Grace (The Family Simon Book 5) Page 12

  He scrolled further. Nothing from Grace.

  “You okay?”

  Logan Forest slid onto the stool beside him. “Heard you had a bad game.”

  “You heard right.” Matt frowned. “Where’s Billie? Didn’t you guys have a game on the other pad?”

  He nodded. “We did. She’s not…she’s um…” Logan’s face split open in a wide grin and he swore. “Hell, I know she told her sisters today so I’m pretty sure by Sunday the whole damn town will know. She’s pregnant.”

  Matt whistled and shook Logan’s hand. He slapped him on the back and ordered them each a shot.

  “Just one. I’m only here to pick up some chicken wings. Seems she’s already craving crap food, so she thinks this one is a girl.”

  “Congrats,” Matt said and they downed the tequila.

  Logan slammed the shot glass onto the bar. “We’re excited. Abel’s a handful, but I’m looking forward to another one.”

  Duke came over with a large takeout bag in hand. “On the house, Forest. Congratulations.”

  Logan accepted the bag with a smile. “That’s got to be some kind of record. How’d you find out?”

  “Twitter.”

  “Are you kidding me?” Logan looked shocked.

  Duke chuckled. “Yeah. I am. I heard it from Larry at the bank.”

  Logan turned to Matt, shaking his head. “Who the hell needs Twitter when we have Larry from the bank?”

  With a nod, Logan left and not more than five seconds later, Sasha Armstrong waltzed into the place. She was with a bunch of women, most of them hockey wives, and as soon as she spied Matt, she did a one-eighty and headed right for him.

  Matt scowled. He wasn’t in the mood to deal with Sasha.

  “Good luck with her,” Duke muttered, before moving to the opposite end of the bar.

  Well, shit. Matt glared at the mug of beer he didn’t want. He should just leave. Yep. He was done. He pushed the mug down to Longwood his intention to leave, but Sasha Armstrong had other ideas.

  “Not so fast,” she said sharply. “I want to talk to you.”

  Matt frowned, more than a little annoyed. Totally wasn’t his night. He should have just stayed home.

  “Sasha—“

  “Don’t even bother. You owe me Matt.”

  Matt stared down at the redhead, aware that they were generating the kind of attention that kept a bar hopping, and the local gossips happy. Seth Longwood for one, talked shit more than anyone he knew and the guy was listening with both ears.

  There was a time—not so long ago if he was truthful—when Matt would have told Sasha to beat it and he wouldn’t have thought twice about it. It’s not as if he and Sasha had been a ‘thing’. They’d shared a few drinks and not much else. If she had other ideas, that was on her not him. But as he stared down at her, he noted a few things—her arms were crossed and her stance was aggressive, but that didn’t jive with what he saw in her eyes. What he saw there was hurt. He’d treated her like shit and Sasha was right. He owed her the opportunity to lay into him.

  “All right. Let’s go.” He moved aside and waited.

  “Seriously?”

  He nodded and she shoved past him, heading outside to the abandoned summer patio. White Christmas lights sparkled at them, strung from the beams overhead, and other than a few smokers huddled in the corner, they had the place to themselves.

  Matt waited for Sasha to speak and it didn’t take long.

  “You’re an asshole.”

  Not entirely original, but altogether true.

  “Aren’t you going to say something?” she asked, her face growing red with anger.

  “What do you want me to say, Sasha? I was an asshole. I can’t argue with you there.”

  “I gave up an entire Friday night to watch you play hockey and I don’t even like hockey. And then you left me at this bar without even saying goodbye. Who does that? There’s a certain expectation when you start the night out with someone, and it doesn’t include being abandoned. You went after that Simon girl like a dog in heat and then walked out the back door. How do you think that made me feel?”

  “Look, Sasha. I’m sorry. It was a dick move and I can’t say anything that will make it right.”

  “That’s all you’ve got? One lame-ass attempt at sorry?” She looked like she was going to explode. Sasha threw her hands up into the air and took a step toward him. “You know what? Forget it. I should have listened when my girlfriends warned me about you. They said I’d regret it. Said that you’d screw me and that would be that.”

  She made a sound of disgust. “I’m glad we didn’t get that far.” She paused, her eyes narrowed. “You do know what they say right? What everyone says about the very hot, but very unstable Matt Hawkins?”

  Normally at this point in the conversation, Matt would have told Sasha off and left. What the hell did he care what people thought?

  “They say that you’re the biggest man-whore in the state of Michigan. They say that you don’t give a shit about anyone but yourself. That you’re all about your buddies and having a good time. That you have sex with women and then throw them away like trash. I just thought…” She shook her head angrily. “I just thought that maybe they got it wrong. I thought that maybe you’d changed.”

  The smokers edged past them and slipped inside the Grill, but by their backward glances, Matt knew they’d heard the entire conversation.

  Matt had been called out before. Hell, it was usually how each and every hookup he’d ever engaged in, ended. He’d heard it all and been called much worse than asshole. To him, it was all part of the game. He slept with a woman—sometimes more than once. He slept with her until he either lost interest or she expected more. When that happened he broke it off, and that usually led to an exchange of words that never painted Matt in a good light.

  It had never bothered him before—he’d always been upfront. Not once had he ever indicated to any woman that he was interested in more than a few rounds in the bedroom. But right now, in this moment, Sasha’s words bothered him. He gazed up into the night sky and wondered about that. What the hell was happening to him?

  “I feel sorry for her.”

  Matt’s head snapped back to her. “Who?”

  “Grace Simon,” she replied frostily. “Everybody’s talking about how she’s shacked up with you at your place. Which I guess for you is a first. But you and I both know you haven’t changed. You’re still a cold snake and she’s not from around here. She doesn’t know about you. About how you are.” Sasha turned away. “That girl doesn’t stand a chance. Good thing she’s loaded and can afford therapy. After you’re done with her, she’s going to need it.”

  Sasha disappeared back into the pub and left Matt alone in the dark and cold. He stared into nothing for a long, long time. So long that his leg muscles cramped and he had to force himself to move.

  He didn’t head back inside. He fired up his truck and pointed it toward home. A heaviness settled over him as he drove the dark country roads that led to his place. It was a heaviness that was hard for him to decipher. It was a heaviness weighed down with something dark—something black that twisted inside him. Something familiar.

  The thought of spiraling back to where he’d been only a few years ago had him jumping from the truck before it had come to a halt, and taking the stairs two at a time. He didn’t stop running until he got to his bedroom.

  And there she was, twisted in his sheets, all that glorious hair a tangled mess around her creamy shoulders.

  Grace rolled over and sat up. She made no move to cover her bare breasts, and her sleep-filled eyes were round and luminous. She was silent, her gaze fixed on him, her mouth slightly parted, her breathing suddenly rapid.

  For a few moments Matt just took the time to drink her in. And then that part of him he’d thought was dead, that part of him he’d buried years ago, swelled until his chest hurt.

  He didn’t say a word. He tore off his clothes, tossed them on the floor, and
made his way to the bed. By the time he got there, she was on her knees and damn, but she was a sight. Naked and soft and so feminine. Matt knelt in front of her and claimed her mouth. He kissed her hard—a kiss full of passion and anger and something more. Something gentle and soft—something he thought was lost to him.

  He kissed Grace until he couldn’t breathe, until that darkness in him evaporated. As he laid her down and positioned himself between her legs—as he lost himself inside of her—he realized that she was his salvation.

  If he lost her, he would lose himself again. And if that happened, Matt knew he’d never find his way back.

  19

  Grace woke up alone. She had no idea where Matt was, but she could smell him on the sheets. She lingered there for a moment, sliding her cheek across the pillows, not wanting to leave the warmth of the blankets. Not wanting to give up any piece of him, no matter how small.

  Okay. I’m officially a goofball.

  With a groan she rolled over, pushed a chunk of hair from her eyes and gazed around the room. A soft smile curved her lips when she spied Matt’s clothes in piles around the bed. The man had been insatiable the night before, and the aches and pains in her body attested to the fact that their lovemaking had been strenuous, aggressive and—she sighed—wholly satisfying.

  Good God. The things he’d done with his tongue. And that thing he did with his fingers when he pulled her onto her side and then…. She blushed.

  “Whew,” she murmured, sliding from the bed. It was after nine and she quickly got dressed, throwing on a pair of sweats, a T-shirt and the cheap slippers she’d bought in town.

  Not bothering with her hair, Grace made her way downstairs, wondering why it was so quiet. She heard the puppies nursing, their sweet sounds comforting, and spied a plate on the island, along with a note. She padded across the tiles and snatched up the paper, along with a slice of apple before sliding onto the barstool.

  Matt’s penmanship was just like him. Bold. Direct. Neat.

  Enjoy breakfast, Bluebell. I had to head over to Dory’s to turn on her heat. Apparently she and her sister got in a fight, so she’s back from Florida. Not sure when I’ll be back but looking forward to continuing our night. Matt.

  She read the note over again, smiling at Bluebell, and then twirled a pirouette that would make any dance coach proud. Okay. She was beyond goofball now and heading into seriously insane territory.

  Restless, Grace picked at a few more slices of fruit but pushed the plate away. She should have been starving after all the hot sex she’d had, but the few slices of apple were enough to satisfy whatever hunger she felt.

  She wrapped up the pancakes and fruit, made herself a coffee, and after checking on the dogs, wandered over to the large window that looked over the backyard. It was overcast and the skeletal trees that lined the edge of the property looked forlorn. She shivered as a gust of wind shook the window and thought that maybe the fireplace would lend an air of warmth to an already, cold, dull November morning.

  She finished her coffee and was just about to grab some wood from the pile beside the fireplace when Rosie barked and struggled to stand.

  “Hey, there,” Grace murmured, helping the dog up. “Do you need me to take you outside?” She scratched behind her ears. “Is that what’s wrong?” Rosie’s ears pointed forward and she growled softly and barked once more.

  Another gust of wind slammed against the window and, feeling a bit cagey, Grace glanced around the room. Okay. She was alone in a farm house way the hell out in the middle of nowhere. And if by chance some degenerate decided to break in, there was no one to help her. Only a dog with two broken legs and damaged ribs.

  Goose bumps broke out along her forearms and when the doorbell rang, Grace nearly jumped out of her skin. Sweat broke out across her body and, shivering, she got to her feet. Should she answer it?

  She hesitated and then feeling silly took a few steps toward the hall that led to the front of the house. But still she was reluctant to answer the door. She didn’t live here—not technically anyway—and she was just about to turn back thinking she shouldn’t open the door to a stranger—when the bell rang out again, this time accompanied by a banging fist.

  Obviously, someone wanted to see Matt.

  With no choice and feeling more than a little foolish, she jogged down the hallway and opened the door. She wasn’t exactly sure what she expected, but the woman who stood there sure wasn’t it.

  She was older than Matt—maybe early fifties—with long hair dyed a little too dark, and makeup that was a little too harsh for this time of day. On second thought, it was a little too harsh for this decade. Grace had heard somewhere that the lines on a person’s face told the story of their life, and if that was true, then this woman had lived hard and fast.

  The woman frowned as she looked at Grace, her penciled-in eyebrows reminding Grace of the nasty caterpillars that clung to the trees in Florida. Overly dark, they stood out starkly against her pasty white skin. She looked confused and glanced back at her large SUV before turning to Grace. When she spoke her voice was rough—like two packs a day rough.

  “Who are you?” she demanded.

  And on top of that she was rude.

  “Grace.”

  The woman’s frown deepened. “This is Matt Hawkins’ place, right?”

  Grace nodded. “Yes. He’s just not here right now.”

  She swore, something unintelligible and then sighed. “Do you know when he’ll be back?”

  “I’m not sure. Who are you exactly? I can give him a message if you like.”

  She snorted. Or maybe it was some weird kind of laugh. But then the woman was silent for a few awkward seconds. She seemed to be struggling with something and caught Grace off guard when she took a step forward. “I need to use the washroom.”

  If Grace hadn’t gotten out of the way, she was pretty sure the woman would have knocked her over. And probably not cared. What the hell? The whole thing was strange.

  Grace closed the door and pointed to the left. “Powder room’s in there.”

  She didn’t bother removing her boots and Grace ran to the utility room to grab a towel. Seriously. Who was this woman?

  She’d just finished cleaning up the mess in the foyer when the woman came out of the bathroom, patting her hair back, eyes shrewd and intense.

  “You Matt’s girlfriend?” she asked sharply. There was something in her tone that Grace didn’t like. It kind of went along with the look in her eyes as she studied Grace.

  Clutching the now wet towel to her chest (she’d not bothered with a bra) Grace squared her shoulders. Maybe her answer was out of line since she really had no right to call herself girlfriend, but she was going to go with it anyway. “I am, and you are?”

  The lady’s mouth thinned and for that one moment, she didn’t bother hiding her dislike. That startled Grace. She wasn’t used to being hated on sight for reasons unknown.

  “I need to speak with Matt.” The woman was agitated now, and ran bony fingers through the dull, thinning waves at her neck.

  “I understand that,” Grace replied. “But like I said, he’s out at the moment and I’m not sure when he’ll be back.”

  The woman glared at Grace as if she’d done something wrong and cranked her neck to peer around her, toward the back of the house. For whatever reason, Grace didn’t want her back there. That space was Matt’s. It wasn’t meant for this crazy lady’s eyes.

  The woman sidestepped and headed for the kitchen.

  “I’m going to have to ask you to leave,” Grace said, hurrying to catch up to her.

  But the woman didn’t care. Heck, she acted as if Grace wasn’t there, and she whistled when she stepped into the great room.

  “Damn. Mattie’s done well for himself.” She turned in a full circle, eyes darting here and there, touching all of his things with a greedy glint lighting up their pale depths. “Who’d of thought?”

  “Excuse me. I really don’t feel comfortable lettin
g a stranger in this house when Matt’s—“

  The woman’s head whipped around so fast it was a miracle she didn’t snap her neck. “I am not a stranger,” she said, enunciating the words as if she was making some kind of political speech.

  Okay. Grace was just about done with her, and more than a little concerned that she’d allowed a certifiable crazy person into Matt’s home.

  “I’m Delilah.”

  The seconds ticked by and Delilah looked as if she were waiting for Grace to say something. But what did she say?

  “Um, okay, Delilah. I’ll tell Matt you came by and, uh, does he have your contact information?”

  The woman, Delilah, laughed at Grace and then wandered over to the island where she picked up the note Matt had left for Grace.

  “You have no idea who I am, do you?” She glanced down at the note and laughed. “Bluebell? What the hell kind of name is that?”

  That was it. Grace was done. She marched across the room and snatched the note out of the woman’s hand.

  “I don’t know who you and I don’t care. You need to leave and you need to leave now. When Matt gets back, I’ll let him know that you stopped by.”

  Delilah smiled. She made a smacking noise with her lips and then cocked her head to the side. “I can see why he likes you.” She dug in her coat pocket and popped a piece of gum in her mouth. “He’s always had a thing for brunettes.”

  At her wits end, Grace could do nothing but stare at this woman who’d basically forced her way into Matt’s house. Her cellphone was upstairs and she had no idea where the landline was. Front room?

  “It’s all right, darlin,” Delilah said with a wink. “I’m leaving.”

  She took one last look around and then headed toward the front door, with Grace trailing behind her. She opened it and paused. “Tell Matt I was here and it’s real important he come see me. I’m staying in town at the hotel. Tell him I’m not leaving until he does.”

  The woman slammed the door shut and Grace hurriedly locked it. She leaned back, clutching her note and the wet towel she’d used on the floor to her chest.