Touching Down(5)

“My answer was no the first time you offered. My answer was no seven years ago when you offered again. My answer’s no right now. How many more times are you going to ask before you figure out that I’m not interested in a relationship with you?”

It was childish and immature, but I grinned up at the night sky.

“Who said we need to be in some kind of committed relationship to fuck?” she said, laughing a few soft notes.

“Clearly, you don’t know anything about the man you’re propositioning.” Grant’s footsteps creaked across the porch again, but I couldn’t tell if he was moving away from her or toward her. It almost made me want to sit up to find out, but I stayed where I was. “Please, don’t ask me again, Bridget.”

“This isn’t about her still, is it? The little bitch who left you without so much as a ‘so long’?”

Grant’s footsteps stopped suddenly. “This has nothing to do with her. This has to do with you. And this is my answer. Again.” He paused just long enough to make the silence uncomfortable. “No.”

A moment later, the back door screamed open, followed by the sound of Grant disappearing inside before slamming the door. Bridget hung out on the back porch for a good while after that, managing to polish off half a pack of smokes, before going back inside.

It was getting colder, so I drifted inside a couple of minutes later, not sure what to think of the conversation I’d just overheard. I wondered why he’d turned her down, if it was because he had someone else in his life now, or if he truly wasn’t into the idea of boning Bridget Plummer. Even though I might have wanted to claw the woman’s eyes out a few times in my life, I could get why a guy would want to bone her. A lot. Especially no-commitment-required boning.

After that, I had a full-circle moment of realizing how ridiculous I was being for giving this topic so much thought. Whoever Grant chose to be with didn’t concern me anymore.

At least that was the story I was attempting to sell myself as I wove through the house. For some reason, it felt like the crowd had only grown since I’d shown up. Seeing how many people had turned out for Aunt May’s funeral was great, although the skeptic in me wondered how many were here because word had spread that the New York Storm’s Grant Turner was here.

The music was still pumping through the house, and it looked like someone had called in a huge order of pizza because people were staggered around pizza boxes, drinks in hand, as the vibe of the party turned more joyful than mournful. I stopped in front of the fireplace, where a picture of Aunt May sitting on her front porch with her front door wide open had been set beside the urn containing her remains. As I examined her picture, I saw that she’d aged in the years after I left, but her eyes were still young and full of life.

“I’m sorry I left the way I did,” I said to her picture, swallowing as I stared at the first friendly face I’d known in life. “But now you know why I did it. Why I had to leave. Now you know.” My hand molded around the base of the urn. “If you have any suggestions for how I can explain it to him, I’m all ears. You always had good advice for me, and I could really, really use some now.” My fingers brushed down the urn. “I hope you’re enjoying your funeral. I hope you know how much you meant to me. How much you gave to me.” My voice caught in my throat, so I had to clear it to get out the last bit. ‘This is all for you, Aunt May.” After waving at the packed room, where smiling faces shared memories of the special lady we were remembering tonight, I slipped down the hall in search of a quieter spot.

Cruz was back in the kitchen, talking with some people I remembered from The Towers. He waved me over, but I shook my head and kept going. I needed to be alone. Again. Not even five minutes after being alone for an hour on the back lawn. This whole night had been more daunting than I’d guessed. And I hadn’t even confronted Grant yet.

Thankfully people had stopped staring at me like I was leading the race for the top spot on their shit lists, but I could still feel the heaviness of accusation following me around the house. Pushing on the handle of the first door I reached down the hall, I slipped inside the room and had the door shut and locked a second later.

Leaning into the door, I closed my eyes and attempted to regain my breath. I hated feeling weak. Especially here, where I’d never felt weaker, and the same place I’d learned to be strong.

Maybe this wasn’t the right place to do this. Maybe I just had to figure out another way to confront Grant. Maybe . . .

When I opened my eyes, I let out a little yelp, surprised to find I wasn’t the only person who’d barricaded themselves in Aunt May’s bedroom.