Chapter 25 The ceiling fan whirls softly, sending a gentle flutter of air around Gray's childhood bedroom. His bed is soft, much softer than mine at home, and his pillows are like puffed marshmallows spun into cotton. I curl up next to the wall, beneath a poster of a sports star that I can't name, and scroll around on Social. I can't wipe the smile off my face. Naturally, I'll overthink everything eventually because I always do. But the idea of spoiling my pure bliss tonight is unfathomable, and I'm too realistic to know that something will ruin it for me soon enough. That's life, baby. My ears perk up as Gray's footsteps pad down the carpeted hallway. My core tightens, already associating Gray's presence with pleasure. It's a wild concept, one so far from the migraine I associated him with when we first met. Will this change once we're back in Nashville? The thought worries me, and the fact that I'm worried about it, that a part of me openly acknowledges that I want more of this, concerns me more. "You have two choices," Gray says, knocking the door closed with his hip. "I found a Rice Krispies treat and a chocolate bar. Can you eat either of these?" He hops on the bed next to me. "Neither say they have peanuts in them, but ... how do you know? Do we trust these companies?" I laugh. "What?" he turns his face to mine with his brows pinched together. "Are you laughing at me?" "No. I'm not laughing at you. I just think it's so nice of you to be so cognizant of my allergies." He drops the snacks onto his bare chest. "I can't kill you yet because, if I recall correctly, and I do, you insinuated that you wanted me to nut in your mouth." He grins mischievously. "I'm not going to let a nut steal that nut, if you follow me." I giggle. "Oh, I follow you now. But I'll swallow you later." My phone chimes as a text message alert pops on the screen. I roll onto my back and hold my phone up in the air, opening my app. Gianna: So there's this guy ... Audrey: I don't know how you keep finding them. Haven't you exhausted the supply in this city? Gray unwraps the Rice Krispies treat. "Which one of your friends has the taser?" "Gianna." He offers me a bite of the bar, and I nibble the corner. Me: Thoughts about this one? Audrey: Wait. Do we know this guy? Gianna: It was the guy from the email. The one who banged his coworker's wife. Audrey: I have a bad feeling about this one. Gianna: You would be right, my sweet little Auddie. The sex could've been an email. Gray takes a bite, then snuggles up to my side. "What is she talking about?" "God only knows." I chuckle. Me: The sex could've been an email. I'm struggling with that one, G. Gianna: I mean, he was a great emailer. His delivery was smooth, his points intriguing yet satisfying. I craved more. But sex with this buster? It would've been better if he had typed it out and hit Send. Audrey: Sorry. Are you home yet, Astrid? I whoosh a breath as my stomach turns to knots. Obviously, I'll tell my friends about tonight in vivid detail. It's sort of fun to be the one with a story to tell for a change. But I haven't had time to process the events of the evening, and I really don't know how to explain it to Gianna and Audrey with Gray peering over my shoulder. He offers me another bite. "You gonna answer them, or what?" "Yeah. Just trying to figure out how." I bite off the edge of the bar, then chew slowly. "They'll take this the wrong way." "What way would that be?" I glance over my shoulder at him. Gray studies my reaction to his question, watching my every blink and sigh. He's freshly washed from our shower a little while ago. His torso is bare, showcasing his ridiculously crafted muscles and tanned skin, and a pair of blue running shorts sits low on his hips. If I didn't already know what he was packing beneath them, I'd be dying to find out. "My friends are both dramatic, but in opposite ways," I say. Gianna: Shall I get my hopes up? Audrey: Take a breath. Gianna: Out of the three of us, one of us should be having great sex. It isn't you. It's not me. But it could be Astrid. Gianna: Thick thighs and rugby guys. I'm here for it. "Me, too," Gray says, chuckling. "Let's send them a selfie." "What?" He shrugs, running a hand along my inner thigh. My legs open for him ... just in case. "You want to send them a selfie?" I ask, my jaw slack. "Are you serious? You don't care that we're half naked in bed?" "I'm the lucky fuck in bed with you," he says, nuzzling his face in the crook of my neck. "Why do I care who knows it?" Oh. I feather my fingers through his hair. My head leans against his as he presses kisses against my throat. The gesture is tender and sweet, rich yet subtle, and flames the slow burn simmering in my chest. I forget about my friends and ignore their incoming text messages. Instead, I close my eyes and just live in this moment with Gray. A blanket of peace settles over the two of us. Does he feel it, too? Does he notice the sprinkle of magic in the room-the shift in temperature that feels like possibility is blooming? I might be crazy. The facts lean that way. It's not like me to go out of town with a guy, let alone stay all night with him at his brother's house after getting fucked in a field out in the middle of nowhere. Who am I right now? I grin. I don't know, but I think I like her. "Look up," I say, positioning my phone over our heads. Just before I press the button to take a picture, he sucks on the spot where my shoulder meets my neck. I squeal, pulling away as my finger triggers the red circle. The light flashes, capturing the two of us in a playful moment that I have a hard time believing includes me. But it is me. It's my face pulled together in a carefree laugh. It's Gray's arm extended across my chest, keeping me close to him. It's our heads sharing a pillow with a rugby team logo stamped on it, and it's his dimple sunk in his cheek as he laughs at my reaction. Before I can think about it and talk myself out of sending the image, I fire it off to the group chat. Their responses come immediately. Gianna: OMG YOU ARE MY HERO. Audrey: Oh, wow! Gianna: And I thought you didn't listen to a thing I said. I stand corrected. Audrey: How do you feel, Astrid? Gianna: Hopefully, she feels sore and used. What kind of a question is that? Audrey: I'm trying to check on her emotions. Gianna: Don't ruin this for her, Auddie. I giggle as Gray settles next to me on his side, reading their messages. "I don't know what to say about them." "They're a good balance, I think. Good and bad." "You can say that again." Gianna: Ignore us. Go get you some dick, babe. Audrey: Enjoy yourself. Call me when you get home. Gianna: I'M SO PROUD OF YOU. I click the button on the side of my phone and drop it beside me. Gray's fingers skim beneath my shirt, drifting across my stomach and over my hips. It's as relaxing as it is intoxicating. I listen to him breathe and let my eyes flutter closed. "Tell me something about you that I don't know," he says. I hum, trying to determine what kind of fact he wants to know. A historical fact, like my birth year? Does he want to know how I voted in the last election? Or does he want to know something random and pointless? "Okay," I say, choosing the latter. "I don't have any tattoos." "Is there a reason, or you just haven't gotten one?" "There's never been something that I feel strongly enough about to want it on my skin forever. It feels like a commitment." I grin. "Tell me about yours." He lies back and bends his knee, pulling his shorts so I can see the intricate art on his thigh. It's more delicate than I realized. Each line is so intentional, so precise, that I can tell there are multiple pieces blended instead of one large design. "Well, each one of these means something to me," he says, tracing the dark ink. "The first one I got was this rosary. I got it the weekend after my parents died. I was struggling and just having a really hard time accepting that they were gone, and I was drawn to the pain of the needle more than anything." I press a kiss to his shoulder. "May I ask what happened to them?" "Sure." He clears his throat without looking at me. "Dad had to go to Kansas to pick up a horse a buddy of his was training, and Mom decided to tag along for once. A tornado ripped through the little town they were staying in during the night. The storm came out of nowhere. Mom died instantly, but Dad pulled through for a few days. We were able to talk to him and tell him goodbye. So I guess that's good." My heart splinters at the pain on his face. How tragic. I kiss his shoulder again before placing my hand on his stomach, just letting him know I'm here. "So that's the rosary," he says, heaving a breath. "This is the number nine in roman numerals since I'm number nine in rugby. The cigar is for Pap, and the blackbird for the Blackbird Ranch, obviously. The cowboy hat is for Hartley." "I would think a heart would've been the logical choice," I say, hoping my joke will ease the tension in his voice. He chuckles. "I was a little inebriated and not thinking clearly when I chose that." "I guess that's a reason not to drink and ink." His chuckle turns to laughter, and the light is back in his eyes. My shoulders fall in relief. My attention falls on a snowflake at the bottom of the design. It's tiny, barely noticeable, but its daintiness is beautiful, and I can't help but wonder what it represents. "So if you had to get a tattoo for the things that mean something to you," he says, putting his leg down, "what would you get?" "Gosh, I don't know." He grabs the chocolate bar and unwraps it. "It's not like you're really getting them. You don't have to overthink it." "Come on. You know me. I overthink everything." I laugh, taking a piece of chocolate from him. "Okay, I'd get a star for my grandmother. It was our thing. And I'd choose something for my mother, but I have no idea what." "Do you know anything about her?" "Honestly? No." I break the candy into two pieces and eat one. "My father never talked about her. He just pretended she never existed. I only have one picture of her that I hid in a Bible growing up because it was the one place my dad wouldn't look." Gray takes a deep breath, choosing his words carefully. "You told me once that your father was a sonofabitch." "I must've felt nice that day." The only sound filling the pregnant pause between us is the whirling of the ceiling fan. I lie still, focusing on my heart rate. It rocks against my ribs as if it's gearing up to fight or flee-because that's what thoughts of John Lawsen do to me. They put me in survival mode. Gianna knows some of the things I experienced with my father, although not all. It wasn't something we liked to spend our time chatting about in high school. And I've shared some things with Audrey, but not a lot-probably not even enough to paint an accurate picture of my life on Hemlock Street. The only person in the world that I have told more to than anyone else is Trace. Acid fills my stomach as memories of Trace weaponizing my experiences against me. The name-calling. The belittling. He used my wounds as a target and shot arrows into them until they wept. "I'm not prodding you for information," Gray says, wrapping his arm around me and pulling me close to his side. "But I want you to know that I meant it when I said that you're safe with me. I've gone through my share of shit, and when you have no one to talk to about it, it just festers." Thinking about my father usually feels like a scab being picked off an old wound. I brace myself against Gray's body, waiting for the discomfort and pain to streak through me. Yet ... it doesn't. I monitor my breath, feeling the air enter and exit my lungs, and the panic doesn't come. "He was an alcoholic," I say softly, the words flowing out of my mouth. "My grandmother said it started when Mom died. When I was born. That was a fact that he never let me forget." Gray kisses the side of my head, nuzzling his face in my hair. "He always said that I was selfish from the start," I say. "That I killed my mother and would do anything to get what I want. He'd punish me for everything and nothing-withholding food, refusing to let me use hot water for showers, and making me wear dirty clothes to school." Gray's body stiffens, and his grip on me tightens. He doesn't speak, but I can feel his jaw tense against my skull. And his reaction, as if he cares about the pain that little Astrid went through, has tears pooling in the corners of my eyes. "I wasn't allowed to play sports," I say, blinking back the tears. Sand fills my chest just like it did when I lived with him. "I wanted to be in the band in junior high and found a guitar at a yard sale. The woman ended up giving it to me for free." I sniffle against the burn across the bridge of my nose. "Dad smashed it against the wood stove the first night I had it." "God," Gray bites out, squeezing me. "He stole my journals and teased me relentlessly about what was inside them. His friends would come over and make comments about my body and say wholly inappropriate things to a preteen girl. Dad didn't care. If I got upset, I was being an emotional bitch, and he'd make me clean the house or he'd smack me with an open hand because if his hand was open, it wasn't abuse." I take a breath, feeling like I'm being suffocated. I can sense the sting in my cheek, the bruise on my arm, and the pain searing my scalp from being dragged around the house by my ponytail. "He refused to buy me tampons when I got my period and called me a little whore for having the audacity to menstruate," I say hurriedly. "So I got a job at fourteen. But he just bullied me into giving him my paychecks so he could buy lottery tickets and vodka because he had to pay for the utilities and whatnot." A tear rolls down my cheek. "Fuck, Astrid." He exhales slowly. "I'm so sorry." I clutch his arm as something inside me cracks open. It's a flood of emotion, a wave of memories that I haven't thought about in a long time. But unlike past moments when I've faced these things myself, they don't take me out with them. I don't get washed away with the tide. That's progress. That's empowering. It's freeing. "Where is your dad now?" Gray asks, his tone frigid. "He's dead." His chest rises and then falls, as if this information is a relief to him, too. "Have you ever shared this with anyone?" Gray asks softly. "Or have you kept this to yourself for all of these years?" Dad's voice, followed by Trace's, echoes through my brain, making it hard to swallow. It's devastating to remember such moments, but it's also heartbreaking that I chose to deal with this sort of man a second time. I survived them both, but I'll never, ever deal with it again. "You want me to spend my money on tampons? Fuck no. That's not my fuckin' problem." "You're a selfish little bitch. It's no wonder your father had to knock you around." "How about this? Don't turn a light on, use any hot water, or eat any of my fuckin' food. Then maybe you'll realize how much I do for you around here!" "I'm either going through your phone or you're getting the fuck out. I can't help you grew up like a piece of trash and don't know how to act. I have to protect myself here, Astrid." My inhale shakes. I slip my foot over Gray's legs, craving his proximity. "I told Trace. He just used it to pick up pointers on how to hurt me." "Where's he now?" Gray's body tenses again. "Just curious." His tone sends a ripple of energy through me, like there's a buffer between me and my trauma. It offers me the space to breathe, to recalibrate from the memories, in a way I've never experienced before. It's as if I can set down my sword and rest. "I don't know. But now you know why I have trust issues." "And that's why you jumped to the conclusion that I was a bully at the gas station." "No, you were a bully at the gas station." I extricate myself from his grip and sit up, facing him. "You could've picked any other pump. There was no reason for you to growl and beep your horn at me." He smiles, amused. "I couldn't pull up to another pump without backing up and making a whole production out of it. Some of us don't drive little cars that can spin on a dime." "Because some of us are confident in our manhood." Before I know what's happening, I'm being tossed on my back. Gray hovers over me with a decadent smirk. I giggle, squirming unsuccessfully to get away-not that I really want to get out from under him. I really want to see what that smirk is all about. "Are you sore?" he asks, kissing me on the tip of the nose. "Yes." "Oh." He frowns. "Well, then ..." He starts to roll off me, but I wrap my legs around his waist. Placing my hands on his face, I peer into his eyes, and what I see startles me. Kindness. Concern. Safety. And, most of all, attraction. That's a plethora of conditions that, together, are a little too much to take at once. But I do know what I can take instead ... "Hey, Truck Boy," I say, smiling at him. "Will you shut up for once and fuck me?" He growls before capturing my lips with his own and making me forget about everything except him.