twenty-nine

MIRA

He doesn’t come home. After the shit show at the bar and those stupid fucking girls— no , stupid fucking me for sitting there and letting them hit on Griffin while he was clearly looking for me to step in—I sat at that damn booth for another fifteen minutes before I couldn’t take it anymore.

I made my excuses, ordered a rideshare, and ran home to talk to him.

My heart felt like it was trying to beat its way out of my chest, and nausea made every pothole dangerous.

I hurt him. I hurt the man who’s done nothing but be sweet and patient and supportive of me.

I’m such an asshole.

Now here I am, alone in our bed, five ignored calls, twenty unanswered texts, and a solitary night of tossing and turning later, and it feels like my stomach is eating itself.

A quick glance at my phone tells me it’s still early—six a.m.—and still dark out.

There’s no way I’ll fall back asleep. Not with how worried I am about Griffin.

Is he safe somewhere? Is he with someone? Is he done with me?

“Fuck,” I mutter, dragging my exhausted ass out of our bed. I quickly use the bathroom and brush my teeth, then walk out of our room through the door I never closed and into the main part of the apartment. Will he be home? What will I say to him?

When I see Griffin’s broad shoulders and back in front of the kitchen island, the rush of relief that floods me almost knocks my knees out from under me.

He’s slumped on a stool, his blond hair greasy and sticking up, as if he spent hours running his hands through it.

His shoulders curve inward, and his head hangs so his chin almost touches his chest.

He’s here. He’s safe. But he’s so obviously not himself that my steps falter and I go still, just watching him.

“There’s coffee in the pot.” His voice is flat, and I hate it.

Clearing my throat to dislodge the lump choking me, I take a tentative step toward him. My hand lifts from my side like it has a mind of its own, and my fingers twitch as I reach for him. “Griffin…”

“I have practice this afternoon,” he says, shifting to avoid my touch and rising from the stool. He shuffles to the sink, where he rinses out his mug before placing it into the dishwasher. “I’m going to shower and grab my gear, then I’m meeting Bash for breakfast. Do you need anything?”

Look at me , I silently command. Look at me, Griffin.

He doesn’t.

“No.” My voice cracks. “I don’t need anything.”

I need you to look at me. I need you to let me make this right. I need you to be patient with me.

“Kay. Text if you do.”

Griffin walks toward our bedroom, and each step he takes away from me feels like the lash of a whip or the slice of a knife. I’m bleeding, but I deserve it.

“Will you… Will you be home tonight?”

His steps falter at the doorway. Does he hear how desperate I am for him to look at me? Does he hear all the words I should say but can’t seem to force out? “Yeah. Yeah, I’ll be home tonight.”

And with that, he walks into the bathroom and shuts the door. The soft click of the lock reverberates through my very bones, and the first tear I’ve ever cried over Griffin Wright slips down my cheeks, followed closely by more than I can count.

I’m waiting for Griffin on the couch when he walks out of our bedroom with damp hair and his duffel bag slung over his shoulder. He doesn’t look up at me, so I take a moment to study him.

There are dark circles under his hazel eyes, the line of his jaw is tight, and the muscle there tics.

It brings to mind that night when Isla’s friends were making jokes about his relationships, or lack thereof.

I hated seeing him like that, but this is so much worse because I put this expression on his face. This time, it’s my fault.

Rising from the couch, and with more than a little trepidation, I step in front of Griffin before he can make it to the door.

My heart is a whole flock of birds trying to fly right out of my chest. He has to stop short, our chests almost touching.

Only then does he lift those eyes I’ve become so intimately familiar with, and when they connect with mine, I suck in a breath.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I’m so sorry.”

Griffin swallows thickly. He cants his head to the side, searching my face with a solemnity so at odds with his normal jovial nature. “Sorry for what?”

So many things. I’m sorry I didn’t react how you wanted last night.

I’m sorry I didn’t chase after you and wrap my arms around you.

I’m sorry that I’m not sure about us the way you seem to be.

That my stupid, scared heart keeps making me balk.

I’m sorry that I’m not ready to tell Maddox and everyone else about us.

I’m just so fucking sorry.

“I… I’m sorry I didn’t say anything to those girls last night. I wanted to, Griffin, I really did, but I froze because I was scared.”

He continues to study me, and I can’t stop myself from squirming under his scrutiny. “What were you scared of?”

Everything. The way I feel about you, the way you feel about me, how my brother will react…that if we say what’s happening out loud, it will somehow ruin everything we’re building here.

I clear my throat. “I didn’t want to make a scene.”

The excuse is weak, even to my ears, and I know Griffin feels the same when he shakes his head. “Some things are worth making a scene over.”

“You’re right,” I say, my hands gripping his face when he moves to turn away from me. “Please be patient with me. All of this is terrifying, Griffin. We both have so much to lose.”

It’s the wrong thing to say, but I don’t realize it until his eyes close and his shoulders slump. “Yeah, sunshine, we do. But I don’t think we mean the same thing when we say that.”

Sweat slicks my palms as my heart begins to race.

“We do, babe. We do. I don’t want to lose you.

You’re my best friend. Living with you has been the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and maybe I didn’t plan to marry you, but I wouldn’t change it.

Well, maybe I’d change a little of it, because waking up married is a lot more complicated than being proposed to, planning a wedding, and saying I do in front of family and friends, rather than sidelining them with the news.

But being with you makes me happy. So happy. ”

The words tumble out of me, panicked and wavering, but I need to fix this.

I need him to know that I’m falling for him a little more each day.

So maybe I’m not ready to say those three little words or tell my brother and mom that we’re married, but I’m getting there.

Six months ago, when I imagined my future, Griffin wasn’t in it.

Now, he’s at the heart of every single dream.

“I’m sorry I’m not on the same page as you yet. I wish I was. Trust me, I do. But I’ll get there, Griffin. I care about you so much, and I can’t imagine my life without you.”

Hearing my panic and seeing my wide-eyed expression, Griffin sighs and rests his forehead against mine. “I can’t imagine my life without you either, sunshine.”

“I just need time,” I beg. “Please, babe. I just need time.”

“I guess I did give you six months and we’re not there yet,” he says, his voice low and gravelly. “It’s not really fair of me to change the terms.”

Latching on to his thought process, I loop my arms around his neck and pull him closer. “Right. Six months. This is all so fast, and I’m not… I’m not as brave as you are.”

“You’re braver than you give yourself credit for.”

“I don’t know about that, but thank you.” Lifting my chin, I press a soft, tentative kiss to the corner of Griffin’s lips. “I wish I had been brave enough to go after you last night.”

Griffin’s lashes flutter as I press a kiss to the other corner of his lips.

“Where…” My stomach churns, afraid of the answer to a question I have to ask. “Where were you last night?”

Strong arms wrap around my midsection, and Griffin pulls me close. “I stayed at Bash’s, baby. I drove around for half an hour, then went to his place when he called to check on me.”

My relief is tempered by the guilt over worrying, even for a moment, that Griffin might have sought comfort in another woman’s arms. “Does he know about us?”

“No. Well, sort of. He doesn’t know we’re married, but he’s perceptive. He sees how I am with you.”

“Oh. I’m glad you have him.”

The corners of Griffin’s lips twitch infinitesimally. “He’s a good friend.”

“I’m sorry, Griffin. I’m really sorry.” A tear slips down my cheek, and he’s right there to catch it and wipe it away.

“Hey. None of that now.” Slowly, he leans in, lips parted. He gives me time to pull away if I want, but I would never. If he doesn’t kiss me, I may scream.

In the end, I’m the one to close the last few centimeters of distance between us, pressing my lips to Griffin’s with a need that makes my body buzz. I don’t want him to pull away from me.

He groans when my tongue swipes along the inside of his lips, his grip on me growing tighter. My breasts press against his chest, and the heat of him finally chases away the cold my fears had wrapped me in. We’re still kissing several minutes later when his phone buzzes in his pocket.

“Fuck, Mir,” he says with a sigh as he pulls away from me. His dark blond lashes fan over his high cheekbones before they open on me. “I gotta go. I’ll be back for dinner, okay?”

“Do you have to go?”

One large hand cups my cheek, and I lean into it. “Yeah, baby, I do. I need…” He blows out a breath. “I need a little time today, okay?”

Whatever expression I’m making has his eyes softening and his voice gentles. “We’re okay, sunshine, I promise. I just need to get my head on straight, and since I can’t exactly talk to your brother about this, Bash is the best option. He won’t pry, but he’ll listen.”

“I get that,” I say, wishing I hadn’t ditched my closest friends because of Jared. I wish I could talk all of this out with Isla, but I would never ask her to keep such a huge secret from my brother. Even if I think she suspects something is going on between us. Maybe I could talk to Lexi?

Griffin presses another kiss to my lips, then my forehead. “I gotta go, baby. Bash is waiting. Call if you need me, okay? I’ll drop everything for you.”

“I know,” I say. And I do. Griffin Wright would absolutely drop everything for me if I asked him to. But what kind of wife would I be if I took advantage of that fact? Especially when he so clearly needs some time. “I’ll be okay.”

Lifting onto my toes, I slant my mouth over my husband’s. “Don’t give up on me. Please.”

“Never,” he whispers against my lips.

I only hope that’s a promise he can keep.