Page 71 of The Curveball
For a few seconds he does nothing, simply stares at me. Then, he places one callused palm against my cheek. “You are incredible, Wren Fox.”
“You’re not angry?”
“Angry? At you? Never. Wren, you tossed yourself into this for no other reason than you wanted something good for me and the foundation. I don’t even know how to process it, but I’m two hundred percent sure I want to kiss you for it.”
My breath is stilted in my chest. He blurted it all out so fast, I’m not sure he even realizes what he said. Then again, he’s still stroking my cheek. I’m at the line, a precipice. Put my heart on the line, or pull it back and go on living in the shadows of pain? What if he’s still playing his game? What if he’s not?
“Griffin,” I whisper. “Tell me you’re not doing these things, saying these things, because you feel obligated over the accident, or for what my dad plans to do.”
I close my eyes against the shame at the glimpse into my vulnerable heart.
Griffin sits up, then rolls back up to his feet. His eyes are dark and steely. Normally, such a swift change in his demeanor would have me bolting, but I stand with cautious steps, wanting to be closer.
I don’t like the shadow on his face. I don’t like knowing he’s unsettled because Icareabout him. I care about his opinions, his likes, his dislikes. I care about him. If it’s not returned, I need to know now, or I’ll leave this little game more broken than I entered.
A squeak slips out of my throat when in the next heartbeat, Griffin’s broad, hard chest pushes into my space. “Why do you think you’re not worth it, Wren?”
Unworthy. The word is poison in my head, a forgotten disease I never healed from. Years of fighting for a place in half my family, of striving to be incredible, to do big things, and fall short every time still stings.
I try to look away, but my breath catches when Griffin’s palms trap my face.
“Why aren’t you worth it?”
“Worth what?” My voice cracks and I wish the ground would swallow me whole.
“Me wanting you. You must think you aren’t worth caring about, because you think there are always ulterior motives.”
How do you explain to someone who walks around like the world is Disneyland that there is a darker side to this life? There is cruelty, meanness, and they’re barbs to innocence. Once they’re fired, the scars never leave.
Griffin’s thumb brushes over the ridge of my cheek. “It’s okay if you don’t have an answer,” he says softly. “But let me tell you something, and I need you to try your best to believe me.” Slowly, Griffin lowers his head again. We’re cheek to cheek, chest to chest, hip to hip. His breath is warm on my neck when he turns his face into me. “You’re worth it to me. You’re worth going inside hospitals. Did you know I hate hospitals? They make me panic.”
“You didn’t . . . you looked so calm.”
“On the outside. Inside was a different story,” he admits. “I was in the car, Wren. I was in the car with my dad.”
My fingers curl around his shirt, pulling him closer before I realize what I’m doing. “Griffin.”
“I hate hospitals because I remember the chaos of that night. Then my mom got cancer, so hospitals saved her and hurt her at the same time.”
“You didn’t need to come with me,” I whisper.
“I did.” His grip tightens on my face. “Because you are worth it to me, and I don’t know why you don’t see it.”
I open my mouth to brush it off, to give some rote explanation that keeps him perched on the surface instead of neck deep in the tangles of what’s inside, but he stops me with his thumb on my lips.
His voice goes soft. “But that’s okay too, because you’re worth showing that you matter. I won’t ever stop trying to show you I mean what I say.”
I’m in another plane of existence. No feeling in my feet, my fists are going to be permanently stuck to his shirt. Each word is a blow to the carefully placed defenses, but Griffin Marks is one sexy wrecking ball of joy. My grumbly, cynical walls don’t stand a chance.
A dark, delicious heat burns in his eyes. I think if I died with that look as the last thing I see, it would be a glorious end.
“Do you get what I’m saying, Birdie?” Griffin’s thumb brushes over my bottom lip. He tugs, pulling it away from my teeth.
Doubtless, he can feel my heart breaking through my skin. One hand on my face, his other palm follows the curve of my waist until he curls his arm around my body.
Lips parted, breaths tangle. One slight movement and my mouth would be buried by his.
“Griff . . .” My voice trails off. What am I saying? I don’t know anymore. Should I stop this? Stopping makes my stomach sick and will surely cause more pain.