Grace (The Family Simon Book 5) Read online

  She checked her phone to see if he’d left a message, but the stupid thing was dead so Grace headed downstairs. Undecided, she took a trip to the back of the house again and peered outside, her stomach lurching when she spied lights on inside the barn.

  “There you are,” she murmured. Rosie barked and Grace stepped back from the window. She glanced at the dog. “Okay. I’m going.”

  She followed Matt’s footprints through the snow and paused at the door. Her stomach churned, her face was hot, and she felt more than a little sick. She couldn’t let her nerves get the best of her. Too much was at stake.

  She opened the door, walked inside, and immediately found Matt. He was in the far corner, past the cars, where his workout equipment was. And was he ever working out.

  Wearing only a pair of shorts and looking like a professional boxer, he punched a bag over and over. Methodically. Hard. Each slam of his fist against the bag was a loud, dull, thud, and Grace winced as he continued to hit it.

  She made her way toward him and stopped a few feet away. Sweat gleamed across his shoulders and back as he grunted with each punch, and as seconds turned into minutes, the punches became harder. More violent. And the guttural noises he made with each swing scared her.

  “Matt,” she said softly, taking a step toward him.

  But he didn’t respond. He kept hitting the bag and that’s when she spied flecks of blood on the floor.

  “Jesus, Matt. What the hell are you doing to yourself?” Grace took another step and spied his earbuds. Shoot. He couldn’t hear her. He pounded the bag again—so hard that she winced—and the sounds he made were awful.

  Tears sprang to her eyes. Grace couldn’t stand the sound of his pain. She took the last few steps just as he let go another flurry of hits, but waited to tap his shoulder until he was done.

  “Matt,” she whispered.

  He whipped around so fast she had no time to react and his right fist clipped Grace’s shoulder, sending her to the ground. Her head slammed against the concrete floor and for a moment she saw nothing but stars—heard nothing but white noise.

  And then the pain. Holy. The pain. Blinking rapidly, she tried to get up, but it was impossible on account of Matt who, swearing a blue streak, fell to his knees beside her.

  “Goddammit, Grace. What the hell? Are you okay?” His hands were everywhere, touching her face, her shoulder, and then gently feeling the back of her head. “Shit,” he muttered. “I don’t know what happened…I didn’t mean…” His hands dropped to her arm and he looked so lost…so very lost that Grace’s heart turned over.

  She struggled to sit and winced because the pain along her skull was sharp. “Matt.” She blew out a long, shaky, breath. “It’s okay. It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have snuck up on you like that.”

  He sat back on his haunches, his chest heaving, and she glanced down at the hand that still held her prisoner. His knuckles were raw and swollen, with fresh blood oozing from the punishment they’d been given. She reached for him, running her fingers across his damaged hand.

  “What have you done?” she whispered, glancing up into his eyes. The pain she saw was incredible. It was big and raw and so intense that she dropped his hand and cupped his face. “Matt. What…why are you like this? What happened?”

  His gaze swept away and the muscles on his shoulders stretched, the sinewy skin rippling—she knew he was strung as tight as an elastic.

  “You were gone,” he said simply. His voice was rough, and she knew it was hard for him to speak. “I came back and you were gone.”

  Grace felt bad. She did. But he had to know the reasons. He had to know why she’d left.

  She got to her knees and pulled him closer. So close that she could count the thick lashes that framed his beautiful eyes.

  “Look at me, Matt.”

  He took a second or two, but he looked her in the eye and made no effort to hide his pain.

  “I was hurt. You shut me out this morning. You shut me out after one of the most incredible nights I’ve ever spent with someone. You just…” She had to push away the lump in her throat. “It felt like I meant nothing to you. That what we shared was nothing.”

  He shook his head and opened his mouth, but Grace pressed her fingers to his lips. “Let me, okay? That woman. That Delilah. She means something to you. And I don’t expect you to reveal all your deep dark secrets to me. Not yet. Not when we’re just trying to figure things out.” She had to stop. Had to gather her thoughts so that when they spilled out of her mouth they’d make sense.

  “You said you wanted us to know each other. You said that we’d try, but Matt, you’re not trying. You’re not and I…I don’t want to feel like I’m in this alone. I want to know you. I want to know why you’re so hurt. And I want you to know me. Maybe if…” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Maybe if we’re lucky or if it’s meant to be, we’ll get past all this stuff and we can figure out the future together.”

  Oh. God. Had she said too much? Given too much away?

  He didn’t flinch at her words or look away. In fact he moved closer until only a breath separated them.

  “There’s a lot of shit, Grace. A hell of a lot of stuff that you don’t know.”

  “I don’t care.”

  “You should.” His voice was full of pain and she shook her head viciously—so much so that pain fell across her in waves and she winced.

  “Don’t push me away, Matt. Let me in.” His mouth was so close—too close—and she swept a small kiss across his lips, holding him close with her hands. “Don’t you want to let me in?”

  He nodded—didn’t speak—but that was enough for Grace. She groaned and claimed his mouth once more. This time kissing him with all the passion and want and need that pulsed in her body. She kissed him until she had to stop because she couldn’t breathe—because she felt as if she was coming apart.

  He gazed into her eyes and she wondered if he saw what it was that made her chest so tight she could barely speak. She wondered if he knew how much she loved him. If he knew that the unspoken words were alive inside her, waiting for the right moment. Waiting for her to not be afraid.

  “Come on,” she whispered. “Let’s go.”

  Matt got to his feet. She grabbed a fresh cloth from a pile on the counter and ran it under warm water. Then she carefully cleaned the blood from his hands. First one and then the other. His fists looked brutal and her bottom lip quivered.

  “I’m good,” Matt said. He grabbed her chin and forced her to look up at him. “You’re back, so I’m good.”

  “Okay.”

  He slipped his hand into hers and without grabbing his coat or anything else, the two of them walked back to the house. Grace let Rosie out while Matt grabbed her bag and headed upstairs to shower. It wasn’t particularly late, but she was exhausted and once she had Rosie settled, Grace joined him.

  She walked into the shower and let the hot water wash over her as she pressed her cheek against his chest.

  “Thank you,” Matt said quietly.

  She looked up at him. “For what?”

  “For being here.” He held her tightly, his hard body trembling under the water.

  There was no big confession. No big reveal. Grace still had no idea who Delilah was. Still had no idea what the demons were that he faced, or rather the demons that he’d left behind. But as the hot water washed over the two of them, she was content to bathe in the tenuous connection that they did have. There was truth in that connection. She felt it. She knew it was worth something.

  And for now that was enough.

  24

  The plan was to head up north by noon. Matt checked his watch. They were going to be late.

  “It’s not Matthew’s fault.” Dory slipped out of her boots, a pained expression on her face as she attempted a smile. “Only my sister would find a way to ruin a day that isn’t even half over.”

  Grace held out her arm toward the elderly woman. “Don’t worry about it. We’re not on a schedule
.”

  Matt did a double take. They might not be on a schedule, but Grace seemed pretty adamant they reach Gravenhurst by seven. At the latest. Those three words had come out of her mouth more than once this morning.

  “I’ll get our stuff into the truck.”

  They didn’t have much—one bag between the two of them—and once he was done he returned to the kitchen. The fact that he was sharing a bag—a weekender bag—was a new thing for Matt, and he thought it damn lucky none of the guys were here to witness the monumental event. A) because they’d chirp him ‘til the cows came home and, B) the damn weekender was black and, what had Grace called it? Periwinkle.

  It was blue if he had anything to say about it. Or maybe purple. Either of those was better than periwinkle. What the hell kind of color was that anyway? And who the hell called a bag a weekender? Wasn’t a bag just a damn bag?

  Women were complicated. Everything they touched was complicated.

  Dory sat on the sofa with one of Rosie’s babies in her arms, and Grace sat cross legged on the floor beside Mama Rosie, the smallest puppy wriggling crazily and trying to lick her face. She laughed, that full-on belly laugh that made him smile, and then rolled onto her side. The puppy went with her, jumping up and down while still trying to reach her face.

  She tickled his round belly and scooped him back up, snuggling against the little guy’s face.

  The women didn’t know he was there and Matt was content to watch them. There was something simple and easy and sweet about these two together. If Betty Jo were here, he’d have all the women who meant anything to him, in one place.

  For a lone wolf, he was surprisingly okay with that.

  “Have you named any of them yet?” Dory asked Grace, chuckling as her little puppy attempted to stick its tongue in her ear.

  Grace shook her head. “No. But this little guy reminds me of my papa’s dog. The one he had when I was little. We called him Rookie.”

  “Rookie? That’s an interesting name.”

  “I have no idea what the story was behind that dog’s name. I can only tell you that my papa was a southerner and when it comes to names, they don’t always make sense.”

  “Ah, yes.” Dory set the puppy down and giggled. “Your middle name is Bluebell if I remember correctly.”

  “Bluebell.” Grace got to her feet. “That name was responsible for me getting pantsed more times than I care to admit.” She spied Matt. “Oh. I didn’t see you there.”

  He walked over to Grace, eyes taking in every inch of her. Dressed casually in butt-hugging denim, a white camisole, and a deep navy cardigan, her hair loose and hanging in soft waves down her back—she was everything he wanted.

  “Anyone tries to pants you, has to deal with me.”

  “Well, Mr. Hawkins.” She handed him the pup. “Where were you when I was in the third grade?”

  A world away from you.

  It was a sobering thought. A truth that she refused to see. They came from different worlds. Hell, he was in another galaxy altogether. And she didn’t know the half of it.

  Just this morning he’d left forty-five minutes earlier than he’d had to in order to drive by the hotel in town before heading over to Dory’s place. He’d wanted to make sure Delilah was gone. The fact that her SUV wasn’t there didn’t make him feel as relieved as he would have liked. He just hoped she’d headed back to Arizona.

  None of his past was resolved and that feeling in his gut, the one that told him something big was coming down the pike, wouldn’t let up. It was a constant reminder that everything he’d been running from was circling back. That one day the ghosts from his past would catch up to him—Delilah was proof enough of that—and when they did, the collateral damage would be substantial.

  Did he really want Grace caught up in that mess? Did anyone deserve the kind of shit-storm that surrounded him?

  Isn’t that why he’d always been alone? Isn’t that why he’d never bothered with putting the toilet seat down, or moving a pink toothbrush aside? Hell, the other day he’d spent ten minutes picking up underwear that was pink and frilly. And a periwinkle weekender bag? Periwinkle. Weekender. Two words a guy should never have to utter.

  What the hell was happening to him?

  “Hey, why are you looking so glum?” Her eyes searched his and Matt gave himself a mental smack. He shut his shit down and attempted a smile.

  “I’m good.” He glanced at Dory. “We should probably get going. You know, if you want to make it there by seven.”

  “You two kids go along now. I’ll look after Rosie and her babies.”

  Matt had done away with the pen, giving Rosie and her pups free reign of the back of the house. They were getting better at using the papers for their ‘duties’ and Rosie had more room.

  “Good. The rest of the house is blocked off so they won’t wander anywhere they shouldn’t. And Rosie is doing a lot better. She can get around on her own. The vet, Travis, will be along in the next day or so to check on them and I left a note with his contact information in case you need to get hold of him.”

  Dory shuffled over and slipped her arms around him. “You go and have a wonderful time with Grace and her family. Luke is coming to get me tomorrow for turkey dinner and he’ll bring me back.”

  “He better,” Matt said roughly. “Or I’ll kick his ass when I get back.”

  “You’d have to get in line, Mathew.” Dory pulled away. “Now go. I’m going to relax with a book and a cup of tea.”

  “You ready?”

  Grace was slipping into her coat. Her eyes sparkled and her cheeks were rosy. “I am.”

  He knew this meant a lot to her. So, even though he’d never been the kind of guy a girl would bring home for the holidays, he was willing to put up with it for her.

  The fact that his best pal Betty Jo Barker would be there as well was a bonus.

  They said their goodbyes and headed out. The weather was perfect for this time of year. A bit of lake effect snow, but nothing that stuck and the roads were well sanded. They crossed the Canadian/US border with no issues and made good time heading up north.

  Grace had an eclectic love of music and her phone had everything from Garth Brooks and Johnny Cash, to Ella Fitzgerald, The Eagles, Eminem and Tool. It was mind boggling, really, but it helped pass the time and other than some traffic issues around the Toronto area, they sailed through.

  He pulled into a gas station in Gravenhurst at exactly six forty-five.

  “Can’t we make it to the house? It’s only five minutes from here.” Grace peered into the dark. “Do we really need to stop?”

  “I’m running on fumes, Bluebell. Give me five minutes.”

  It took more than five minutes. The pump was having issues and wouldn’t accept his credit card, and then he had to wait for the vehicle in front of him before he could move to the next one. All in all, it was a ten-minute adventure and Grace was literally jumping up and down in the truck when he slid back inside.

  “It’s almost seven,” she said.

  “Yeah. I got that.” Matt pulled onto the road. “Is there anything I need to know about seven o’clock?”

  She hesitated. “Not really.”

  “That doesn’t sound exactly promising.”

  “It’s just…” She sighed. “My family is pretty rigid. We have traditions and things that we’re expected to do and…”

  “Just what the hell am I walking into?”

  But she didn’t answer. “There it is.” Grace slapped his arm. “There’s my house.”

  Matt whistled. “That’s a damn nice lake house.”

  Grace had her door open before he’d got the truck to a stop and she ran like the wind, twisting between the menagerie of parked cars as she ran to the house. Everything from an old beat up Ford, to a Land Rover and a Mercedes.

  He grabbed their periwinkle weekender and followed in her footsteps, his long strides eating up the distance in a few seconds. When he reached the door, Matt hesitated. There were voice
s, excited voices. There was laughter, kids babbling and he picked out Grace’s excited chatter.

  It brought a smile to his face. What the hell was she saying?

  He opened the door and walked inside. At first no one paid him any mind, but then a little girl with long, dark hair who looked to be about maybe eight or nine tugged on his arm.

  “I’m Morgan. Who are you?” she asked, twirling a pigtail.

  “Matt.”

  “Are you Matt Simon?”

  “Nope.”

  “I thought you might be another twinner.”

  “Twinner?”

  She nodded. “I’m a twin and my new daddy is a twin.” She tugged on his arm. “Thought maybe you were one too.”

  “I’m not that special.” He paused, searching the room. “I’m with Grace.”

  Her little face lit up and she giggled. “You’re Auntie Grace’s boyfriend.” She turned around and shouted. “Hey, it’s Auntie Grace’s boyfriend.”

  Busted.

  The full brunt of the Simon family interest swung his way, but the only person he saw was Grace. She stood in the middle of them all, eyes sparkling, her face split wide in a huge grin. In her hand, she waved a sparkly pink ribbon.

  “I made it in time to pick our team,” she said excitedly. “We’re pink!”

  Someone snorted. And a few male chuckles joined in.

  Betty Jo and a dark haired woman who looked an awful lot like the little girl who still held onto his hand, joined them. Betty thrust her fist into the air and the other girls made a similar action. “Go pink!” Betty shouted.

  Matt dropped his bag. He didn’t know what was worse. Periwinkle or pink or the fact that he didn’t know what Betty or Grace was talking about.

  Grace beamed at him, her laughing eyes infectious. Go pink, she mouthed. He was guessing he was going to find out.

  25

  The Simon family, in all its extended glory, enjoyed a late buffet-style dinner. Everything from Chinese and Mexican, to good old hamburgers and hotdogs. There was something for everyone’s palette and by the time the food was cleared and dishes done, it was nearly ten.