Arcanum (Tales from the Tarot)

12. Chris

Chapter twelve

Chris

T he night after my little voyeur show in the window, I had every intention of reaching out to Greyson when I got home from training with the county K9s all day. Honestly. I picked up my phone and put it down about twenty times, though, because I had no idea what I was going to say. The first window offense was obvious. I had to apologize for being a creeper, and I did. The second time? It was still creepy, I guess, but he was clearly into it. So, where the fuck did that leave us— this ? This situation between us?

Determined to find out, I picked up my phone again and nearly dropped it when Nitro growled and barked, taking off for the front door. Tossing my phone onto the couch, I followed him to see what he was all riled up about. Probably the Campbell kids out running around despite the fact the street lights came on a couple of hours ago.

To my surprise, Greyson was on the front porch, leaning against the doorframe in a casually sexy pose. I didn’t even hear him knock, unless Nitro’s barking had drowned him out.

“ Bricks, ” I hissed at Nitro in German, sending the dog away with a hand signal. He grunted his disapproval at being excluded and retreated to the living room to sprawl out on the brick hearth.

“Hi,” Greyson said through the screen door, holding a six-pack aloft. Hard cider, as opposed to beer, but still a solid pick. “I hope you don’t mind, but I saw your light on and I—”

“Come in,” I said quickly, unlocking the screen door and pushing it open for him before he came to his senses and left. “Do you want to sit inside? Nitro won’t bother you. Or I can start a fire out back?”

“A bonfire sounds good, actually.”

I smiled. “Sure thing. You know the way. The house is laid out like yours.”

He nodded and moved down the hallway, so quietly I could hardly track his steps.

When I darted into the living room, Nitro sat up expectantly. I gave him the signal to lie down and turned off the TV. Ignoring his pouty groan, I swept a hand over the front of my hoodie, ridding myself of any stray chip crumbs or dog fur. Raking a hand through my hair, I tried to spike up the front part a bit as I headed toward the kitchen.

By the time I made it outside, Greyson had already stacked the logs in the metal burn pit and a little orange flame was tearing through a pile of dried leaves he used for kindling.

“You didn’t have to do that,” I said, dragging a chair closer to him under the pretense of getting out of the way of the smoke.

“I don’t mind,” he replied, handing me a bottle of hard cider without even looking at me.

“Thanks.” I twisted off the cap and flicked it into the fire, taking a sip in the hopes of calming my nerves. Why wasn’t he looking at me? He always looked at me. Usually for a second too long, bordering on uncomfortable.

Greyson mimicked my movements, although he seemed to take a much harder pull from the bottle than I did. Surprisingly, he didn’t speak, even after he swallowed with a grimace. Since he was the one who initiated the impromptu get-together, I thought maybe he’d lead the conversation, but the crackling fire was the only thing that made a sound.

“Everything ok?” I ventured, mindful of my tone, and followed it with a quick swig of cider.

Rolling his lower lip between his teeth, Greyson nodded. A second later, he shook his head and leaned forward, propping his elbows on his knees, his gaze fixated on the orange flames. In all of our interactions together, it was the first time he hadn’t given me his undivided attention. I didn’t like it. The back of my neck prickled, like that chasm had returned, splitting open at our feet.

“I went to the funeral home today,” he said quietly, “to finalize everything for my family.”

Oh… shit. I closed my eyes, scolding myself up one side and down the other. Here I thought this was going to be an extension of the other night or something and he was in probably the worst mood of his entire life. I was such an asshole.

Wiping all thoughts of sex from my mind, I leaned forward and gripped his shoulder gently, giving it a slight squeeze. “I’m so sorry.”

“It was surreal. I knew I’d have to deal with it at some point, but with everything that’s happened, I… I don’t know. I didn’t really think about it until I was standing there, trying to decide if they should each get an urn or if they’d prefer to all be together. And as I was answering these questions about flowers and announcements, I realized how alone I really am. Completely alone. I knew it before, but when it’s right in front of your face, there’s no escaping it.”

“Man, you shouldn’t do that kind of stuff by yourself. I would have gone with you.”

“I couldn’t ask you to do that. Besides, I had a lovely meeting with the Chicago police before that and there was no telling how long that was going to take.”

I stiffened at the mention of the giant, non-sexual elephant in the backyard. “Oh?”

His head swiveled toward me and he gave me a slow blink, like a cat. “Don’t pretend you didn’t know I was under investigation.”

“I might have heard something to that effect,” I hedged.

“Well, allow me to put your mind at ease, officer. I’ve been officially cleared. They ruled it an unfortunate accident. Case closed.” He proceeded to finish the rest of his hard cider in two gulps, which was not the celebratory move I would have expected for someone cleared of a triple homicide.

“Why do I get the feeling there’s more to the story?”

Shrugging, he leaned back in the chair and stared at the fire again. The logs crackled and popped, sending tiny orange sparks into the air. Greyson picked idly at the label on his bottle, not looking like he was going to answer anytime soon.

The chasm split wider. It wasn’t my imagination. And it wasn’t just sadness or the grief I knew came from losing a family member. He was distant again, standing all alone on the edge of that damn void.

“Why Mapleton?” I asked as soon as the question formed in my brain. It seemed as good a topic as any and hopefully it would be enough to pull him back to safety. “I mean, why move here?”

“I needed to get away.”

“But why here ? You could have gone anywhere. Have you been here before? Do you know someone else in town?”

For a moment I thought he might not answer, but then he turned to face me. Shifting in his seat, he braced his forearm on the arm of the chair and leaned in a little closer. His body language expressed a willingness to talk, yet his reply contradicted it. “I don’t think you’re ready to know the answer to that.”

I mirrored his pose, further minimizing the space between us. When he exhaled, I caught a whiff of the distinct scent of whiskey on his breath, just behind the hard cider. That explained a lot, namely why he wasn’t as lively as he normally was.

“Try me,” I said, trying to maintain eye contact but also doing my damndest not to count each nystagmus as his gray eyes fell from mine and drifted erratically from point to point, like he couldn’t decide what to look at. Or he was considering my challenge. When they lifted again, I raised my brows slightly, waiting for him to go on.

“Magic,” he said at last.

“Magic?” Ok… He was way drunker than I thought.

He nodded, unfazed by the disbelief in my tone.

“Like magic tricks…?” What the hell could he have meant by “magic”? What would a sober, rational person mean? I racked my brain and came up with nothing.

To my disappointment, he melted away from me, slumping into his chair and staring at the fire again. “It’s not a trick. Nemo gave me a map and I used a pendulum to see where I should go. The universe put me here. In Mapleton. Right next door to you. For reasons I don’t entirely understand myself.”

“A pendulum?” Things were getting weirder by the second, but at least he was talking, so I’d consider that a win.

“A pointy crystal with a chain attached.”

“Uh-huh.” It seemed like an odd way to make a major life decision, but I guess it wasn’t any different than people who flipped a coin. “Who’s Nemo?” Please don’t say a fish…

“My mentor. The one who sent me that letter that wound up inside your mailbox, funnily enough.”

Ah, yes. The weird purple letter from The Magic Shop. The dots connected in my brain, but I still had a hard time jumping on the magic train.

Leaning forward, Greyson snagged a second bottle of hard cider out of the carton between our feet and twisted the cap off, taking another long pull.

“How much have you had tonight?” I asked, trying to keep my tone neutral. I wasn’t a teetotaler, clearly, but Drink #2 on top of however much whiskey he’d already drank had me suddenly worried. Not only about his ability to make it the thirty feet across the yard to his front door, but I was also concerned I’d have to hose down puke in the morning.

“Not enough.” His bleary eyes turned toward me. “Don’t worry. I can hold my own. I know it doesn’t look like it, but I promise I won’t pass out in your bushes.”

I opened my mouth to refute that assertion, but closed it again since that’s almost exactly what I’d been thinking. “How do you do that?”

“It’s the next logical question after an officer of the law inquires how much you’ve imbibed.” Even drunk he was smart. It was impressive and still a little unnerving. At least I hadn’t made a total idiot out of myself again. And if I did, there was always the chance he’d be too intoxicated to remember.

The only problem with his answer was that I wasn’t buying his logical argument anymore. Not after he’d said one too many things that he couldn’t possibly have known about. “How did you know about the accidents on the tollway the other day? It wasn’t luck.”

“Given how late it was when those detectives showed up, it’s logical to assume they got caught in traffic. Now, if they’d taken a state route from the city, they could have diverted easily enough. But on 88? If traffic is blocked across all lanes, where are they going to go? It’s surrounded by farms on either side. Nowhere. Hence, why they were late.” He lifted his bottle to me, like a toast.

I leaned forward, catching him by the wrist before he could press the cider to his lips again. Forcing his hand downward gently, I held onto his wrist the same way I held onto his gaze, afraid he was going to slip away without answering. “That doesn’t explain the second accident that you somehow knew about—or the fact troopers were there all night.” I should know since I heard the IREACH go out over the radio for more units almost as soon as I got in the squad. And if he tried to claim he had a scanner or something, I had no problem calling him out on that line of bullshit, considering most of the radio systems were digital these days and scanners didn’t pick them up.

He blinked slowly but didn’t look away. Nor did he answer. So, I pressed on, my heartbeat quickening.

“It was the same night you told me to be careful on Mulberry. You definitely can’t ‘logic’ your way out of that one. There’s no way you could have known I was going to a call on that street. I tested my earpiece. You can’t hear a damn thing unless it’s in your ear, which it wasn’t.”

“You already know the answer,” he said quietly. “Why do I have to confirm it? Why can’t you trust yourself?”

“I don’t know, that’s why I’m asking.”

“And what will knowing for certain do for you? Have you thought of that? Knowing will change your opinion of me. Of the world. How could it not? But what if I don’t want your opinion to change? What if I want things to stay as they are?” He switched the bottle to his other hand, lacing his now-free fingers through mine. His palm was warm against my skin, warm and soft, but nearly as big as my own, which was kind of strange. It felt more solid, less breakable than a female hand. “What if I want more?” he continued softly. “If I don’t tell you, there’s a chance this could be something. Telling you too soon could ruin everything.”

Butterflies swooped in my stomach at the possibility, but I had to draw a line before anything else happened between us. “I need to know for my own peace of mind. If you want this to be something, then I need to know that you won’t lie to me or try and hide the truth. This isn’t about what the actual truth is, it’s about…” I fumbled for the word, trying not to be dramatic but needing him to understand where I stood and how serious I was.

“Betrayal?” Greyson grimaced as his gaze fell to our hands. I expected him to take his back, but he didn’t. His slender fingers gripped a little tighter. “You’ve been burned before and you’re afraid of it happening again.”

I nodded, swallowing thickly. At that point, I didn’t know if I was that much of an open book to him or if there was something “magical” at work.

“I read the criminal damage report from your store,” I said when he didn’t offer up any more answers to my original question. “Is that what it is? You’re some kind of… Wiccan?”

“I told them I didn’t want to file a report.” A sudden wave of irritation swept over his face. He tried to disentangle our hands with a huff, but I held on, not wanting to let him or our conversation go. Not until I got some clarity.

“It was informational. In case it happens again, or happens to another business. So if it’s not that, then what aren’t you telling me?”

“As I said, you already know. When will you start trusting yourself?”

“I trust myself just fine. Why can’t you ever give a straight answer?”

“Nothing about me is straight, let alone my answers.” His gaze seemed to settle on my mouth for a moment before flicking up to meet mine. “After a lifetime of hiding who you are and what you are, directness is a luxury I can’t afford anymore. It doesn’t mean I’m lying to you. You’ve already figured me out and I didn’t have to confirm anything.”

My dick perked up at that news. As I’d said in Arcanum, I’d gotten a vibe during our previous interactions and after the window shenanigans? Pretty much confirmed he was into guys on some level. But he also confirmed it, which meant the hand-holding thing was more than some fucked-up fantasy I was creating about my neighbor. He’d been flirting with me since he moved in and I was too blind to see it in the moment. Now, my eyes were wide open.

“I don’t care that you’re Wiccan,” I said, focusing on that instead of the whole “not straight” comment. “Most of Mapleton won’t care, either, if that’s what you’re worried about. We’re not exactly a religious town.”

“Witch, not Wiccan.”

“Huh?”

“I’m not Wiccan,” he said, though his voice sounded weary. “But I am a witch. And now you have the labels you were so desperately searching for. Gay. Witch. Which ”— he chuckled softly —“now begs the question I fear, how much has your opinion changed with that revelation?”

My immediate answer was “Not at all,” but that was a lie. Of course it changed. He was right on that account—how could it not? Since it wasn’t in a bad way, I merely shrugged. “I feel the same about that as if you had told me you were Jewish or you eat pineapple on pizza. It’s one part of who you are, not the whole thing. I don’t understand it, but I don’t think less of you. I’m glad you finally told me. Now I know, definitively , what you are—or, I should say, what label you prefer.”

“I don’t prefer labels, actually. Society makes us use them for instances such as this, as a way to categorize people into ‘us’ versus ‘them.’ I am the ‘other’ in almost every aspect of my life. Gay, witch, orphan, a man in a female-dominated career, an outsider in Mapleton. Take your pick.”

“I’m telling you, people in Mapleton won’t care. That shit with Karen Carlisle will go away.” I squeezed his hand gently, like it would somehow be more convincing than my words alone. “She thinks she runs this town, but she doesn’t.”

“All of this started over one book. What will happen when they find out everything else about me?”

“Like what?”

“This.” He held up our interlocked hands. “In Chicago, this meant nothing. But here? This threatens everything small towns are built on. Add in the fact I’m not Christian? There goes your faith and family cornerstones. What’s left? Hard work? People like Karen Carlisle won’t let me. So what do I have to offer the people here? Why do I bother with any of it? Why do I bother with anything?” He shook his head, looking as defeated as he did the day he read that stupid letter.

Between how depressed he looked and the tone the conversation had taken, alarm bells rang in my head. He was already drunk and upset about his family, understandably, but I didn’t want him dwelling on fucking assholes like Karen Carlisle, worrying she was going to drum up a mob to torch his store or run him out of Mapleton. It seemed like he was already on the verge of giving up on life itself and that would not happen on my watch.

“You make amazing sandwiches. And muffins. And cake,” I said, grasping at straws. Pep talks were never my thing and I knew I was screwing it up, so I doubled down on the one thing I knew he was fan-fucking-tastic at—food. “Oh and how can we forget the soup? …in really creepy pots.”

Against all odds, a soft laugh escaped him, finally giving me a glimpse of the smile I’d missed. “It’s not creepy.”

“Dude. It’s a cauldron. Which now makes a little more sense with everything you said, I guess, but I’m still not sold on it being any better than a regular pot.”

“And here I thought I’d convinced you.”

An idea suddenly sparked in the back of my brain and of course it involved food. “You can always try again.”

He squinted at me slightly. “I’m not joining a chili cook-off.”

I gaped at him. “How did you know that’s what I was going to say? And don’t tell me it was a lucky guess.”

“I saw a flyer downtown.” He gave a little shrug, looking as smug as the cat that ate the canary.

It was my turn to squint. “I don’t believe you. I haven’t seen any flyers. And now that Homecoming is here, everyone is gearing up for Pumpkin Fest next month. The cook-off isn’t until November.”

“Yes, but…” He leaned on the arm of his chair again, infiltrating my personal space with the scent of whiskey and apples, leaving me parched. “Someone posted the sign-up outside of the library.”

“You’re being coy again.” I gave him a mock glare, though I was happy to see his mood was improving.

“You like when I’m coy.” The corner of his mouth ticked up into a knowing smirk. “As much as you say you want directness, you still like a mystery.”

“You are definitely that.”

“And, for the record, officer, I hate pineapple. If you put it on my pizza, I will respectfully dump it in the trash.”

“On that, we agree.” I laughed. “So what do you like on your pizza?”

“Am I making it or is someone else?”

“Someone else. Like Tony’s, downtown.”

He contemplated it for a moment, his lips pursing slightly in thought. “Pepperoni, mushroom, green pepper. Extra cheese.”

I could have kissed him right then and there. Knowing we wouldn’t fight over what kind of pizza to order was such a small, stupid thing… and yet it seemed like a sign from the universe. If I believed in that crap, which I did not. But out of the thousands of possible pizza topping combinations, he’d picked my favorite. What were the odds?

“And the crust?” I asked, mentally crossing my fingers.

“Gotta be thin,” he replied with a smile.

“Are you hungry?”

“Starving.”

“I’m gonna go order a pizza.”

“I’ll wait here.”

Even after my little proclamation, I stayed where I was, not wanting to let go of his hand. I liked holding it. I liked how warm it was, how soft, how he actually held mine in return, with a little bit of pressure. When he was holding my hand, I knew he was safe.

Hunger—and the sudden fear that I was being a clingy weirdo—won out. I forced myself to let go and stood, giving a sheepish smile before hurrying away. When I got to the back door, Nitro was there, standing on his hind legs, looking out the window in the door.

“You mind if I let the dog out?” I called to Greyson.

“Not at all.”

Opening the door, I gave Nitro permission to run ahead without me and ducked inside to grab my phone.

By the time I’d ordered the pizza and returned to the bonfire, Nitro was in Greyson’s lap, panting away like an oversized Pomeranian. Other than his hands petting my incredibly rude dog, I couldn’t even see Greyson behind the beast.

“ Down! ” I yelled in German, gesturing toward the ground sharply on my march back to the bonfire.

With a low groan, Nitro slinked out of Greyson’s lap and lay down in the grass, looking dejected.

“I’m so sorry,” I said, rushing over to Greyson, trying to brush the fur off the front of his cream-colored sweater. “He thinks he’s a lap dog. He doesn’t seem to understand he weighs ninety pounds!” I shot Nitro a glare.

“It’s ok. Really.” He laid his hand over mine to stop my fussing. “I have a cat, remember? At least yours listens.”

“Sorry.” I cleared my throat and resumed my seat, taking a quick swig of cider. “Pizza will be here in about thirty minutes.”

“What shall we do in the meantime?” He picked up his bottle again and took another sip. A droplet of cider ran down the side of the bottleneck and he caught it with his tongue, licking a stripe up the dark glass. I nearly shattered my own bottle I squeezed it so damn hard. Any PC answer flew out of my head.

“Whatever you lick—like! Whatever you’d like to do.” It was my turn to chug the remainder of my hard cider in one fell swoop. Even though there was zero doubt he was flirting with me, I had no idea what to do with that information. I didn’t mind. Clearly. But offering up his sexuality and then licking something right in front of me? Was that a message? A signal? Was I supposed to do something in return or just keep staring at him like an idiot, imagining him licking other things?

The shit-eating grin he gave me after he did it made the back of my neck hot. Fuck! What do I say? What do I do ?!

“What’s the matter, Chris? You’re quiet.” Tilting his head to the side, Greyson watched me squirm with a faint smile. At a glance, he may have looked innocent and he may have sounded innocent, but the way he regarded me was unlike anything I was used to. I was used to being the pursuer, not the pursued. Having someone look at me the way I looked at a perfectly cooked ribeye? Honestly, it turned me on even more than getting a preview of what his tongue could do.

“Nothing,” I replied, hating that my voice had gone all croaky.

“Oh, I have been meaning to ask you something, officer.” He fixed me with another amused look, though his voice shifted to a more serious tone. “Can you explain the difference between disorderly conduct and public indecency? You said walking nude in my own backyard qualified for disorderly conduct, but your window display? Is it the sexual component that makes it public indecency? You were, after all, in view of the public doing something… quite sexual.”

Nerves bubbled up inside of me and I couldn’t help but laugh, rubbing my forehead and slinking down in my chair like it would swallow me whole. “Ah, Christ. I was wondering if you were going to bring it up.”

“You’re the one who insisted on honesty. Besides, I was going to apologize for my voyeurism,” he mused, trailing one fingertip around the mouth of his bottle. “But the more I thought about it, the more I think you wanted me to see.”

“And how often have you thought about it?” I asked quietly, my heart hammering away inside my chest as I peeked over at him from under my hand.

“More than is neighborly,” he replied smoothly.

“Oh.” The heat in the back of my neck spread down my spine, flooding the rest of my body. Why was that such a turn-on? Maybe because he just admitted he’d been thinking about me, the same way I’d been thinking about him? “Well, maybe next time you can join me . Without the window. Or the full moon.” I dropped my hand and stole a glance at him, hoping he was on board with that plan.

His mouth said, “We shall see,” but the way he looked at me suggested he was anything but undecided. It was happening—I just had no idea when.

As much as I would have loved to explore our un-neighborly feelings before the food arrived, I wasn’t a horny teenager with no self-control. Mostly. Except for the other night. But tonight? He had had one of the shittiest days of his life and he was drunk. There was no way I was going to take advantage of the situation, even if he said he wanted to strip naked right there and get us both arrested for public indecency.

“So other than tormenting your smooth-brained neighbor with innuendos, what does a teacher-turned-bookstore owner do for fun?”

“Read,” he replied with a smirk. “Bake, as you know. Watch movies. The same things everyone else does to pass the time.”

“Yeah, but while everyone else is down here, you’re all the way up here,” I said, spreading my hands vertically at a sizable distance. “I don’t think you’re watching action movies or comedies. You probably watch foreign films. Or stuff that’s in black and white.”

Looking away, he lifted the bottle to his lips quickly and took another pull.

“Oh my God!” I laughed, shoving his shoulder lightly. “I knew it!”

“I watch the normal stuff, too!” He raised his hands in self-defense, even though it was too late. His secret was out.

“Oh yeah? Like what?”

“I don’t want to tell you.” He faced me with a serious expression. “You’ll have even more reasons to make fun of me.”

I made a face at him. “Let me guess. You’re in to musicals, aren’t you?”

“Close.” He smiled and then rolled his eyes, looking away again as he answered. It was cute. For the first time ever , Greyson Darkholme looked embarrassed about something. “Rom-coms,” he spit out and made a sweeping gesture. “There. Go ahead.”

“I actually like rom-coms too.” I nodded when he glanced my way. “They’re corny as hell, but they’re entertaining. Especially after a shitty shift. My ex used to watch them all the time. It was the only good thing I took from that relationship.” A wave of bitterness washed over me and I grimaced. “Sorry. Did not mean to go there.”

“There’s no need to be sorry. She was a part of your life for however long. It’s normal to reference her—or things you did together.”

I shook my head, a dozen different fights echoing in my brain. “Yeah, that was not her view of the world. I made the mistake of mentioning my high school girlfriend one day—a trivial story from a decade ago—and she lost her shit. I couldn’t even talk about female coworkers without getting an earful.”

“Usually there’s a reason for that level of insecurity and I’m sure it had nothing to do with you.”

“Yeah, I think it was a clear case of projecting, or whatever the trendy word is this year. Didn’t make it any easier to live with.” I took a swig of cider to stop myself from saying anything else.

Greyson studied me for a moment. “She’s the one who betrayed you.”

I met his gaze, noting the certainty in it as much as his voice. It wasn’t a question. Yeah, I mentioned betrayal earlier and he had enough contextual clues to piece the puzzle together, but the way he said it? He knew .

“Do you want to talk about it?” he prompted quietly.

Did I? No. I put all that hurt and humiliation in a box and sealed it up tight five months ago. I didn’t want to pull it all out now. Luke and I didn’t even talk about it. After I found out about the affair, we finished our shift and then proceeded to get black-out drunk as soon as we were out of uniform. I spent the weekend at his place in various stages of intoxication so she could pack her shit and I’d done my best to avoid her in the months that followed. It wasn’t always the easiest in a town this small, but I’d managed.

I didn’t need to dodge the guy she stepped out on me with— he avoided me . Like the plague. Guess that was one benefit of walking in on them while he was balls-deep in my then-girlfriend. In my house. In my bed. While I was wearing a gun.

I was honestly too stunned to do much of anything. It was the last thing I expected when I ran home, two hours into my shift, to grab the extra battery for my radio that I’d forgotten on the charger.

Without a word, I retrieved the battery, turned around, and walked out again.

When I failed to give her the reaction she wanted, Monica followed me down the stairs, wrapped up in her sex-soiled sheet like a Roman goddess.

“You’re walking away?!” she screeched. “Just like that? You’re not going to stay and work this out? Chris! Fucking say something!”

My vocal cords loosened enough to answer her once I reached the front door. From the safety of the front porch, I looked back at her, keeping my voice as even and nonthreatening as possible. “You’re not worth losing my pension.”

She let out a sob as she stood there, shaking. I couldn’t tell if she was angry that I wasn’t throwing away my entire career to beat some guy’s ass or if she realized that was the point of no return. I honestly didn’t care anymore. In the blink of an eye it was done— I was done.

“Get your shit and get the fuck out of my house,” I continued as calmly as I could, even as my hands balled into fists at my side. “You have until Monday and I’m changing the locks.”

“Chris, wait!” she yelled through the screen door as I jogged down the porch steps. “Come back! You have to talk to me!”

I didn’t “have” to do shit, except my job, so I ignored her and kept moving. Even if I wasn’t working, there was no way in hell I was going back into that house with her and her fuckboy. I meant what I said. She wasn’t worth losing my pension over, but I also didn’t want to chance it.

“Chris?”

I blinked at the sound of my name before it dawned on me that it was Greyson’s voice—not hers. “Sorry. No. I’m good.”

“Honesty goes both ways,” Greyson said quietly. “I understand why you need it, but you have to give it in return.”

I frowned at him. “I haven’t lied to you.”

“I never said you lied to me, but you’re not being honest either. Whenever an uncomfortable topic comes up, you put up a wall and then deny it’s there. I understand. Truly, I do. But if you demand honesty in your relationships, then I demand vulnerability in mine. You need to know you can trust me, and I need to know you’ll be honest about what you’re feeling instead of bottling it up.”

“If I tell you I’m fine, I’m fine,” I said with a shrug.

“You’re not fine. I can feel the anger radiating off of you, along with a host of other unpleasant emotions that you’re trying to bury right now. Don’t. It will kill you, only the process is slow and painful.”

“What do you want me to say? I’m pissed? Yeah, I’m fucking pissed! Why couldn’t she leave before she hopped into bed with another guy? Why did she let it get that far? Why didn’t she say she met someone else and she was leaving? I wouldn’t have cared. Seriously, I wouldn’t. By that point, we were like roommates anyway. I didn’t even want her to move in! But she kept pushing and pushing…

“And no matter how many times I try to see it from her side, I keep coming back to one point—she lied. Over and over and over. And then she tried to make me the bad guy. Fine. Whatever. I’ll be the bad guy. I picked my job over her. I was never around. I didn’t love her enough. And you know what? It’s all true. But none of that takes away from the humiliation of being cheated on. Of being someone’s trash that they use and throw away when it suits them. Of not being good enough.”

As soon as the admission left me, I slumped back in my chair, inexplicably drained. What the hell was in that cider, anyway? For five months, I hadn’t said shit to anyone and suddenly I’m throwing up words and emotional baggage like it was my job? Real attractive— not .

Greyson slipped his hand into mine, running his thumb back and forth across my knuckles. I could feel him looking at me but I couldn’t bring myself to meet his gaze. This was exactly what I didn’t want to happen. I didn’t want to talk about Monica and how everything went sideways, how I hadn’t measured up, least of all with him, a guy who was already way out of my league. That’s why it was easier to put my head down and move on, as stubborn as my stupid zodiac sign, just like she always said I was.

“You’re not stubborn,” Greyson said softly. “You’re tenacious. Adamant. Steadfast. You’re even-keeled, as I wish all police were. Those aren’t qualities to be ashamed of; they’re to be admired. Along with your integrity and your loyalty.”

Sliding my gaze to his, I furrowed my brow at him. Did I say I was stubborn out loud? I couldn’t remember. I said a lot, so it might have slipped out.

He squeezed my hand gently. “And you are good enough. Like a B/C student. You know? Not at the top of the class, but not the worst either. All the teachers like you, but you’re not a nerd. It’s a good spot to be in. ‘C’s get degrees,’ as they say.” The more he talked, the more my brows drew together. Was he seriously razzing me after I showed my damn vulnerability?!

Greyson continued, unfazed. “At the very least, you’re not trash. I mean, look at you. And look at me. Since we’ve already established I’m the sophisticate in this pairing, do you think I would debase myself with effluvia? I have standards.”

My scowl deepened. “I’m sure there was supposed to be a compliment in there somewhere, but the smooth brain in the group needs you to dumb it down.”

He smiled brightly and squeezed my hand again. “Sucks when you’re mad and someone starts making fun of you, huh? All you want to do is be mad for a while, but nope.”

“I wasn’t making fun of you ,” I said in my defense, the tightness in my shoulders relaxing and the self-consciousness ebbing away. “I was making fun of the cauldron. There’s a difference.”

“I’m very attached to my cauldrons, thank you kindly.”

“I gathered—wait, what? Cauldrons, plural?”

“I told you I have two. One for cooking and one for spellwork.” He made a face, glancing away. “Actually, I have more than two. I think the others are still in storage.”

I gaped at him, waiting for a punchline. It never came. “I thought you were kidding!”

“Why would I kid about cross-contamination?”

“ Are you Jewish?” I asked, just to be on the safe side.

He chuckled. “No, I’m not Jewish.”

“Then what are you putting in those pots that you’re worried about cross-contamination?”

“That’s for me to know, and you…” His words trailed off as his gaze shifted to the side. Giving me a mischievous smirk, he continued, “to go get the pizza.”

“They’re not—”

Nitro sprang to his feet and took off for the front gate, barking his head off as a pair of headlights flashed across the dark yards.

I glanced between the fence and Greyson, trying to figure out how the hell he knew that. He couldn’t see the road from where we were—at least not in the direction the driver would be coming from. Besides, it was too early to be the pizza. But Nitro hadn’t stopped barking, especially after someone rang the doorbell.

“One of these days, I’m going to figure out how you do that,” I said, reclaiming my hand as I got to my feet.

“I told you,” he replied with an angelic smile, “magic.”

“Uh-huh. Laugh it up while you can, Big Brain. I’ll catch up one of these days.” As soon as my back was turned, I couldn’t help the stupid smile stretching across my face as I practically floated to the front door.