Page 88 of Love Me Tender

Chapter 22

After reading Rory’s text, Grant tried to call her three times. Each time, her voicemail picked up. He glowered again at the text.

Turns out I’ll be really busy this weekend, so it’s not a great time for you to visit. I’m coming home for Thanksgiving anyway, so I’ll see you then. xo

He wasn’t about to wait until Thanksgiving to see her. While he knew she was putting in far more hours than she should, not for a second did he believe she was using work as a legitimate excuse to keep him away.

Something was wrong.

On Friday evening, he left his manager in charge of the tavern and drove up to San Jose without letting Rory know he was on his way. She wasn’t at home when he arrived at her apartment, and he let himself in with the key she’d given him.

Setting his duffel on the floor, he called her cell. Voicemail picked up. He ended the call without leaving a message and paced from one end of the small room to the other. Close to nine, a key turned in the lock. Rory walked in.

“I saw your truck outside.” She dropped her bag onto her computer chair, her eyes narrowing slightly. “Didn’t you get my text?”

“I got your text.” He curled his hands at his sides, resisting the urge to grab her up into his arms. She looked exhausted, dark circles under her eyes and skin paler than usual. “Looks like you’re home early.”

“There’s a company party going on at a bar near the office.” She shrugged out of her jacket and tossed it over the chair. “I didn’t feel like going. Plus, as I told you, I have a busy weekend and need to be up early.”

“For what?”

“Work.”

“Tomorrow is Saturday.”

“That doesn’t change my deadline.”

“What’s going on?” Grant folded his arms. “Is this about the lead position you were up for?”

“No.” Rory averted her gaze and took a glass from the kitchen cupboard. “Just a deadline. Nothing more.”

“You think I believe that?” He flexed his hands, hating the tension flooding through him. “Something happened between last Saturday and now. Tell me what it is.”

“Don’t order me around.” She twisted the faucet knob with an abrupt movement and filled the glass with water. “If I don’t want to tell you something, I don’t have to. A few weeks together doesn’t give you the right to every part of my life.”

“What will, then?”

She looked up sharply. “What does that mean?”

“It means…” he stepped closer to her, his heart thumping, “…that Iwantthe right to every part of your life. What do I need to do to earn it?”

“You…” Rory stared at him. Her breath hitched. “You never needed toearnit, Grant. I’m not keeping you out because I don’t trust you. There are just things I can handle alone.”

“I know youcan.” He clenched his jaw so tightly it ached. “I’m saying you don’t have to.”

Her eyes glittered. She wiped a drop of water from the outside of her glass. Her hands were shaking.

It took everything he had to keep his distance from her. She was brittle, fragile, exactly the way she’d been the first time he saw her sitting at the bar in the Mousehole.

Only then, even though he’d never seen her before, he’d known what he could do to try and make her feel better.

Now? He knew Rory more intimately, more completely, than he’d ever known anyone and yet he had no idea how to fix this. He didn’t know what the fuckitwas.

He paced to the window, dragging a hand through his hair. He hated being helpless.

“Rory.” He turned to face her, clenching his fists against a bolt of fury. “Who was the fucker, and what did he do?”

She pressed her lips together. Her face drained of color. “You can’t fix this for me.”