Page 87 of Really Truly Yours
“Still, it didn’t have to be today.”
“And tomorrow would have been better?”
“Maybe.” His eyes pierce mine.
I wait. I know he’s got more.
“You know, I never really questioned it before, why Tripp is so hard about his father. Today, it finally registered. There’s something he’s not saying. Something he knows, something that happened back then…” Gray’s lids squeeze over his eyes. “I’m afraid to find out.”
His fear radiates. Donny has told me enough about his life in those days and about their mother to validate Gray’s concern, and I can personally vouch for the fact that when drugs and addiction are in the mix, any manner of dysfunction is possible.
How can a grown man, big and strong, with the world by its tail, look this lost? I curl my fingers, resisting a fresh pull. “Gray, everyone hates clichés, but I really do believe everything—Tripp—is going to be alright.”
His chin angles a challenge. “There’s no way you can know that.”
“No, but Avery is amazing. She’ll be there for him. So will you. And Tripp is…”
Gray waits, eyebrow up, as I flounder for an appropriate description of a man who is compelling, intimidating. The exact word eludes me. “Interesting.”
His lips twitch. “Interesting?”
“Yes, well, okay, obviously I don’t actually know him, but by your account, he’s a good, decent man. And you’re—”
My sentence stops at the edge of the cliff. So many descriptors barrel through my mind. I thought Gray was a rat the morning we met.
That was then.
Now, I can’t say the ones I’m thinking. Those words would change things. “Praying.”
Humor blinks around his eyes.” Praying?”
I squirm. “You are, aren’t you?”
“Of course.”
“Well, there you go.”
His stare lingers uncomfortably long. “I didn’t take you for being particularly spiritually minded, Sydnee.”
Ouch. “Why not?”
“I don’t know. Sometimes you seem…sad.”
Sad and spiritual don’t go together?
Sighing, Gray tugs the bill of his cap, repositioning it. “That was dumb. The two aren’t mutually exclusive, are they?”
“Nope.” Sometimes they team up quite naturally.
His palm inches over. My heart thuds.
A flash of rightness warms me. I watch as his fingers weave with mine. “Don’t be sad, Sydnee,” he whispers. “Ever.”
A tall order. Although, with him looking at me this way...
Beneath the cap, he watches. Energy and attraction pulse the air. My throat dries, my lips, too. I moisten them, and his eyes track, loitering. He sways, engulfing me in the scent of laundry soap. Sweat.
Him.