, but she should know I’d come back and explain … right? “Is she mad that I left town?”

“The fact that you’re asking that question is indicative of the problem.

” She lifts a brow. “Is she mad that you left town? Theoretically, I’d say no.

But when you don’t tell her and flee in the middle of the night, and she discovers on her own that you were not flying to an emergency like you said, but were rather meeting a woman named Liza in Colorado …

yeah, Gray. It’s a little suspicious.” Her jaw flexes.

“If you know anything about Astrid at all, you can deduce why this is a problem.”

The porch drops out from under me. I blink once, then twice, trying to wrap my head around what Gianna just said.

There’s no way that anyone knows where I went today. I told no one—not a single soul. So, how does Astrid know about Liza?

I gulp.

What else does she know?

I swallow a surge of panic and try to control my breathing. Getting frantic won’t do anyone, least of all me, any good. Oh, God. Bile creeps up my throat as the gravity of the situation lands on my head. She thinks I’m lying to her. She thinks there’s another woman.

She probably thinks I’ve been playing her like every other man in her life has played her in the past.

I’m going to be sick.

“In order to expedite this conversation and get you out of my face, I’ll throw you a bone since you seem to be … perplexed,” Gianna says. “You left a letter on your kitchen counter.”

“ Oh, fuck .” I hiss a breath, my heart pounding erratically. “She doesn’t know what she read. Please, Gianna, let me see her. Let me explain.”

“If I had my taser, I’d tase you for fun.”

I growl. “I’m not in the mood for your dark humor.”

“Well, I’m not in the mood for you. So kick rocks, dude.”

“I just need to explain … Astrid !”

She steps into the hallway behind her friend, looking shocked to see me. Her eyes are swollen, and her lips are puckered together. She’s been crying.

My beautiful spitfire is broken because of me.

“Hey,” I say, sidestepping an unhappy Gianna. “Hey, sweetheart. Let me explain.”

“What is going on, Gray?” Astrid asks, the sound muffled by the emotion in her throat. It’s as if she’s uncertain whether she wants to hear me out or not. Like maybe her mind is already made up.

“Want me to kick his ass out?” Gianna crosses her arms over her chest. “Give me the signal and I’ll dropkick him to his truck.”

I glare at her. “Stop it.”

“You don’t get to come in here and?—”

Astrid clears her throat. Gianna and I both turn to her despite the tension rippling off both of us.

I halfway worry about turning my back on Gianna because if she stuck a knife in my back, I wouldn’t be surprised.

And, in some sick way, I might even respect her for it.

At least one of us was standing up for Astrid tonight.

“He’s already here,” Astrid says, resigned. “I’ll talk to him.”

Gianna pushes the door closed, letting it slam on the hinges. She points at me as she walks to the guest room. “I’m not kidding. I’ll slice your throat and swim in your blood if you make her cry again. Don’t believe me? Try me. I know people.”

“Thank you, Gianna,” Astrid says, her voice raspy. But there’s a glimmer of a smile that gives me hope.

“Keep this energy for people who are a real threat,” I call after Gianna.

She flips me off. “Tread lightly, asshole.” Then she’s gone, disappearing around the corner.

I waste no time pulling Astrid into my arms, pressing kisses to the top of her head.

God, I’ve missed her. It’s only been one day, and yet being here feels like …

I’m home. She’s rigid at first with her hands planted on my chest like she might push me away, but she gives in slowly and collapses against me.

Her back shakes and I can hear faint, muffled cries. The sound slices through me like an icepick to the heart. I don’t know how to make it better—just that I must. It’s my responsibility, and not just because I caused this.

Because she’s my girl.

“Hey,” I say, pulling back and taking her face in my hands, wiping tears away with my thumbs. “Are you okay?”

The look in her eye isn’t the one I’m used to these days. It’s sad but guarded … like she doesn’t trust me.

“I have trust issues. I guess that’s probably the crux of it. Every time I’m in a relationship, I have to defend myself.”

“Astrid, sweetheart, listen to me,” I plead. “I handled this all wrong. You should’ve never been in this position, and that’s my fault. But, I swear to you, it’s not like you think.”

“You let me walk into a situation and have to question everything I believed in about you—just like everyone else has done to me,” she says, her bottom lip quivering. “No note, no conversation—well, there was a note. Unfortunately, not to me.” She fake laughs before it turns into a whimper.

I want to kiss her pain away. I want to take over the conversation and make her hear me.

But that’s not what she needs. She needs to be heard .

She needs to know that I value what she has to say, and that her feelings matter to me.

I can’t just wash them under the rug and make this about me … like everyone else has done before me.

“Your groceries were hot on your doorstep,” she says, knocking away a strand of hair stuck to the tears on her cheek. “What am I supposed to think? Where were you today that was so important that you couldn’t tell me? That you lied to me?”

I take her by the hand and lead her into her bedroom.

I shut the door softly, then sit next to her on the edge of the mattress.

She keeps space between us, and I don’t infringe on that.

If she needs space, I’ll give it to her.

I’ll give her anything she wants. She already has my heart in her hands. Everything else is a moot point.

“I flew to Denver,” I say carefully.

“Why?”

I take a deep breath, reminding myself to go slow. I can’t just skip over the details because I don’t think they matter. They matter to Astrid.

“Look, I know you saw a letter in my apartment, and that letter must have been really confusing,” I say. “I’m here to answer whatever questions you want to ask me. About anything. I’m an open book.” For the first time in forever.

A solitary tear streams down her cheek. “This has to do with Caroline, doesn’t it? The woman whose picture you got so angry about when I picked it up, that I quit my job.”

“Yes. This has to do with Caroline.”

She stares at the wall, sniffling. “What happened to her? And why were you paying for Liza to be in a hospital?” She faces me, her eyes red. “That’s why the bonus money was so important to you, wasn’t it?”

I nod.