Grace (The Family Simon Book 5) (15 page)

Wait. What?

He must have noticed the confusion on her face, because he dropped one more kiss on her mouth and nuzzled her neck. “It’s my Friday night men’s league. Hockey.”

“Oh, I guess I forgot.” How could she forget something she didn’t know? And why was that exactly? Dumb rhetorical question. Because of the no-talking thing.

He stared down at her, his thumb tracing her bottom lip. “I can stay if you want me to. Might hear it from the guys—Lord knows they like to chirp—but it’s nothing I can’t handle.”

“No.” She shook her head and patted his chest, before reaching up and giving him a quick peck on the cheek. She wasn’t going to be that girl. The clingy, insecure, needy girl.

“Go. Have fun with your team. I’ll just…watch a movie or something.”

“You sure?”

“Go.”

He scooped up his hockey gear and, with a lopsided smile, left her alone in his house.

She listened to the rumble of his truck until it died and then Grace wandered back to the kitchen. She stared at the stew on the stove, at the basket of buns on the table, and at the two wine glasses along with the open bottle of red. Wow. When had she gotten so domesticated?

She stared at them for a long time—long enough for her eyes to smart once more from hot, unshed tears.

“It’s just a hockey game,” she muttered.

But he could have asked me to come watch. He could have taken me along, introduced me to his friends.

He could have. But he didn’t.

18

M
att rolled into the Roadside Grill along with several of his teammates. It was nearly ten and the boys were raring to go—but not Matt. He was here out of habit really, just going through the motions. He sidled up to the bar and ordered a draft.

“Heard you boys lost bad,” Duke said with a grin. His long, handlebar moustache quivered as he slid a mug over to Matt.

“Yeah well, that’s what happens when one of your best forwards doesn’t have his head in the game.”

Matt glared at Seth Longwood. The guy might be an idiot, but he was right. Matt
had
been distracted for most of the game. He’d drawn penalties that had hurt his team, and then he’d gone and got himself kicked out after he nailed Jamie Dollar from behind. It was a stupid thing to do—the guy had chirped him and Matt’s temper had gotten the best of him.

“It’s just one game,” Duke said, tossing his towel over his shoulder before moving down the bar to fill orders.

Matt stared down at the mug of beer. He grabbed it up and then set it down on the counter. Hell, he didn’t feel like beer. He didn’t feel like this place or the damn music that was blaring either.

He frowned and settled back onto the barstool, drawing out his cellphone and scrolling through his messages. There were two from Betty, both scolding him for not getting back to her previous messages from the day before. She’d flown back to New Orleans with Beau after the fundraiser, and he hadn’t talked to her since.

He wasn’t winning any friend-of-the-year awards, that’s for sure. But Betty never shied away from the tough questions and the last time they’d talked, she was all up in his business—and it was all about Grace.

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

G
race 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.