Only for Us (3 page)

“Yeah, I can do that.”

The door slams open. A mean-faced man the size of a tank rolls in and stares only at Brock. “Yes or no.”

It doesn’t sound like a question, but Brock raises a thumbs-up.

The man nods and stares at Parker, who nods. Then he looks at me. “Welcome to Titan.”

“Now, that’s done.” Brock follows the other man as they blow out of the room.

Parker lingers. “Nicely played.”

“Wasn’t playing.”

“That’s why you have the job, kid.”

Well… fuck me. Sweet.

CHAPTER THREE

Grayson

Ground zero. I’m here. At Pops’s home—a place I'd like to watch burn down to its weed-infested plot. But I couldn’t stay away. It was a rust-bucket shithole when I was last here, but years have weathered it to the point I’m surprised it can still stand.

Even with the summer night’s breeze swaying the high grass around me, I can’t kick the apprehension that has an ironclad hold on my lungs. This trailer is poison. The man inside is my hell. I’m the one who ruined his life. But I still can’t fathom how a man can hate his son.

I blow out a harsh, uneasy breath. Since the second I left Titan Group’s headquarters, I’d wanted to call Emma. But I also want all my shit in check before I do that. After I confront my demon and get that in order, I’ll head her way and prove that I’m every bit of the future she deserves.

I square my shoulders back and climb the rickety, rotten steps. They sway under my weight, and when I knock on the door, it swings open. The stench of cheap liquor and stale pot is overwhelming. There’s a cigarette smoldering in an overfilled makeshift ashtray, and Pops is passed out on the couch.

Damn. He looks like an old man rotting away from the inside out who just suffered through a barroom brawl. His wrinkled skin is checked with gray stubble. His sunken eyes are black, and scratches color his skin. His split lip is yellow and nicotine stained as is the hand wrapped around a generic-looking beer can.

On the coffee table are several empty and semi-crushed cigarette packs, a can of dip next to an empty soda bottle used for spitting, and an almost empty pack of papers. I shake my head. Pot seeds and stems are in a sandwich bag, and there are enough fast food wrappers on the floor to give
me
cholesterol.

“You’re a fuckin’ mess,” I whisper under my breath.

“And you’re not welcome in my home.” He coughs, swollen eyes not opening. “Out, ’fer I call the cops.”

“Right.” I pass him and wander to my bedroom. It’s the same as when I left it three years ago. Backpack on the floor, unmade bed. An old wallet is next to my backpack, opened, with its contents strewn about. A couple of drawers in my dresser are pulled out. Guess Pops didn’t care that I was gone, but he sure wanted to know if I left any cash behind.

My head hurts from a combination of the stink and the memories, and I swipe my bag off the floor and drop to my bed. The bag is open, but there’s nothing in it that Pops could want—nothing but a couple notebooks that are worn. One makes my pulse pound. I grab it and crack it open.

A lump grows in my throat as I page through each scrawled and stopped note. My heart hurts, and I flip through the sheets of lined paper.

Hey Ems,

We need to talk. Last night went bad, and I need to see you.

X, Gray

Pages later.

Emma,

I’m not sure how many times I can try to say this, so here it is. I enlisted—like in the Army. I’m leaving Summerland in a few weeks, and what happened after Sadie Hawkins, it wasn’t supposed to happen like that.

That one note had a giant X through it, and I vividly remember sitting in senior English, contemplating whether she’d think that “wasn’t meant to happen” part was about us hooking up or about Pops walking in. I didn’t finish that note, and when I walked out of class that day and saw her, I went the opposite direction. I’m a fuckin’ moron.

I skip through the pages and can see my eighteen-year-old self trying to describe why I was running and why I couldn’t tell her I was leaving.

Finally, I’m on the last written page in the notebook.

Ems, I love you. One day I hope you understand. Yours forever, Gray

I slap the notebook shut and shove it in the bag. There’s nothing else that I need. My space in this shithouse is a stark contrast to the rest of the trailer. Other than what Pops went through, everything is orderly. There are athletic awards and trophies on the walls and equipment in the corner—football pads, baseball bats, and a collection of balls. Taped to the mirror are two pictures. One is a family portrait of the Kinglseys, except I’m in there, too. We were at a lake picnic, and I remember dreaming that they were my family.

The other is Emma. She’s not looking at the camera, and she’s wearing a shirt I’m positive she made herself. A camera is slung over her shoulder, and she’s midturn to me. I snapped it with my phone.

“What’d you do that for?”

My arm drops to my side, phone in hand. I'm not sure that I even grabbed a good shot of her. But she’s staring at me, and I just want to say, “I love you.”

“Gray?”

“Yeah?”

“The picture? Don’t do that. I look terrible.”

She looks like mine. She looks like the one I want under my arm, her hand in my hand. I want to kiss her, claim her, do so much with her… to her.

“Prettiest girl I know, Ems.” I turn around as she laughs, but I can feel her eyes burning into my back. I walk from her, shoving my phone and fists into my pockets because if I don’t, I will ruin everything this family, this girl, has given me.

Short, haggard breaths steal my attention from my memories. I take both pictures from the mirror and put them in my bag before I turn to face off with a heavy-breathing, probably dying Pops.

Standing up, he looks even worse. His skin is jaundiced. His greasy hair sticks up from his time on the couch. The beater he’s wearing is stained, and his jeans look foul.

He sneers. “That’s my shit. Don’t touch.”

“Right.”
Such an asshole.
I move to the closet to check for any clothes that might be worth taking.

“Said don’t touch, boy.”

Screw it. I turn to him. “You knew Emma had my baby.”

He laughs. “She tracked you down, too. Little tart showing up here, asking about you—”

Rage fills me. “She what?” I’m blinded by hatred and heartache.

Pops shrugs. “If you were interested in her, ’sume you would’ve told ’er where you were.”

Guilt floods every muscle as my body tenses. I step forward, wanting to take it out on him. “You knew?”

Shrugs again. “Nothing either of us have that’d be good for a Kinglsey baby.”

“
I
am good for that baby.”

He laughs, and his lungs crackle, full of crap. “Boy, yer not good for shit.”

My hands ball into fists. I’m seconds away from obliterating him. I take another step closer, and a fight he’s wanted his whole life is coming his way.

No.
I shudder.
Not
his whole life. Only after losing my mother.

My head tilts, and I study his drunk, drugged, sad existence. The truth hits me hard. I’ve always been his burden, but… I’m not his kid.

Randall Ford isn’t my father? The idea rockets in my thoughts, clanging and bouncing over every missed father-son moment, every hatred-filled snipe. Pops doesn’t understand my intense feelings about the time I’ve lost with Cally. He never cared about me… for me. There’s no biological connection like I have with my daughter.

My boiling hatred slows to a simmer as I process our missing genetic connection. “All this time, you never said a word.”

Confusion makes his black eyes cloud. “What da fuck’s yer problem now?”

“But I was the only thing you had left of her.” The realization is mind-blowing. Slowly, I shake my head. Pieces of my life click into place.
I’m… not… Randall Ford’s son.
“You couldn’t let me go, and you hated that—” And just as clearly, I understand that I didn’t kill my mother. I’d known she overdosed, but I always placed the blame on myself. “She killed
herself
.”

“Shut up!”

“Fuck me,” I whisper, trying to handle my thoughts. Whatever pills my mom took, however she got her hands on them, it was
her
fault. In kindergarten, I couldn’t understand her addictions, her problems. I was taught sure as the Earth was round that I caused my mom to die. But almost twenty years later… I’ve had her problems in my head for so long, and now the truth seems so simple. But I couldn’t comprehend until I walked away and came back. Guilt thaws off my shoulders. “I’m done with the shames and sins you’ve put on me.”

The same as I’m done with my plan to ruin him, leaving him dead to rot in these shambles.

“You ruined my life, you mother-killing, stupid-ass—”

“No,” I growl into his face. “All these years I thought I deserved it.” My anger returns, and I could crush his skull. The pounding in my chest pushes me. I want to end him. Adrenaline’s choking me. But Emma and Cally’s faces pop into my mind.
They
save me, and I rasp out a deep breath, trying to calm my itch to fight. “You’re not worth it.”

Pops sways. “Son of a bitch, you—”

“I’m done.” I pull back, and with my bag in hand, I stride past him, knowing I’ll never be back again. I’m not going to touch him, not going to hurt him. I want nothing to do with Pops—no,
Randall
—ever again.

CHAPTER FOUR

Emma

A million boxes surround me, and I want them magically unpacked. I pivot and stare at each label, trying to decide if any one of them calls for my attention. Nope—not really. My Prince Charming had to run out for the kind of job interview that didn’t require more than a quick shower and re-dressing in the same jeans and shirt. We haven’t had time to specifically talk about the future, but it feels as if the future is here, and Grayson will be by my side. So… does he move in? And how do I explain him to Cally? Slowly. Carefully.

One call, one night can change everything. I bite my lip, nodding to myself. Whatever plan I make, it’s with Cally in mind. I want Grayson to work, but it has to be a relationship—nothing forced out of guilt and regret.

The closest box catches my attention, and I grab it, ripping the cardboard flaps open. “So, we love each other. But are we still in love?”

The box doesn’t talk back. Great news: my exhaustion hasn’t caused hallucinations.

After last night and this morning, I’d say yes—I’m still crazy in love with the hot guy who rolled through my door and surprised me. I tear through the box, pulling out framed pictures that need to be hung. I lay them in the corner after removing their bubble wrap then sit beside them, popping bubble after plastic bubble. What happens if the feelings go away when the surprise factor fades? Does eighteen years of friendship make up for the three years I spent hurt and alone?

Knock, knock, knock
.

My heart jumps, and my eyes shoot to the front door. Surprises have been my friends lately, even if I hate them, so I don’t feel the usual annoyance at having an unexpected visitor. I put down the bubble wrap and push off the floor as the knob turns, and Ryan and Cherry burst in.

“Cherry!”

Her lack of eye contact and her walk filled with too much bravado screams busybody. Couple that with my brother scowling as he’s pulled in tow, and I’m pissed.

“What?” Her guilty smile falters as she twists to acknowledge our brother. “I had to say something.”

“No. You didn’t. You’re overstepping.” I knot my fingers together. “Where’s Cally?” Cherry knows I hate changes in my plans, but she still pulls this stunt, using her status as my older sister as if she’s somehow wiser and knows better than I do. It drives me batty.

Cherry shrugs. “With Mom, picking out your birthday present.”

“Mom knows?” My eyes bulge. “You roped in Ryan and Mom. Nice, Cherry. Think you’re overstepping the line?”

“Not really. I didn’t even know he was in town.”

“I didn’t have a chance to tell you! It’s not like Grayson’s a secret.”

“So, he shows up, and
bam
.”

“Don’t be a bitch,” I hiss, trying to remember that I love her, appreciate her. But…
God.
“You have no idea. Don’t judge.”

Ryan’s out of uniform and brushes by me as though he’s going to do some cop search. As much as I long for independence, I have to rely on my family. It gives them an all-access pass to my life, though—one of the many reasons they come through the door whenever the urge hits.

Cherry and I both watch Ryan head toward the back of the house as if I’m hiding Grayson in a hall closet. “I had to tell Mom because this is some kind of family-related emergency intervention.”