Grip Trilogy Box Set - Kennedy Ryan Page 0,167

brother’s distance all mock me, reminding me that no one in my family ever wanted me as badly as I wanted them.

I look at Grip’s mother frankly, openly, a small smile pulling at my lips.

“I was so nervous coming here today,” I tell her, my voice barely clearing a whisper. “I wanted you to like me. I didn’t want to say or do the wrong thing to offend you, but now I understand that it isn’t about anything I say or do. You’re offended by who I am, by the things I can’t change about myself. As I listened to you, I heard a pain that, you’re right, I’ve never experienced. And for a moment, I said maybe they’re right. Maybe Grip does need to be with someone like Qwest, but that was only for a moment.”

I lift my chin, will it not to wobble, and will my words not to shake.

“Grip told me he wanted you to meet the real Bristol. Well, the real Bristol doesn’t give up on the people she loves.” I shrug, biting the inside of my jaw and blink rapidly, but a tear still escapes down my cheek even though I swipe at it impatiently. “I don’t know how to. I can’t stop loving your son. You wonder if I’ll leave him. I won’t, and if he leaves me he knows I’ll probably chase him.”

I allow myself to glance at Grip, but his familiar grin is not there. His eyes are sober, and I can’t gauge his thoughts.

“And Qwest may understand where Grip is from, where he’s been, better than I do. I can work on that. I will work on that.” I look back to Ms. James. “But I know where he’s going, and wherever he’s going, I’m going with him. So, you and I should get used to each other because I’ll be around.”

I call on the impeccable manners of Miss Pierce’s Finishing School.

“Thank you again for a lovely dinner, Ms. James,” I say. “If you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll wait in the car.”

I brush past Grip, who’s probably going to skin me alive for talking to his mother that way. I rush down the short hall decorated with pictures of Grip from infanthood through high school, through the living room, down the cracked pavement, and to the car. When I yank the door handle, I realize my grand exit can only be so grand with the doors locked.

I’m not sure if Grip will be another five minutes or twenty, but I’m determined not to go back in there, even though I fidget when a few neighbors stare at me leaning against the passenger door. He emerges almost immediately, swift strides eating up the space between the black- barred door to the Range Rover. His face is grim as he clicks the remote to open the car. I scramble to get in and away from any prying eyes. Grip climbs behind the wheel, draws and releases a deep breath, and pulls away from the curb without looking my way once. The quiet is killing me slowly, like Chinese water torture, but with drops of silence.

“Grip, I—”

“Don’t.” His voice comes husky and heavy. “Not yet.”

I swallow my hurt. People say they want the real you, but when you give it to them, they reject you. I should know that by now. I’ve encountered it all my life, but I hoped it would be different with the man I loved. And I do love Grip. He can be angry with me. He can give me the silent treatment. He can try to shut me out, but there’s no way he’s getting rid of me. He thinks he loves me? He hasn’t met a love like mine. My love is Pandora’s box. Grip snapped my hinges and pried me open. He let this love out. My love has a wild streak. Good luck trying to tame it.

I didn’t pay attention on the way here, but I do recognize we’re not getting on the 5. Just two minutes from his mother’s, Grip pulls behind a building that seems completely abandoned.

He’s quiet, eyeing his hands on the wheel. I brace myself for his anger, his displeasure. I don’t know what I expect to see when he finally glances over at me, but it isn’t the look on his face. A look that says he loves me. A look that says he’s proud of me. He says so much with just a look, but I want the words.