Grace
“So, we’re on track for finishing up next year’s budget,” I told my staff members, standing in front of them in the conference room for our weekly meeting. “But we need to talk about beefing up our crisis line coverage over the holidays, because we all know violent incidents tend to increase this time of year.” Everyone nodded in agreement. “Anything else we should be thinking about doing?”
“Is there any way we can afford having a full-time staffer at the ERs?” Helen, one of my counselors, asked. “Maybe work with the major hospitals and see if they’d be amenable to it? It just seems like by the time we get there, the victim has disappeared and it’s too late to help them.”
I considered this, drumming my fingers on the table in front of me. “I don’t think we could hire anyone new right now, but that is a great idea. They have social workers, but they’re typically spread too thin to handle every domestic violence case that comes through the door. Maybe we could have you guys rotate one day a week there, working remotely?” Helen and several other counselors nodded, so I glanced over to Tanya. “Can you set up a few meetings for me with the managing nurses at all the major ERs? If I can get them to help me campaign, we’ll have better luck with the hospital board letting us in.” She nodded and made a few notes on the pad in front of her.
“All right, then,” I said. “What else? More ideas?” Before anyone could respond, my cell phone rang. A quick glance at the screen told me it was the kids’ school, and I immediately felt my pulse quicken, thinking maybe one of them was sick and I’d have to cut my day off even earlier than usual. Grabbing the phone, I apologized to everyone for the interruption and gestured for Tanya to continue the meeting without me. “This is Grace McAllister,” I said, then reluctantly left the room.
* * *
“I don’t care what the reason was,” I said to Ava as we pulled into the driveway of our house later that evening after taking Max to basketball and picking her up at the school. “You don’t skip class. Ever. If you’re upset, you go to the office and talk to the counselor. Not Bree, okay?” Victor hadn’t answered his cell, so the school had called me. Ava’s explanation to her teachers about crying in the bathroom with Bree seemed plausible, but the pout on Ava’s face now reeked more of annoyance at getting caught than grief over her mother’s death.
“I wish you’d stop telling me what to do,” Ava said under her breath.
“Excuse me?” I said. “What was that?”
She snapped her head around to face me. “I said, I wish you’d stop telling me what to do.”
I took a deep breath, trying to keep my cool but failing miserably. “Well, I wish you’d stop being so disrespectful. It’s totally unacceptable and I’m a little bit sick of it.” What the hell was going on with her? I wondered if her increasing bad attitude was grief-driven or hormonal, but at that point, I really didn’t care.
“Whatever,” she muttered as she flung open the car door and stomped inside, carrying her backpack over one shoulder.
“She’s cranky, huh, Grace?” Max said, piping up from the backseat with what I was sure he thought was helpful commentary.
“I think so, buddy,” I said with a heavy sigh. I dreaded the thought of telling Victor that she’d skipped class. Though I assumed he’d believe that she’d been in the bathroom, crying; I wasn’t so sure this was true. But voicing my suspicions probably wasn’t the best idea. Even though I knew in my gut that we should have, Victor and I hadn’t yet talked about what happened in Max’s room. A week after the blowup, we were still walking a bit on eggshells with each other, exceedingly polite and seemingly going through the motions of our relationship. We slept in the same bed, but we didn’t make love; we talked logistics about drop-offs and pickups with the kids, and how things were going at the restaurant with Spencer’s reduced capacity.
Over lunch earlier in the week, I’d talked over my reluctance to confront Victor with Sam, but he’d been less than sympathetic. “Sorry,” he said, “but I’m pretty sure you need to stop talking with me about it and talk with your fiancé. What are you so afraid of?”
I shrugged and threw my gaze to the salad in front of me. “I’m not sure. Maybe I should just try to rise above it, you know? It just feels so immature, telling him I need him to choose me over his kids.”
Sam sighed. “You’re not asking him to do that. You’re asking him to show a united front. To let the kids know that you two are a cohesive unit, not something they can divide and conquer.”
“That’s a good way to put it,” I mused. “Hey. I have an idea. Why don’t you just talk with Victor for me?”
“No, thank you,” Sam said sweetly as he twirled the fettuccine he’d ordered on his fork before taking a bite. He waved his utensil in the air like a conductor in front of an orchestra. “This kind of bullshit is just another reason why Wade and I won’t be adopting.”
“I didn’t know you’d even talked about it.”
“We talked about not doing it. Same thing, I suppose. He’s too old, anyway.” I laughed. Wade was only thirty-two, eight years older than my brother, five years younger than me. But things were apparently different in “gay years,” as Sam once explained to me. “You have to add another six months for every year he’s been alive. So thirty-two is really forty-eight.”
“Where do you come up with this stuff?” I’d asked him.
“It’s in the Gay Lifestyle Handbook,” he’d joked, and I laughed again.
“You have to talk with Victor about how you’re feeling,” he said now. “It won’t get resolved until you do.”
I let loose a heavy sigh. “You sound like Melody.”
“She’s a smart girl.”
I took a sip of my iced tea. “I just don’t know how to approach it, you know? He’s going to be defensive because they’re his kids. He’s going to take their side.”
“And where does that leave you?” Sam asked. “The wicked stepmonster?” He paused and rolled his eyes. “Please. Don’t martyr yourself, Grace. If you can’t be honest about how you feel with the man you’re going to marry, then maybe you shouldn’t be marrying him.”
I knew on some level my brother was right, but as he spoke those words, I couldn’t help but be filled with a horrifying sense of panic. If I couldn’t make things work with Victor, maybe I couldn’t make them work with anyone.
Now Max and I followed Ava inside. She was standing in the entryway taking off her backpack. Max dropped his backpack by the front door right next to her, then they ran off to fight over who got the shower first. “I call first!” Max yelled as he peeled off his T-shirt midrun. Everything between them was a competition. It was exhausting to witness the continuous one-upmanship—which one of them got the first shower, who had the biggest piece of pizza. The list of potential rivalries between them was endless.
Ava ran past him, shoving him into the wall. “I don’t think so!” she said.
“Hey. Don’t push your brother like that,” I said, already irritated from my encounter with her in the car.
“He was in my way,” Ava said. “I can’t help it if he’s slow.”
“You can help yourself from pushing him, though. So knock it off. Please.” I added the last word as an afterthought, hoping that maybe if I showed her a little respect, I might get some in return.
No such luck. She didn’t respond and instead propelled her way into the bathroom and slammed the door. Max began crying and came running toward me. “She’s so mean,” he said. “Why is she so mean?”
I sighed and pulled him toward me into a hug. “She’s a teenager, honey. It’s part of the territory.” What I was really thinking was: Good question.
Max sniffled against my stomach, rubbing his nose on me. “Well, I’m never going to be that mean. Not ever.”
“I think that’s a lofty goal. But we all do mean things sometimes—it’s just part of being human. As you grow up, you hopefully learn to control it more, and try to treat people how you’d like them to treat you, you know?”
“I try that with her and it doesn’t work. She’s just mean.”
I rubbed the top of his head, feeling the warmth and sweat from all the exercise he’d done at basketball. “How about you go grab some of your art stuff and we can draw together at the table?”
He looked up to me, pushing his chin into the flesh of my belly. “Are you a good drawer?”
“Not really. But maybe you can help me?” He nodded and raced off to the den, where we kept pads of paper and various markers in a drawer. I carried the grocery bags to the kitchen and pulled out the dinner we’d eat when they’d both finished cleaning up. Food, homework, then me trying to get at least three client files reviewed before midnight, when Victor would get home. I glanced over to the front door, where the kids had dropped their backpacks, and saw the edges of their gym shorts peeking out from the open zippers. They’d need to be washed tonight, so they were ready for practice tomorrow. Better to get them started now, so I didn’t forget.
I pulled Max’s clothing out first, and once again found myself baffled as to how he could stain it so thoroughly when he’d only worn it indoors. What was that, chocolate on the cuff of his shorts? Or was it blood? In the utility room off the kitchen, I sprayed the edges down with heavy-duty detergent, letting it lie flat on top of the washing machine to soak a bit while I headed back to the entryway to get Ava’s gym clothes, too.
“I’m ready, Grace!” Max called out from the dining room.
“Be right there,” I said. “Why don’t you get everything set up for us?”
“Okay!” he replied. I smiled to myself, thinking that it was almost as though the tantrum he’d had over the Wii released something inside him that he’d been pushing down. I wondered if this was what the counselor at their school had meant—kids process grief differently. His anger hadn’t been about the game at all, but destroying it was how he expressed his pain over his mother’s death. Still, I was a little worried it wouldn’t be the last time he blew up like that.
Ava had a separate gym bag, so I kneeled down next to it and stuck my hand inside, pulling out two pairs of tiny spandex shorts that maybe could have covered one of my ass cheeks. I didn’t see her T-shirts, so I opened up another zippered compartment inside her bag and rooted around a bit until I found them. I felt another small wad of material, which I assumed was her sports bra, and pulled it out as well, setting it on the floor. An edge of something green sticking out from the bra caught my eye, and at first I thought it was just the tag, but after a second look, my mind registered what it was.
Money.
As far as I knew, Victor hadn’t given her any cash. I felt something drop down a notch inside me. I slowly unraveled the bra and saw that the bills were folded into a small square. I picked it up and straightened them out, counting as I went—just over a hundred dollars. Five twenties and a few ones and fives. I’d suspected that the money I used to pay for the groceries that afternoon was short of what I’d taken out of the bank earlier in the week, but I figured I’d simply spent it and not remembered, as I often did when I used cash instead of my debit card. I wanted to believe that’s what happened. I didn’t want this to be true. I didn’t want to be the one finding out what Ava had done. More than anything, I didn’t want to tell Victor his daughter was a thief.
Just as I began to stand up, I realized the shower had stopped running. Ava came rushing up behind me, trying to snatch the money from my hand. “What are you doing?” she yelled. “That’s mine! You don’t have any right to go through my stuff!” Her hair hung in wet little snakes around her face, and she had already changed into pajama pants and her mother’s red sweater.
I yanked the money out of her reach. “I have every right!” My teeth ground against each other, and the squeak inside my mouth caused me to shiver. “You took this from my purse, didn’t you? Or are you stealing from someone else?”
She stared at me, her blue eyes narrowed. “I didn’t steal anything. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I shook my head, my lips pressed together before I spoke again, trying to control the anger I felt. “Then how did the money get into your backpack? Tell me that. Did it just magically grow legs and climb in there itself?”
“How should I know?” she said, spitting the words. “I don’t keep track of your crap. Maybe Max put it there.”
“I did not!” Max screamed. He’d apparently heard us yelling and came to investigate just in time to hear his sister accuse him. “You take that back! And I saw you stealing money from Grace’s purse! Just this morning. You didn’t see me ’cause I was hiding behind the door, but I watched you do it while she was in the shower.”
Ava stormed toward him, her fists clenched. “You shut the hell up!”
“Ava!” I said, moving to grab her with my one free hand. She twisted out of my reach and lunged at her brother, tackling him. They both landed on the hardwood floor, and Max screamed. Ava straddled him, drawing her arm back, but I managed to pull her off before she was able to hit him.
“Let go of me!” she screamed as she struggled to get out of my grasp, but I held her beneath her armpits and dragged her away from Max. “I hate you! Why don’t you just go away? We don’t need you here! Everything was fine until you came along. I bet you’re happy my mom is dead so you can have my dad all to yourself! I know you’re engaged! I know you’ve been lying to us this whole time!”
I dropped her to the floor—it wasn’t far, just a few inches—but she shrieked as though I’d thrown her against the wall. I tried to catch my breath. How did she find out about the engagement? Did she find my ring? Did Victor tell her and not share it with me? I shook my head, unable to process enough of what was going on to question her. I took a step over to Max, who lay curled up on the floor in a ball, his legs and arms drawn into himself. “Max? Honey?” I said. “Are you okay?”
He shook his head and mumbled something through his tears.
“What, sweetie?” I asked.
“He’s fine!” Ava spat through her own tears. “He’s a big faker so he gets all the attention.”
I whipped my head around to glare at her. “You. Go to your room. Now.”
“No!” she yelled, her face crunched up in a wild mess of anger, sadness, and fear. I hated that it was me making her feel that way, but I couldn’t help what she had done. I didn’t want to be dealing with this at all, but there I was, smack-dab in the middle of it.
“Now!” I bellowed, and she cringed at the noise, sobbing as she slowly pulled herself to a standing position and staggered down the hall like she’d been shot.
Max’s cries increased, and I was suddenly concerned that Ava had really hurt him. “Max,” I said, trying again. “I need to see if you’re okay. I won’t touch you if you don’t want me to, but I just need to know that you’re not bleeding anywhere. Does it feel like anything is bleeding?”
“My heart is bleeding!” he cried, and my eyes stung with grief for all this little boy had suffered through. His parents’ divorce, his mother’s death, and a sister who at times seemed hell-bent on making his life miserable. He slowly unfurled his body, and I searched for any signs of blood. Not seeing any, I breathed a sigh of relief.
“Where does it hurt most?” I asked him, and he held out his left hand. His pinkie finger was swollen and looked as though he may have landed on it when Ava leapt at him. I was afraid it might be broken. “Let’s get some ice on that, okay? Can you go sit on the couch in the den and I’ll come bring it to you? We might want to tape it to your other finger, too, just to keep you from knocking it against stuff and making it hurt worse.”
Max nodded and began a labored walk to the den while I went into the kitchen to grab an ice pack from the freezer and the white bandage tape from the first aid kit in the cupboard. The roasted chicken I’d bought was getting cold, but I couldn’t think straight enough to worry about dinner. I didn’t want to see the look on Victor’s face when I told him that not only had his daughter cut class, she was stealing from me and had violently attacked her brother.
“Grace?” Max called out. “Are you coming?”
I pulled out the first aid kit from the cupboard by the sink and took a deep breath before answering. “I’ll be right there,” I said, and, though I hated to admit it, fought the quiet urge to run away.
* * *
Ava didn’t emerge from her bedroom for the rest of the night. I thought about going to talk with her, but I was too angry and I knew whatever I said would only make the situation worse. After I gently wrapped up Max’s finger, put ice on it, and gave him a dose of children’s ibuprofen for the pain, I fed him some dinner and read him several chapters of Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone until he began nodding off on the couch. I carried him to his bed, breathing in the nutty scent of his skin—he never did take a shower—his arms wrapped around my neck and his cheek resting against my chest, remembering doing this with Sam. “Night, Mama,” Max mumbled as I tucked the covers around him, making sure he had Kelli’s blue blanket tucked up around his chin.
The muscles in my chest clenched hearing him call me that name, and I knew he was already asleep, halfway between reality and dreamland, a place where his mother might still have been alive for him. Sam had called me “Mama” a few times when I took care of him, and I made sure to clarify that I was Sissy, not his mother. I didn’t know what I was to Max and Ava. There was no label for the role I played in their lives. I was simply Grace, the woman standing where their mother should rightfully have been.
I turned off the overhead light in Max’s room and shut the door behind me. There was still a sliver of light coming from beneath Ava’s door, but it was quiet, and I wondered if she had cried herself to sleep. Knowing it would likely be better if I left her alone, I still couldn’t stop myself from gently tapping on her door and listening for a response. When there wasn’t one, I inched it open, cringing as the hinges squeaked. My eyes traveled the room, and there was Ava, curled up on her bed, her mother’s red sweater wrapped tightly around her, enveloping her like a chrysalis. I wondered what kind of transformation was taking place inside her, how she would survive this astoundingly painful loss. I took in her deep, even breaths, and while I was still angry, I felt an enormous swell of compassion. Afraid I might wake her, I silently left the room, turning the light off behind me.
* * *
Victor was surprised to see me awake when he came home. I sat on the couch in the den, waiting for him, thinking it was the furthest point away from the kids’ rooms, knowing that however this talk went, it wasn’t going to be quiet. “Hey, baby,” he said. He strode over and leaned down to give me a quick kiss.
I reached up and pulled him down next to me. I took a deep breath, wanting to find a way to reconnect with him before hitting him with our conversation. “How was work?”
He gave me a tired smile and I noticed that the crinkles around his eyes seemed to have grown deeper over the past couple of weeks. “It was good. We had over a hundred and fifty tables move through for dinner, and all of them bought a ton of wine.”
I’d learned enough about the restaurant business in the last year to know that beverages—wine and cocktails, especially—were where the biggest profit margin lay, typically 80 percent, so this was good news, considering the recent struggle Victor had been facing with the Loft’s sales. I whistled, a low sound. “Impressive. Anyone throwing drinks at pain-in-the-ass jocks?”
He chuckled. “No, baby. You’re still one of a kind.” He put his arm around me and I cuddled into him, relishing the heat off his body and breathing in his scent, which, tonight, was a comforting mix of onion, garlic, and slightly musky male sweat. I rested my head on his chest and listened to the slow thumping rhythm of his heart, letting it soothe me. Just the sheer act of making physical contact with Victor brought me a peace I hadn’t felt all week.
“I’ve missed you,” I said quietly. “I’m sorry I’ve been so distant.”
He dropped a kiss on the top of my head. “I’ve missed you, too. I wasn’t really sure what was going on, but it seemed like you needed some space. So I gave it to you.”
I sighed and decided to ease into the topic. “I think I’m just learning how to do this stepparenting thing. I know you said I’m your partner and not the kids’ parent, but the truth is, with you gone so much, I have to be.”
“I know you do. And I appreciate it more than you realize.” He paused and pulled out of our embrace. “But it won’t be forever, Grace. Spencer will be back full-time and we can find a better way to manage things.”
“I know,” I said, taking another deep breath, well aware that I needed to forge ahead with the conversation about the issues we were having even though it would be easier not to. It would be easier to reminisce about how we were at the beginning of our romance, how he cooked for me, how we could talk for hours or spend an entire Sunday in bed. The memories would warm us from the inside out, our hands would begin to wander, Victor would kiss me, and everything would be right with our world again. But I knew that reality would set back in, and the problems that loomed heavy above us would still be there, needing to be discussed. Better to get it over with now. “But can we still talk a minute?” I asked.
He squinted. “About?”
“The kids,” I said. “I just don’t want to feel like some ignorant babysitter who can’t handle things that come up when I’m with them.” I paused, fearful to continue but knowing I had to. “Like the other night, when Max broke the Wii? You didn’t even stop to hear my side of things. You just took Ava at her word, and she was lying to you.”
I felt him immediately tense and pull away. I sat up and looked at him with what I hoped he knew was love. His expression suddenly turned hard, his lips drawn into a firm, straight line. Anger flashed in his gray eyes. “Did you just call my daughter a liar?”
“No,” I said, drawing the word out slowly. “I said she lied to you—once.”
“I don’t see the difference.” He shifted away, scooting to the other corner of the couch and folding his arms across his chest.
There was a sudden, cold ache in my belly, followed by a warm flash of rage in my chest. I didn’t want to fight with Victor. I didn’t want to make things worse but decided there was no point to stopping now. “I also got a call from the school today,” I said, telling him about Ava skipping class and then the money I found in her gym bag.
“There has to be some kind of explanation,” Victor said after I’d finished talking. He slowly shook his head. “Maybe she skipped class—all kids do that at one time or another—but there’s no way she stole from you.”
“Max saw her taking money from my purse this morning,” I said quietly. I reached out and squeezed his hand, but he yanked it away. A shadow passed over his face and I knew we had entered dangerous territory.
“Max is always trying to get his sister in trouble. They try to get each other in trouble, for god’s sake. It’s the way things are with siblings. We have to take it with a grain of salt, or they’re going to pit us against each other and totally manipulate things. You have to be smarter than that.”
I tried not to respond to the subtle but definitive shift he’d made from “we” to “you,” indicating that it was me being stupid. Blatantly separating us. “I realize they tattle, but tonight was different. Ava lunged at Max and almost broke his finger. She attacked him, Victor. I’m worried about her.”
He gave me a hard stare. “Brothers and sisters fight, Grace. I know you were older than Sam so maybe you didn’t, but it’s totally normal.”
“Stealing is not normal.” I paused. “I was talking with Melody about it—”
“Wait,” Victor interrupted. “You told Melody about this?”
“Yes. I needed someone to talk to. You were at work.”
He threw his hands into the air and stood up, taking a couple of steps away from the couch. “Great! She’ll tell Spencer and he’ll want to talk with me about something he never should have known about. Thanks a lot.”
I took a deep breath, knowing that Victor was on the defensive and not wanting to anger him further, but getting Ava the help she needed was more important than how things ended up between her father and me. “She’s acting out,” I said. “And stealing could just be the beginning.”
“What are you saying? That she’s going to turn into some kind of delinquent? Her mother just died. You need to cut her a little slack.”
I stared at him a moment, trying to steady my rattling pulse. “I cut her plenty of slack. When she rolls her eyes at me or talks down to me, I let it slide. She’s upset, I get that. She’s in pain, and she’s obviously not managing it well. She also knows we’re engaged. Did you tell her?”
“Of course not. Did you?”
“No.” I paused. “Maybe Kelli did. Or Diane.”
“She hasn’t seen Diane.”
I thought about telling him then about my trip to Kelli’s house with Ava. Maybe she’d gone back there without our knowing. Maybe, as Melody and I had, she’d run into Diane, who’d assumed we’d already told the kids. I opened my mouth to confess all, to tell him everything, but the cold, hard look on his face stopped me. “However she found out doesn’t matter,” I said instead. “I’m worried about her. Maybe we need to get her into counseling.”
“Suddenly you’re the parenting expert around here?” The disdain in his words was clear.
“I’ve spent more time at it than you,” I shot back, and immediately wished I’d kept my mouth shut. It was a low blow, and I knew it. He worried about how little time he’d spent with the kids when he was still married to Kelli, and now how overwhelmed he felt having them with us full-time. But that didn’t change the truth—that with the ten years I spent taking care of Sam, it was likely I was the more experienced of us two.
Victor’s face closed up, his eyes a hard wall as he looked at me. “Look. I’m tired. You’re tired. We’re going to end up saying things we don’t mean. You’re choosing a bad time to talk about this.”
“There is no other time, Victor! We never see each other.”
“Jesus!” he said, reaching up to rake his fingers through his hair. “Can you quit complaining about things for five minutes, please? I know things are rough. I know this isn’t the life you expected! Okay? I get it. But if we’re going to stay together, we have to learn how to find our way through hard times, too. And accusing my daughter of being a thief isn’t helping anything.”
I stared at him, my eyes filling with tears. I tried to tell myself all of this was only temporary, like a television station announcing it was having technical difficulties. Our regularly scheduled program—or, in this case, our previously scheduled life—would eventually resume. But it seemed there was no use in trying to get him to understand. He was going to protect Ava no matter what.
Seeing my tears, his expression softened. “I’m sorry.” He took a step toward me and reached out his hand, but I moved so he couldn’t touch me. He sighed, then dropped back down to the couch. “I didn’t mean to snap at you,” he said. “I’m just so exhausted. I love the kids so much, but I’ve never really done the full-time father thing before. Kelli always took care of them.”
“I know,” I said quietly. “I get that this is all hard for you, too.”
“It is,” he said. “I was used to the schedule we had, you know?” He shook his head. “God, it makes me sound like such a horrible person, but after I finally left Kelli, I was relieved to get my life back. She sucked so much out of me. I didn’t realize how much until I was gone.”
“You’re not a horrible person,” I said.
“Thanks, but it feels like I am.” He gave me a weak smile. “Honestly, honey, I thought handling their fight without you was better, so you wouldn’t have to bother with it. I guess I was trying to shield you from the stress out of pure habit, the way I always had to shield Kelli. I didn’t give you enough credit, but that was about me, not you.” He sighed. “I’m sorry. I’m just trying to find my way through this. And I’m scared . . .” He trailed off, dropping his gaze to his lap.
“Of what?” I asked him, feeling my hurt ease as he expressed his vulnerability. He was just as afraid as I was. Unsure of himself as a father, worried how to handle bringing me into his children’s lives.
He chuckled softly, still not looking at me. “More like what am I not scared of,” he said. “I’m scared I’m not a good enough father for Max and Ava. I’m scared I’m like my own father—that somehow having his blood run through my veins might make me too weak to help my children through their pain.” He finally raised his eyes and met my own. “But that’s scared me for years. What scares me now is that I might lose you. That you might give up on me and having this life together. That I’m too screwed up for any woman to want to be with at all.” He whispered that last sentence, as though admitting it to himself for the first time. It struck me then how similar Victor’s insecurities were to mine.
“Kelli loved me,” Victor continued. “But it was in such a needy way, you know? I always felt like I wasn’t enough for her, no matter what I did, no matter how much I took care of her. And then you came along, so independent, and I thought, Wow. Here’s a woman who can be my partner. We can take care of each other. But now I’m messing that all up, too.”
“You’re not messing anything up.” I felt how much he cared for me, how much he needed someone to be there for him.
He hesitated a moment before leaning over and lowering his head into my lap. “I’m sorry,” he said again. “I love you.”
I ran my fingers through his thick, dark hair, feeling the warmth of his scalp and the wet of his tears on the top of my thighs. Filled with a deep sense of tenderness, I suddenly couldn’t imagine doing anything but staying there. “I love you, too,” I said. I would tell him what I suspected about Kelli’s past later. Now wasn’t the time.
“I’ll talk with her, okay, Grace? I’ll ask her what happened and we’ll go from there.”