20. Grayson

Chapter 20

Grayson

W hen I was a kid, my mom took her wedding ring off a lot. Before swimming, doing the dishes, even riding her bike. It was diamond, the most durable stone, but she treated it as if it were as delicate as glass. Yet, I'd notice her holding her hand out and watching it sparkle in the light. I didn't understand how she could love it yet hardly wear it.

Macy reminds me of my mother's ring. She's a diamond I want to keep tucked in a drawer because I'm afraid I'll ruin everything. It's not illogical. It's a simple truth.

I don't know what I'm doing when it comes to Macy. I wanted to hang on to happiness so bad that I put off telling her the most important truth, and now, telling her would ruin everything good between us, because I waited too long. I pretended for too long. I lied for too long.

I watch her leave and disappear to her house. I try to busy myself by reading, but my mind is next door, wondering if she's okay. But she's strong. As durable as my mother's precious stone.

Forty-five minutes later, I'm out the door and crossing the distance between her and I. As promised, Macy's house is unlocked. I let myself in to find four sets of eyes staring back at me.

Macy, her parents, and Wally— or whatever his name is —sit at the dinner table, eating the meal she made. It smells heavenly. The only person who isn't eyeing me like I'm an intruder is Macy. God, she's so beautiful.

"Mr. and Mrs. Brookes!" I say in a cheery voice that sounds foreign to me. I remove my shoes and set them neatly by the front door. I'm using every bit of willpower not to slam my fist into Wally's confused expression. I shake her father's hand, who has a firm grip. I attempt to do the same with her mother, but her eyes snag on my features. "I'm Grayson," I say. It takes her a moment to shake my hand.

I take the empty seat at the head of the table, right across from Macy. "Smells delightful," I tell her, trying to ease the tension I can clearly see in her shoulders. I would go over to her and massage them if it was deemed appropriate.

"Grab a plate." Her lips pull taut in an attempt to smile, but it looks more like she's baring her teeth. It takes everything in me not to glance at Wally, who's eying us and gripping his fork in my peripheral vision. It feels as though he's seconds from shoving the prongs into my carotid. Exactly as planned.

I take a paper plate from the stack on the table and fill it with Macy's spaghetti and meat sauce. I lock eyes with her as I blow on a forkful.

Her mother clears her throat. "Who's this?" She aims the question to her daughter.

"This is Grayson. I told you he would be joining us."

"And how do you two know each other?"

"He was at my layover in New York. It turns out he lives next door." She forces herself to laugh. "I invited him for dinner tonight, but I didn't realize we'd have more guests."

I feel Wally's gaze on me, and this time, I finally meet his eyes, as though I'm only just now noticing him. "Oh, I'm sorry. Macy didn't mention she had a brother," I say earnestly.

His nostrils flare. "I'm her fiancé," he bites out rudely, which causes Macy's dad to whip his head in his direction. Wally clears his throat and steels his expression. "My girl is too polite to ask you to leave, but this is a family dinner." His eyes set on the front door, as if he could will me to exit.

"If I wanted someone to leave, I'd say it to their face," Macy says. Silence and tension stretch across the room.

"Hey, the more the merrier. Right, Walter?" her father says, which the moron tenses at.

I bite back a grin.

Macy claps once. "Dig in. The food's going to get cold."

Wally glares at me while we eat. Macy doesn't look away from her plate. Her mom's eyes linger on my features for too long, while her dad looks at ease.

Once my plate is clean, I say, "Thank you for cooking, Mace. This was delicious."

Her eyes meet mine and it's as though an invisible string wraps around my heart.

"Mace?" Walter says with disdain. "What is she, pepper spray?" He looks around the room for someone to agree.

The only sound is the squeak of my chair sliding against the floor as I stand to take her parent's plates. I lean over to grab Macy's, inhaling sweet vanilla. I take Wally's last, and he's the only one who doesn't say thank you. I toss them in the trash and take my seat once again. "You have a lovely daughter," I say to her parents, straying from our plan, which causes Macy to tense.

I selfishly want to talk to them, and Macy is my favorite subject.

"She's something," her mom says, which has Macy rolling her eyes.

"She is," I say. "You know—" I chuckle. "When we were at the airport, she bought coloring books for two kids whose flight was canceled, so they wouldn't stress their mother out." I meet her eyes then. "She already had her own stress to deal with, with her flight getting canceled too. I realized quickly that she's selfless and kind." I grin. "She has a way with words, your daughter." I smile and it's not for show anymore. "I have one book left until I finish them all." I feel flecks of gold pouring over me. Macy's gaze is akin to the way I find myself looking at her most of the time. "Though, I'm sure you've already read them all," I say to Wally.

"Of course, I have."

"So, you read the one where a girl finds her ex-fiancé with thirty-six stab wounds?" I ask, completely making it up. It's not far off from the fantasies I have swirling around when it comes to him.

"I said I read them all, didn't I?" he sneers.

"What's it called again?" I ask.

He opens and closes his mouth.

Macy clears her throat, pretending to look hurt. Or maybe she really is. "You haven't read them," she states.

"Don't lie in front of your parents, sweetheart."

"Why would I write a book about someone getting stabbed? I don't write murder mystery." She scoffs. "Do you even know the genre I write in?"

"Why are you quizzing me all the sudden? And who is this asshole to question me?" He points to me. This is all going so well. I nearly grin.

"Answer the question, Walter. What genre does my daughter write?" her dad says, the friendly tone absent from his voice.

Wally gives him a smug smile when he answers. "Fiction."

"What kind of fiction, specifically?" Macy asks.

When he doesn't answer, I steal a glance from her dad, who is narrowing his eyes on her ex-fiancé. "Do we need to step outside, son? Because if I'm hearing this correctly, you haven't been supportive of my daughter's career, and now you're lying, and that certainly won't do."

Macy's eyes widen in shock, and based on her reaction, I'm assuming her dad's never spoken to someone like that before.

"I—I'm just so busy at work, you know how it is. Gotta keep a roof over this one's head." He reaches under the table to grab Macy's hand, who quickly pulls it away. She sets her palm flat on the table.

"You think I'm not aware that my daughter bought that house? Cut the crap."

Her mom's looking at Wally like she's in denial. Like everything she believed about her daughter's perfect fiancé is crumbling to pieces and she doesn't want to accept it.

"Did you ever tell them how you proposed to their daughter?" I ask, leaning back and crossing my legs at the ankles.

His jaw ticks. "Of course," he says slowly, like this entire conversation is ridiculous. "They know I did it at the top of a Ferris wheel."

"I thought you said you proposed on top of a mountain," her mom says.

"I think I'd remember my own engagement." He laughs.

"I remember the mountain story too," her dad says. Can't even remember his own lies.

Macy's eyes are on the table, shoulders pulling forward, and I immediately feel like an idiot. She hates the story of their true proposal. I wish I didn't bring it up.

"Enough," she snaps, eyes flaming. "Walter's biggest crime wasn't that he never read my books or even that I found out he's been cheating on me." She looks at her parent's angry, awestruck expressions and says, "He treats me no better than a piece of gum stuck to the bottom of his shoe, and when I told you guys that I broke off our engagement, you sided with him ." She points to the pathetic excuse for a man, who looks like he's about to defecate himself. "The fact that you brought him here—" She shakes her head, full of anger. But I see through her mask. Beneath it, she's hurt. "I shouldn't need to tell you about the gruesome details for you to support me. Yet, here we all are, in the uncomfortable position you put me in." She gets up and leaves, disappearing to her bedroom.

Her father's face is beet red when he says to Walter, "Get the hell out of my house."

Wally opens and closes his mouth, then looks at Macy's mom for backup. Her nostrils flare, which is the only tell that she's pissed. She points to the door, and whatever guard she held up crumbles. She's livid when she says, "If I ever see you again, so help me God, I might kill you." I guess I'm not the only one who's murderous when it comes to Macy.

The asshole gets up to leave, but not before he knocks his cup over, spilling water all over me like a child throwing a temper tantrum. He slams the front door behind him, and several moments go by, the only sound are our angry breaths.

"I'll leave you to talk to your daughter," I say, and then follow Wally out the front door.