Nine
In Key Largo, Griff lay on his back on a lounger in swim trunks, Sam curled up next to him, fast asleep. It was late afternoon, and his nephew was exhausted after a day on the beach. Griff felt like he could drift off, too.
But he knew that as soon as he closed his eyes, his brain would kick into high gear and sleep would scuttle off like a crab. God, he was tired.
He and his band had been practicing flat out and their performance was practically flawless. They’d worked out the kinks, rearranged the set list, added some songs, dropped others. Knowing they all needed a break—and that if he didn’t leave Portland he wouldn’t be able to resist rocking up on Kinga’s doorstep and begging her to let him in, take him back, make it work—he’d told his crew to take a long weekend and headed down to the Keys.
But Kinga was always with him...
Griff sighed. Even if she wanted him in her life, and as far as he knew she didn’t, he still couldn’t tell her the truth about his past. And Kinga deserved someone who was all in, someone who trusted and loved her enough to open the closet door and show her all the skeletons inside.
He couldn’t do that, not when all the skeletons he’d helped bury weren’t his...
To distract himself from thoughts of his brown-eyed pixie, Griff thought about the news sites he’d visited earlier: the news from Portland and the East Coast was the same as it ever was. He read lots of articles reporting on the ball and on his comeback, but there were a few about what was being touted as the party-before-the-ball, Pritchard-the-Prick’s event. The press was speculating that he was going to announce his decision to enter politics—like that world needed more scumbags.
He hoped Kinga was okay, that she wasn’t being hassled or harassed. God, why had Griff left Portland?
He sighed, lifted his bottle to his lips and sighed again. Suddenly noticing the silence, broken only by waves hitting the beach, gulls and Sam’s soft snore, he looked around and found four sets of eyes on him.
“What?” he demanded, placing his empty beer bottle on the table beside him. He wouldn’t mind another, but that would mean disturbing Sam, who’d only just nodded off.
Griff looked over the rails of the balcony to the white sands and clear water below and considered going for a run or hitting the state-of-the-art gym downstairs after Sam woke up. But he’d done both already today and was still waiting for a rush of endorphins.
He was starting to believe his happy hormone was called Kinga Ryder-White.
Griff rubbed the skin above his heart in a futile attempt to close the hole that was growing bigger by the day. Crap, he missed her. He missed her smile, her scent, her raspy voice and take-no-shit attitude.
He was grieving the end of something that had never really begun.
“Fool.”
“We’ve been telling you that for years,” Sian said, and Griff realized that he’d spoken aloud. Marvelous. And because he’d opened the door, they’d step on in and pepper him with questions...
Three, two, one...
“Why are you grumpy?” Jan demanded.
“You look like the dog ate your homework, dude,” Pete commented.
“What’s been happening in Portland that’s made you so depressed?” Sian asked him. She was doing really well on her new medication. She seemed to be enjoying mothering Sam and she was interacting with the family more than she had in a long time.
Maybe his twin was on her way to stability... Oh, he couldn’t kid himself—she’d have setbacks and episodes for the rest of her life, but if she could remain as upbeat as she currently was, he’d consider that a massive win.
Unlike him, who was feeling anything but positive.
He didn’t know where he wanted his career to go but knew he was done, forever, with acting like the irresponsible man-child the world thought he was. He also knew he would never take on a movie role, act in a play, release an album or do a performance unless the project resonated with him.
He wanted to work at his craft and create a legacy people could respect. He wanted to be the type of man who deserved a woman like Kinga, someone she could be proud of...
Yet he knew that no matter where he went or what he did, his past would follow him. It was now a part of his persona, not easily discarded.
He closed his eyes and released another long stream of air.
Eloise, sitting beside him, patted his hand. “I’ve known you since you were a child, Griff, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so blue. Why don’t you tell us what’s worrying you?”
Uh, that would be a hard no.
He was the protector of his family, the one responsible for making the ship sail smoothly. He’d pull himself off the rocks, just as soon as he got his head together. But until then, he’d pretend, as he always did, that nothing was wrong.