Chapter 39

First thing in the morning on Sunday, I went to Graham’s place. I didn’t care if his father was there—though I believed him gone since I read the day before he was at a gala in NYC and his car wasn’t in the driveway.

Either way, I was facing Graham.

I rang the bell and waited with no answer.

I was desperate to talk to Graham. I wasn’t leaving until he opened the door and we had a thorough discussion. I didn’t care if I missed community service. I was doing much better by being at Graham’s place than anywhere. There wasn’t much to do, though, seeing as we had no clothes. We could only look around for them, and it was useless. I couldn’t find them. No one could.

I exhaled and rang again.

When no sound came from inside the house, I rang again.

My nerves were getting the best of me.

I was desperate, ready to find the clothes and finish dealing with Graham.

I rang for the fourth time and Graham yelled behind the door, “Calm your tits, I’m coming!”

I decided to ring again, only to aggravate him. He grunted and I fought back a smile.

He pried the door open with a glower and his eyes squinted against the light. His hair was mussed, and his clothes were in disarray. He had just put a shirt on, and it barely covered his stomach. I could see his toned abs. It was unfair how attractive he was. Terrible people should be ugly on the outside too, a warning to steer clear of them.

I realized I’d woken him up with my ringing. He was tired and probably had fallen asleep late the night before. He probably didn’t sleep much. He was a light sleeper.

Something like guilt twisted in my stomach, but I ignored it.

He shouldn’t deserve a peaceful sleep after what he did.

When Graham glanced down at me, his features softened. He wasn’t angry anymore. He blinked like I was a dream, a mirage. After a few seconds, a small smirk curled up on his face. The hairs on my arms stood up.

His eyes wandered from my shoes, up my legs, lingering on my stomach, breasts, and neck before locking gazes with me. He took me all in, pleased and satisfied with what he saw.

I rolled my eyes at the perusal.

“Well, well, well.” He broke the silence. His voice was hoarse and husky. “Did you read my letter and decide we should have a better weekend together?”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “St. Claire.”

“Miller.” He smiled. “How can I help you today?”

I crossed my arms over my chest. “Don’t act like you don’t know why I’m really here.”

He leaned against the door and twisted his arms too. His biceps bulged and my eyes flickered to them before glaring back at him. “My mind is wild, but I’m sure none of the scenarios I’ve dreamed of are the real reason you’re here, unfortunately,” he muttered. “You look angry.”

“I’m furious. Step aside.”

His brows raised, surprised at the command. But he didn’t question and shift. “What’s wrong?”

I ignored him, storming inside, making a beeline to the stairs, and trudging to his bedroom. I had a feeling the clothes were hidden in his house. No one could access them. It was the perfect hiding spot.

When I reached his bedroom, I was invaded by his cologne. Masculine, warm, comforting. I hated that I loved how he smelled.

I clenched my teeth and shook my head. Then I moved to his closet, rummaging through his clothes and growing more desperate each second when I didn’t see any boxes or donated clothes.

I started to throw clothes out, willing the boxes to show up.

There was nothing.

I swirled around when I felt Graham entering the room. He was watching me, leaning against the door. He seemed casual, but he was blocking the exit.

“Graham, where are the clothes?” I demanded, swirling around and pinning him with my glare.

“What clothes?” He seriously was an incredible manipulator, playing dumb.

“The donated clothes. Don’t act confused. They were stolen on Halloween, and we haven’t been able to find them. No one knows who did it, but this has your name written all over it.”

His face cleared.

“This is not ~funny~. These are clothes for people who need them. They have been waiting all year long for this moment to get something new to wear. To cover them in the cold of winter, or they could get sick or die. This ~prank~ went too far. Return them now, St. Claire.”

He shook his head.

“Seriously?” I asked in disbelief. I couldn’t believe he would go to this extent to torture Jacob. To the point that he was hurting others.

“It’s not that. It’s fucking Oliver. He did this.” He rubbed his face, frustrated. “Hold on, let me call him.”

I watched, frozen, as he pushed away from the door and stalked toward the nightstand for his phone. His voice was serious and low as he spoke to Oliver. He sounded like the football team’s captain, demanding control and compliance.

He didn’t allow room for excuses or arguments. He was clear and precise, ordering Oliver to return the clothes at once to the community center.

It was fascinating, watching him. He was very diligent. I could understand why he was captain. It wasn’t only because he was a great player. He sounded like a leader.

When he hung up, his eyes fell shut. He exhaled, sounding exhausted. “Sorry about that.”

I pressed my lips. Now I felt like an asshole for storming into his place like this. The guilt twisting earlier in my stomach resurfaced.

“Thanks for that.” My tone was soft. “How did you know?”

“He threatened to do that when he realized how upset I was when you—when we—” He paused. “I thought he was just kidding.”

I nodded. Then he let out a bitter chuckle.

“What?” I asked, curious.

“I’ve been trying to get you to talk to me, buying you books and chocolate. Leaving you messages. And none of it worked.” His face flattened. “But a shitty thing did work.”

“Please don’t start.”

“I won’t,” he promised. “I’ve been trying to prove to you I’ve changed…”

~I just don’t believe you.~

That was what he left unsaid.

“At this point, I don’t know what to do,” he confessed.

“Just drop it, Graham,” I said. Unlike the other times, my tone was soft. I wasn’t angry, for once. I felt a bit guilty for blaming him for stealing the clothes. He didn’t take offense; he helped me.

Was this another one of his acts to get back on my good graces? Probably. I couldn’t tell. His frustration when he talked to Oliver sounded genuine.

“I can’t.” He chuckled bitterly. “I want you rambling my ear off about books. And your hugs when I’m feeling down. And your laughter when I tease you. And your blind belief in me. I desperately want your heart.”

I swallowed hard.

“I guess you’ll end up with a library and diabetes.” He laughed, though he wasn’t amused. He was tired. He looked so dejected. He looked so unlike himself. Small. Helpless.

Without my anger as a barrier, my heart cracked. I shouldn’t want to, but I had the urge to go and hug him.

“It’s better than if I didn’t try for one day to win you back.” His confession was soft, yet I heard it loud and clear.

It electrified me.

My body and brain were at war again. My body wanted him close. I wanted to console him and to be in his arms. I wanted to be held because keeping up an angry façade was exhausting. And when that barrier was gone, I was left with brokenness. I wished someone could come and pick up all those pieces and glue them together.

I stepped in front of him. He watched me silently, as though he was afraid to scare me.

My breathing hitched when I was close enough. All I could smell was ~him~. It was familiar. I wanted comfort in this moment.

He swallowed when I placed my hand on his chest. His heart was drumming strongly.

He held his breath as my hand slid up his chest to the back of his neck. He didn’t ask me what I was doing. He let me guide his head down.

My lips tingled before I lifted onto my tiptoes and kissed him.