“So where to now?” He starts the old Jeep but lets it idle while he turns radio knobs, searching for a station.
“Food.” I blow out a weary breath as the long trip and lack of food hit me hard. “I hope Grady’s got food at his house.”
Grip’s eyes widen just a bit before sliding away from me.
“Uh, there may not be a ton of food at Grady’s place.” Grip taps his long fingers on the steering wheel. “He’s kind of out of town.”
“Out of town?” I snap my head around to stare at his rugged profile. “He knew I was coming, right? How can he be . . .what?”
My father and his twin brother, Grady, weren’t close before, but after Rhyson emancipated from my parents to live with him, our relationship with him grew even more strained. My parents resented him “taking” Rhyson away, and I haven’t seen him either. I never had much of a relationship with my uncle, and it doesn’t look like that will change on this particular trip.
“A colleague had a death in the family,” Grip says. “He needed Grady to step in for him at a songwriters’ conference.”
A piece of lead rests heavily on my chest, constricting my breath for a second. Why am I even here? It’s obvious I’m the only one looking for any connection, any reconciliation for our family.
“He couldn’t have anticipated this,” Grips adds hastily.
“I get it.” I force a stiff curve to my lips and stare out the passenger side window so Grip doesn’t see the smile never reaches my eyes. “This is gonna be some family reunion. Uncle Grady away and Rhyson … tied up.”
“We don’t cry in front of strangers.”
My mother’s voice echoes back to me from childhood. We don’t cry in front of anyone, truth be told. I blink furiously and sniff discreetly, hoping a red nose isn’t betraying the stupid emotion swelling in my belly and pushing up into my chest. I must be PMSing. I suckled at my mother’s iron tit. Something this insubstantial after all I’ve been through shouldn’t affect me this way. I know not to wear my emotions in places people can see them. And yet, here I am, against my mother’s wishes and advice, clear across the country, risking parts of my heart with family who apparently don’t give a damn about me.
“Bristol, Grady will be back soon and Rhyson will be around.” I hate the deliberate gentleness of Grip’s tone. It’s as if he sees my cracks and knows that at any minute I might break.
Red nose and teary eyes or not, I’ll show him I won’t break. I’ll make sure he knows I’m stronger that that. That I don’t need my
brother or my uncle. That they are the ones who missed out on knowing me.
I whip around to tell him so, to unload my defenses and assur- ances on him, but all my bravado slams into the compassion of his eyes. More disconcerting than how beautiful his eyes are, is how much they seem to see. How much they seem to know. The bitter words die on my tongue. I swallow the shattered syllables. I swallow the pain. With practice, it goes down easy, lubricated by tears I’ll never shed. I’ve had lots of practice. I’ve had lots of tears, but this stranger, this beautiful stranger, won’t see. I steady my trembling mouth and level my eyes until they meet his stare squarely.
“I’m hungry. Are we going to eat, or what?”
I know I sound like the spoiled sorority girl he assumed I was, but whatever. Talking about food is highly preferable to discussing my family drama, which goes back too far and down too deep. Especially on an empty stomach.
He shifts his glance back to the line of cars pulling away from the airport. Those full lips don’t tug into the easy smile he showed me before. I regret making things heavy. Shit got too real, too fast.
“Sure.” Eyes ahead, he shifts from park to drive and pulls away from the curb. “I know just the place. Food’s great.”
Maybe to distract myself from the familiar disappointment sitting alongside the hunger in my belly, I run my eyes discreetly over all six feet and however many inches of him. He’s nothing like the guys I’ve dated, but gorgeous nonetheless. He tucks his bottom lip between an even row of white teeth, concentrating on the ever-hellish LA traffic. As much as I know I shouldn’t, I imagine biting that bottom lip.
Am I hungry? Oh, yeah.
3
BRISTOL
ALL THOSE CAUTIONARY tales about stranger danger apparently didn’t take because I’m currently cruising down the I-5 with a man I met only minutes ago, who may have the face and body of a lower level deity but has not provided any real proof that he actually knows my brother. Yet, how else would he have known my name? And he did have that hideous throwback picture on his phone. I’m fairly certain he’s no Ted Bundy, but I could have at least asked to speak with Rhyson to confirm. I slide a surreptitious glance his way, studying the hands on the steering wheel. Those hands are grace and capability, rough and smooth. Doesn’t mean they wouldn’t wring my neck …
“So, how did you say you know my brother again?” I ask, deliberately nonchalant.
“I was wondering when you’d get around to asking some questions.” His expression loosens into a grin. “You keep looking at me like I might pull over at the next rest stop and stuff you in the trunk.”
“Who … what … me? Noooo.”
He breaks away from the traffic long enough to give me a knowing look, accompanied by a smirk.
“Okay, maybe a little.” A nervous laugh slips out. “I actually was thinking I should have asked for some proof or ID or something. Not just hopped in the car with a perfect stranger.”