“All right. See you tomorrow?”

She nodded faintly in response to Graham’s question, but with each step she took away, her head was bowing down more and more—already trying to be invisible.

I took a step forward, and reached out toward her. “Char—”

She lifted her head and narrowed her eyes again.

Acknowledgment. Agreement. Defeat. And a warning—clear as day in those blue eyes—not to say anything more.

I dropped my hand as I choked back my next words. Whether they would have been an apology, or something else to hurt her more, I wasn’t sure. With a stiff nod, I turned back around, and tried to ignore the disappointment radiating from Graham.

“Good effort.” Frustration leaked from his words.

“Whatever, man.”

Charlie

June 3, 2016

I CREPT OUT of the room I shared with Keith late that night, book in hand, and made my way to the living room for a little “me” time. Something that had already been a luxury since Keith was born, and something that had been nonexistent in the week and a half that I’d been working at Mama’s Café.

But after everything since I’d moved home—or, more accurately, all the crap with Deacon—I needed this time.

I didn’t care that I would be dead on my feet for my shift the next morning. Who needed sleep when there were other worlds to get lost in? Made-up lives that you wished could be your own? Fictional men to swoon over—ones that were in no way linked to Marvel Comics or a notebook almost a mile away in a locked-up café?

I moved things out of the way in the fridge until I found my secret stash, and grabbed a cold bar of chocolate before walking back toward the couches.

I’d just gotten a lamp turned on and myself settled under a blanket when Grey plopped down next to me.

I froze from tearing open the wrapper for a few seconds, then slowly resumed what I had been doing as I watched her watching me.

“Hi,” I said warily, and handed her a small chunk.

“So who are you reading about tonight?” she asked as she popped the chocolate into her mouth. “Cinderella? Sleeping Beauty? Belle?”

“None of the above. I told you I don’t read fairy tales. Did I wake you?”

She shook her head slowly as she chewed. “Aly just fell asleep a couple minutes before I heard you going through the fridge. He’s cute,” she said suddenly, and gestured to the guy gracing the cover of the book on my lap.

My eyes narrowed in suspicion. Grey never wanted to talk about the books I read unless it was to make fun of them, and she was sitting and speaking stiffly. I knew her well enough to know she was wasting time before talking about something personal.

“If you’ve suddenly changed your mind and want to start reading romance, I’ll get you a good one to start with.” When her face twisted, I continued. “That’s what I thought. Why do I have a feeling you’re down here for a reason?”

“What’s going on between you and Deacon?”

Irrational, betraying heart.

I didn’t want to feel anything for Deacon Carver other than the loathing he felt for me, and I hated that just hearing his name could cause this kind of chaos inside me.

My eyebrows rose in surprise at her blunt, unapologetic question.

“What do you mean?” I hoped my tone rang with naïveté rather than the unease I felt over having this conversation with her. I didn’t want to talk about Deacon with Deacon, let alone Grey.

One of Grey’s eyebrows rose slowly, and I knew in the look she gave me that I hadn’t succeeded in seeming clueless. “Charlie.”

“What?” I asked defensively when she didn’t continue. “There isn’t anything going on between us, I don’t know why you’re even asking.”

“No? So I was imagining the hostility emanating from you when he was here fixing your car?”

“What host—”

“And then I guess I just thought I saw you give him a look that could slay the world’s strongest man earlier tonight?”

“Guess so.”

“So then that also means that Graham is just making up stories about Deacon being a complete asshole to you last weekend?”

My head had been dipping in a nod, but froze halfway. I swallowed my curse and any other response I may have had, and stared blankly at a spot on the floor as Grey waited for an answer I wouldn’t give her.

“Right; that’s what I thought. What is going on between you and Deacon?”

“Nothing.”

“Charlie—”

“Nothing, Grey. There is nothing going on between us, just drop it.” My voice was now a plea and a whisper. An indication that I was uncomfortable, and, for Grey, a massive red flag waving through the air above me that I was lying.

“Graham told me what Deacon said to you last weekend.”

I bit down on a small rectangle of chocolate.

“How long has he been treating you like that?”

I shrugged, and the movement made me cringe internally. My red flag was practically glowing now, waving more wildly than ever.

“You know—”

“I don’t need you to try to be my mom, Grey,” I said quickly, my voice still gentle enough that the words didn’t come across harshly. “Jagger parents me enough, I just want you to be my friend and sister-in-law.”

“I don’t want to be your mom, but I want you to talk to me. I don’t like that there has been a . . .” She trailed off, and seemed to search the space between us for her next words for a moment. “I don’t like that there’s been a disconnect between us ever since what happened between you and Ben. There are times you still talk to me, but it’s not like it was before. You know that I forgave you a long time ago, and what happened happened a long time ago, so I feel like we should already be back to where we were. But a lot of times, I feel like I still have to pull information from you. Like now.”

The ache in her voice and on her face hurt my soul. I didn’t know she still felt like there was something hindering our friendship. I had thought that once everything came out about Ben and me, things had slowly but surely gotten better.

My brow pinched. “There isn’t a disconnect between us, Grey,” I assured her. “This—what’s going on with Deacon—it’s just different. You’re so close with him, and I . . . well, I didn’t want to talk to anyone about it. I didn’t even know why—” I closed my mouth quickly before the words, I didn’t even know why he’d been treating me that way, could slip from my tongue.