Grip Trilogy Box Set - Kennedy Ryan Page 0,301

and see all the things no one else knows about Bristol. I see all the ways she’s vulnerable and never lets on, all the things she ached for growing up but never received. I’m amazed by this girl’s capacity to love. She learned early on to reach out first, constantly asking for love from her parents, and even from Rhyson. She was, and many times still is, the one holding her family together, even when they don’t want to be. Even though my mother rejected her at first, she has been reaching out to her every chance she’s gotten. I grab my mother’s mimosa, knocking it back and washing away the emotion burning my throat. I’m not crying—not yet.

I kiss Ma’s cheek at the door, studiously ignoring the sheen of tears in her eyes. If I look too closely, I’ll see all the sacrifices she made, all the hardships she endured for me to have not just this day, but most of the other good things in my life. With promises to see her at the ceremony, I rush to the elevator, determined to see Bristol before everyone gathers at the small stacked stone chapel where we’ll exchange our vows. Fuck tradition. She won’t be in her wedding dress yet—is there a specific rule about seeing your bride naked before the ceremony?

No? Thought not.

I step into the elevator, stopping short when I come face to face with the last person on earth I expected to see in Aspen for my wedding . . . unless this is a weird coincidence and he’s here for something else.

“Iz.” I blink stupidly at him leaning against the wall in the corner. “What are you doing here?”

He shifts his feet, a quick frown jerking his brows together.

“Well, I . . . ” He shoves his hands into the pockets of his dark jeans. “I heard you were getting married.”

I level a knowing look on him.

“We went to a lot of trouble to make sure that no one ‘just hears’ we’re getting married, so I doubt that.”

“Maybe my invitation got lost in the mail,” Iz offers with a half-smile.

“They were digital.”

“Spam?”

“Nope.” I narrow my eyes at him. “I didn’t send you an invitation, and you know why.”

“I know you didn’t.” He glances at his boots with their light dusting of snow. “Bristol did.”

I’m completely silent while I process this information. I don’t know if I’m pleased, angry, confused, or something else altogether. While I’m figuring that out, Iz goes on.

“You’re right,” he says. “She is wiser than we are. I kept going back to that passage she highlighted and had me sign in my book. I must have read it a hundred times, seeing it through her eyes.”

“Is that so?” I lift a skeptical brow.

“Yeah, it is.” A slow smile pulls at his mouth, making him look younger, less the sober academic. “I haven’t changed my mind about why most Black men who choose white women do it, but I’ve changed my mind about you and Bristol. I don’t believe a white woman can ever really understand the struggle of a Black man in America, but I was married to a Black woman who understood the struggle but never understood me.”

I’ll have to ask him for the full story one day. From what I’ve ascertained, there were transgressions on both sides, and definitely regret on his.

“Bristol may not understand the struggle,” he continues, “but she understands you. She loves you unconditionally—I’ve seen it— and in a world as hard as ours, unconditional love goes a long way.”

His smile melts like the snow topping the mountains that left me awestruck just minutes ago.

“I would say having Bristol makes you a very lucky man, Grip.” The elevator dings, signaling that I’ve reached the top floor where

I know Bristol’s room is.

“This is me.” I step out, but at the last minute, insert my arm to stop the doors from closing. “Hey. Thanks for coming, Iz. It, uh . . . well, thanks.”

He nods, and with one last look, I allow the doors to close. If I wanted to see her before, now the urgency to see her, to remind myself that in just a few hours, we’ll be husband and wife, burns through me. If I needed affirmation that I was doing the right thing—which I really didn’t—I’ve had it in this morning’s encounters with my mom and with Iz.

I rap my knuckles against the door a few times. When there’s no answer, I knock a little harder.