Only for Us (5 page)

Cally is asleep in her bed with every single stuffed animal that I unpacked. It’s almost impossible to find the kid buried in all the plush, but she’s there, softly breathing, with a smile on her face.

My phone rings, pulling me out of space. Grayson’s number lights the screen, and the first thing I’m going to do after we end this call is program his name. “Hey.”

“Hey, pretty mama.”

God, I love that.
“How’d today go?”

He groans.

“That good, huh?”

“The job interview, that was fine.”

“That’s good.” A job. Stability. I can’t help but be nervous that it all might flit away.

“Some other stuff I had to deal with. Basically—” He blows out into the phone. “Ya know, Pops is a piece of shit.”

A lump surfaces in my throat. “Yeah. You talk to him?”

“Something like that—so
you’ve
talked to him.”

I bite my bottom lip. Every interaction I had with his father was rough. “He wasn’t super conversational.”

“I bet. God, I hate that fucker.”

“So, why’d you go see him?”

“I don’t know.” His voice is strained.

“I’m sorry…” I want him to come over. I need him to. But I have work, and I don’t know the ground rules for what’s too much, what’s too needy. He could take a look at all the responsibility my life’s laden with and run his hot butt away. With the tightness in his words, I’m not sure what to say. “So…”

“You care if I call you later? I’ve got a shit ton on my mind.”

“Yeah, no. Of course.”

“Alright, Ems. Thanks for letting me figure this out.”

Whatever “this” is.
“Sure.”

A quick goodbye, he’s gone, and I’m even lonelier. Doesn’t matter. My mom should be here in an hour, so I can head to the diner. I toss my phone onto the couch then go into the kitchen for a granola bar.

Working the night shift sucks, but for the first time, I’m struck by three thoughts. The first is about how Grayson—after he and Cally are more than adequately comfortable together—could be here when I have to head to work, so my family isn’t constantly helping me. Second—my cheeks heat, and my stomach somersaults—what if Cally and I were more like Cally,
Grayson
, and I? Like, a mommy and a daddy with their baby?

But my third thought quickly cools the others because Gray has no idea that I’ve been working like this. He’s going to feel awful, and I may never tell him about Emerald’s. Stripping allowed me to move out from my parents’ house, go to school, and save. I would work more nights there, but Bruno has a theory: I’ll make more money as a once-a-week special than an everyday treat. Compared to the other girls’ take, he’s right, and I refuse to regret the decision to dance, even if I don’t enjoy it.

There’s a quick knock and slide of a key, then the front door knob twists, and Mom walks in.

“Hey, Mom.”

“Hi, sweetie.”

We share a long moment, but there’s little time for a major mother-daughter powwow. Instead, I offer what’s in my hand. “Want a granola bar?”

“No.” She shakes her head. “I’m exhausted. No idea how you do this.”

She’s wearing the yoga pants and a baggy T-shirt that she’ll sleep in. Everyone helping out is a huge burden. I grew up with a picture-perfect family, and she and Dad don’t have a ton of money they can throw my way. We came to an understanding when Cally was born. I work my booty off, sometimes literally—though Mom’s not privy to the details—I’ll also get my degree, and they will help. If I want to raise Cally in any way comparable to how I grew up, having their assistance is the only option.

“I love you, Mom.”

She wraps me in a hug. “I know, honey.”

There’s a lump in my throat because I’m hopeful everything will change and terrified at the same time. “You know he’s home.”

Her arms squeeze. “Yes.”

“I really want it to be okay.”

Mom gives a deep sigh and a harder squeeze. “And I want you and Cally to be happy and loved.” She lets me go and holds me out in front of her. I hope she’s assessing and not judging.

I bite my lip. “Are you mad at me?”

“Mad?” Her eyebrows bite together. “No. Nervous? Yes.”

“Me too.”

We share a quiet look. “Alright, get to work.”

“You’re early.” I toss the remains of the granola bar and smooth my uniform shirt.

“So, take your time. Hit Mickey D's for an ice cream. Read a book. You
can
have a life on your own. You know that, right?”

I shrug.

“This is life, Emma. Enjoy it.” Her face is soft. Nothing fazes her. If there’s one person on earth who would understand love, it’s my mom. She loves love.

“Thanks.” I peck her cheek and head for my purse.

“Oh, and I told Cherry that she and Ryan were
far
past the line. I expect you’ll hear an apology before your birthday party tomorrow.” She clears her throat. “Bring anyone you like.”

A lump surges in my throat. “Really?”

“Might as well start somewhere. Doesn’t hurt that there will be cake and ice cream to help mend fences.”

CHAPTER SIX

Emma

It's pointless trying to decide which I crave more: a good book or ice cream. Reading always wins, and I can sit at the counter before my shift and chat with Jan. But the conversation with Grayson from earlier preoccupies me. I slow to the longest red light in Summerland and pull my phone out of my purse. I could call him again and check on him. Make sure what’s weighing heavy on his mind isn’t killing him.

Or… I could surprise him right now. Like, in person. The Grand Hotel on Main Street is quaint, nice, and on the way to the Delightful Diner. It’s one of three hotels in Summerland, and out of those, it’s the best. Though that isn’t saying much since the worst charges by the hour.

If he can surprise me, I can do the same to him and maybe see if he wants to have a midnight dinner while I work. It might ease his mind. Or maybe I can just make him smile.

My stomach twists. Everything in my life is scripted—one of the reasons I loathe surprises—and that worked well until he showed up. But Grayson has been a game changer.

The light changes, and I drive three blocks up instead of two blocks over. There it is, the hotel Ryan said Grayson was staying at. Nervous excitement makes me jittery, but I’m going to do it. It’ll be fun. Or a disaster. What if he’s sleeping? What if he thinks I’m high maintenance?

Calm down.

I park my car on the street as adrenaline ticks through my blood. The hairs on my arm stand up, and I stifle an excited squeal. My heart skips, and my perma-smile isn’t going away. I was far from miserable before he came home, but now I’m floating on stupid, fluffy love clouds over my…
boyfriend?

Whatever his title is, I get out of my car and wander down the street. Grand Hotel’s doors have oversized handles, and everything on the inside is the same as it has always been—shiny hardwood floors and richly colored cushions on monstrous couches. The walls are polished wood, and there’s bold wallpaper. It smells like lemons, but just a hint, a very clean-citrus scent, not heavy, artificially fragrant cleaner.

So… now what?

Heading to the check-in desk, it becomes clear my plan isn’t well thought out. The hotel is just going to tell me his room number?

Hi, where’s Grayson staying at?

Hi, I’m his… girlfriend. I swear. Room number, please?

The front-desk girl turns around, making me groan. Jessie Spikes—like a blast from the past, it’s everyone’s favorite cheerleader from high school. I used to hate this girl and, in my head, had all kinds of bad thoughts about her whenever she was under Grayson’s attention. Petty high school BS. Karma gave it back to me hard. When I was pregnant and alone, Jessie was a relentless gossip.

“Emma.” Jessie draws out my name, convincing me that as soon as I leave the room, she will be on the phone to blather.

“Hi, Jessie. I was, um, hoping that you could point me to—”

“Grayson Ford?” The bubbling exuberance in her voice can’t be contained.

My cheeks heat, and my knotting fingers fidget. I rub my sides, suddenly aware of sweaty palms. “Yes, please.”

“Room two oh two.” She points toward the double spiral staircase that drips in old-timey opulence.

Well… that was easy. I would have expected a blood-sacrifice requirement for that kind of info. “Thanks. Nice to see you.”

I head toward the stairs as Jessie waves her hand, wiggling her fingers as if she’s doing some kind of peppy cheerleader send-off.

“Good luck,” she says.

Good luck?
How pathetic. She must think I’m here to try and win him back.

“Right. Thanks.” I can’t shake off the years of not-so-behind-my-back chatter. Okay. No need to get all in my head. I focus on my newest favorite memory—the look on his face when he met Cally. Screw the haters.

Room two oh two
. I have no need to hide how vulnerable I am and my excitement about the future. I draw in a breath then knock.

No answer.

Well… I didn’t take into account he wouldn’t be here. I drop my head against the door.
So anti-climactic—

The door cracks open, and I stumble headfirst, flailing and falling like a moron into his room and landing on my hands and knees. Graceful much? Ugh. Good thing the guy already loves me. My gaze shifts from hotel-room carpet to a pair of shoes.

Women’s shoes
. The nice kind that people don’t wear to work at a diner or when they’re carting a two-year-old around all day. My heart freezes, but my eyes drift to the long legs they’re attached to.

Oh, God.

There’s a woman in perfectly hip-hugging pants, insanely impractical heels, and a shirt that is a blessing to her already gorgeous body—and those breasts have
never
had a baby nursing on them. They are
perfect,
and they are in Grayson’s hotel room.

I’m going to puke.

“Hey, down there—you okay?” she asks with a phone pressed to her ear. She lifts a finger, wordlessly asking me to give her a minute.

I jump up, fumbling, spin to the door, check that it’s the right number—it is—and turn back on shaking legs.

She’s pretty. Kind of gorgeous. But she isn’t talking to anyone. The one-minute finger points to her cell and she mouths
voicemail
. Then she says, “Hey, I’m here to surprise you! See ya. Love ya. Bye.” She expels an exasperated breath, spins around in an outfit I can only describe as date-worthy, and smiles. “Come in, please—”

“I’m sorry, I have the wrong room.” I back up until I stumble against the wall then numbly reach for the door as though exiting this nightmare might help.

“Nope, right room. I’m the one that keeps calling housekeeping.” Her accent screams Southern belle, and she tosses her hand as if she’s throwing out casual information. She smiles perfectly glossy lips. “I called before, but nothing changed, so I had to call again.”

“What…?” Me, housekeeping? I have no idea what’s going on. But I glance at my waitressing clothes, and they could totally be taken for a housekeeping uniform.

“The air conditioner stinks like sulfur or something, and trust me, that’s a smell Grayson can’t handle. Plus, I don’t think I could sleep with it.” She leans forward as if she’s telling a secret. “It’s a bit overwhelming.”

I’m dizzy. My words won’t come. She knows things I don’t know. She leaves messages I’m too timid to leave.
I love you.

“Can’t you smell it? It might just be near the bed.” She walks away from me.

Unsteadily and stupidly, I take a step forward toward a king-sized bed. A military green duffel bag and a small pink suitcase sit by the bathroom door. “You can’t…”

“He has a condition. Sulfur really doesn’t help. The bed doesn’t even look slept in. I don’t think he even stayed here last night.”

My stomach lurches. “How do you know him?”

“What?” Her eyebrows pinch. “He’s my fiancé.”

“Oh, God.” Why did I assume all this time had passed, and he hadn’t been in a relationship? Even if I’d thought of that, it never would have occurred to me he’d
still
be in one.

“I’m sorry.” Her face tightens, confused. “Are you okay?”

Behind me there’s a
click-click
of the door unlocking. My legs are stuck like columns of cement. I can’t bend my knees, can’t run away. Somehow I pivot. Grayson’s face is dark and brooding, and his eyes aren’t on me. They go straight to her. My mouth goes dry, and my hands tremble.

“Gray!” she squeals.

Gray?
My dream of the future shatters a million times over.

She throws her arms out. “Surprise!”

“Shit, Mazie,” he growls.

Confirmation. He knows her. That’s all I need. My legs come back, and even if my mind’s reeling, I can run. I push pass Grayson, sprinting down the hall, skipping down the stairs.