Cruz was back in the kitchen, talking with some people I remembered from The Towers. He waved me over, but I shook my head and kept going. I needed to be alone. Again. Not even five minutes after being alone for an hour on the back lawn. This whole night had been more daunting than I’d guessed. And I hadn’t even confronted Grant yet.
Thankfully people had stopped staring at me like I was leading the race for the top spot on their shit lists, but I could still feel the heaviness of accusation following me around the house. Pushing on the handle of the first door I reached down the hall, I slipped inside the room and had the door shut and locked a second later.
Leaning into the door, I closed my eyes and attempted to regain my breath. I hated feeling weak. Especially here, where I’d never felt weaker, and the same place I’d learned to be strong.
Maybe this wasn’t the right place to do this. Maybe I just had to figure out another way to confront Grant. Maybe . . .
When I opened my eyes, I let out a little yelp, surprised to find I wasn’t the only person who’d barricaded themselves in Aunt May’s bedroom.
My yelp was cut short when I realized who it was in here with me.
“Oh, god. I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were in here. I’ll leave.” My hand was fumbling for the handle when Grant’s head tipped back over his shoulder. Not enough to look at me, but enough that I could see the rigid angle of his jaw.
“At least this time you’re letting me know you’re leaving.”
His words hit me the way I guess he’d intended, making me feel both guilty and angry. Grant had been hot-headed, but he hadn’t been the only one. The few arguments we’d had during the span of our relationship had been talked about for weeks by those who overheard them. However, I’d done some growing up in the years since and learned that shouting was rarely the way to get a person to see your point of view.
“Since I’m here and you’re here, this is as good a chance as any for you to say whatever it is you’ve been wanting to say to me. I’m not going anywhere, so just let me have it.” I held my arms out at my sides and shoved off the door, knowing Aunt May had had a hand in this. Next time I asked for her help, I’d better be prepared to accept whatever form of help she sent my way two seconds later.
“You left. You made your choice. I don’t have anything to say to you.” He was sitting on the edge of her bed, his back to me, holding something. He was in a light dress shirt that stretched across his wide back. The stitches looked like they were about to give out from the way his body was tensed.
“I’d like the chance to explain why I did what I did.” I fought the tug to move closer, the familiar ache of separation that was alleviated the moment some part of me was touching some part of him.
“You don’t need to explain anything, Ryan. That was forever ago. I’ve moved on from it all.” When he shoved off of the bed, the mattress coils squeaked. Being locked inside a room with Grant made him that much more imposing.
“But I’d like to—”
“Ryan, please. Enough.” That was when he finally looked at me straight on. The intensity in his eyes made me step back. “You left me. Now please, just let it go. I’m good.” Moving toward the dresser, he set something down beside a collection of photos in an array of frames. Then he headed toward the door. “Please just do me a favor and forget about me again the way you’ve forgotten about me for the past seven years.”
As he moved by me, his eyes slid to mine for a short moment before they flitted away.
“I never forgot about you, Grant. Not once.”
“Actions speak louder than words. That’s what Aunt May always said.” The moment the door opened, he moved out of the room. “And your actions were pretty damn deafening.”
AFTER GRANT LEFT, I didn’t know what to do. So I just stood there in the middle of Aunt May’s bedroom, staring at the sunny yellow walls like I was waiting for a message to suddenly appear. One never came.
It was close to midnight by the time the sounds of the party dimmed to a near silence. As I turned to leave the bedroom, something caught my eye on the dresser—whatever it was that Grant had laid down earlier before storming out.
Moving closer, I could tell it was another picture frame, now lying facedown. The photos on the dresser were as eclectic as the frames they were in. Everything from a photo of young May on her graduation day to photos of us Clink kids standing around her Christmas trees with stockings clutched in our little hands.
When I flipped up the one Grant had been holding, I froze. It was a picture of the two of us, taken the night of his senior prom. May had stationed us on the front steps of her house to snap the photo, right after surprising me with a formal dress she’d managed to find at a consignment shop.
It was the nicest piece of clothing I’d ever owned, and I remembered breaking down into tears when she gave it to me. I remembered everything about that night. From the look on Grant’s face when I’d come out of Aunt May’s room in that dress, to the way he’d held me to him as we danced, to the words he’d whispered into my ear. I remembered everything.
Including the gossip I’d overheard inside the girls’ bathroom later that night as some seniors chatted about the only reason a guy like Grant Turner was with a girl like me—because I was a whore just like my mother.
When I stepped out of that bathroom stall, giving them each a big smile as I slowly washed my hands, the looks on their faces were priceless. When I emerged from the bathroom a minute later, Grant was waiting for me with that same anxious look he had whenever I disappeared behind a door he couldn’t follow me through. Grant hadn’t liked me going into rooms he couldn’t get into ever since he found me that summer I was nine. He’d been thirteen at the time, and after that day, Grant Turner had been my hero. The real kind. His role in my life might have changed as he got older, but his status of hero never had.