fresh start.”
For the thousandth time, he melts me with that perfect grin.
“You’re welcome, darlin’.” Then he plants a quick kiss on my lips. “Remind me later to show you how much I’ve grown up since I starred in baby commercials.”
We aren’t late to the party after all.
The candles are a hit, the hyper little girls love racing each other to blow them out, and later they chatter among themselves, helping scoop wax out of the cups so they can take them home for their own tea parties.
While parents are picking up their children, I bag up the trash and carry it out the back door. As I’m dropping the bag in the trash, something on the ground catches my attention.
Bile burns my throat.
A half-smoked cigar, probably something left by one of the guys, but it’s the smell that gets me.
I squeeze my eyes shut, memories already hitting like a current pulling me under.
The smell when I entered the house. The pain of him grabbing me. The ashes.
A sob has me gasping, fighting, trying to breathe.
I just—
Hands clap my shoulders, and my body jolts to get them off.
A scream tears out of me.
“Hey! Hey, I didn’t mean to scare you.”
Ridge’s voice penetrates the darkness.
I gasp for air, shaking, panic coiled tight around my throat like an angry snake.
He turns me around to stare into his gentle blue eyes. “Grace? Goddammit it, what’s wrong? What happened?”
I grab his waist and bury my face in his chest, blocking out everything but him.
“You’re all right, sweetheart.” His voice resonates with deep command, strong enough to break through the adrenaline storm in my blood.
Slowly, my breathing eases, and I lift my head.
“I...I’m fine,” I strangle out.
“Like hell you are.” He cups my face with both hands, his eyes locked with mine. “You’re as white as a sheet and trembling. Tell me what happened. A panic attack?”
I glance at the ground, the cigar, and jerk my face away.
The whole world is just spinning.
“The cigar?” He forces me to look at him again, bending over for a better look at the ground. “Tyler’s dad came out here to smoke so it wouldn’t stink up the garage.”
I nod. Swallow. Close my eyes to ground myself.
“Come on,” he says, wrapping an arm around me. “We’re leaving.”
“No, I’m okay. Really.”
He kisses me slowly, softly, tenderly.
He drowns me in those lips that are too good at saying so much without words.
“Darlin’, the party’s over,” he whispers as his lips leave mine. “Time for us to go home. Amy insisted on handing me a check with your name on it.”
After another firmer passionate kiss, he leads me inside.
I don’t even have it in me to argue.
I’m thankful for Ridge, thankful for his kiss, knowing it helps put color back in my face, making me look like a functioning human being again as we say our goodbyes.
With a few more quick words and a thanks for Amy, we head home. He talks about the party, the cute little things Cody did that I missed.
I listen quietly, knowing he’s trying to make me feel better, get my mind off the unmentionable.
It does, but...
I can’t.
Just can’t get the smell of that cigar out of my mind and how much it reminds me of that freak, the day he did the unspeakable.
And the bitter realization sets.
As long as Clay Grendal lives and breathes as a free man, I’ll always have his hellish memories holding me down.
At the house, I see Dad sitting on the front porch of the cabin, and the reality of what I did hits.
Actually, what I didn’t do.
I tell Ridge I’m going to go lie down in my room for a bit to clear my head.
In my room, I go to the window and see Ridge talking to Dad.
My stomach sinks into a black pit.
Dad doesn’t know what happened that night, a couple months ago, while it was just me at the house. I think he’d gone to a nearby farm to buy hay and alfalfa for Rosie and Stern.
I turn away from the window as the tears come, fast and furious.
If only I’d been stronger that night, if I’d used Dad’s gun to...
No. It wouldn’t have changed anything, really, minus getting me killed.
But sometimes, I’d rather be dead than have to live with what that wolverine of a man did.
Somehow, I stumble to bed, curl into a ball, trying harder to keep everything locked inside.
If I don’t, I’ll hate myself even more.
Hate myself for not putting an end to it all when