I turn to face her, barely making her face out in the dim light of the headlights fully. The one overhead had already flickered out, having done so when she closed the door. “The cocaine—”
“Not mine,” she says quickly, cutting me off, but I hear the catch in her voice.
I know Gracie well enough to know she’s about to cry. I reach out and grip the steering wheel hard to keep myself from reaching out and pulling her to me.
“It was in your room,” I repeat, reminding her of my traitorous act of going through her things.
I know I shouldn’t have done that, but it’s too late now.
“Not mine,” she states flatly. “It isn’t mine, and it seriously fucking sucks you’re even asking me this. It’s also fucked you even went through my room.”
“It was in your bedside table drawer, Gracie,” I tell her. “Look, I’m not even mad if you’ve relapsed. Relapse happens. I know sobriety is a struggle. So many of my clients have gone through it and—”
“I’m not a fucking client,” she shrieks, stopping my words. “I’m not your client, Devon. Do you understand that? I’m not!”
I’m silent for a moment. Her hair is so dark that it matches the blackness in the car, and I can no longer make even her figure out. Not that I bother trying. I can hear a few sobs wracking her, and the sound alone tugs at my heartstrings. I swear, I don’t want her to cry. I want her to smile and laugh, carefree like she used to. I can remember the first time I had met her. I’d known her in passing, and I’d heard about the law enforcement line throughout her family line. I used to think that was an exaggeration, but I’ve known better for years now.
Her father, two of her uncles, her grandfather, now retired, and her honorary uncle, who is her father-in-law. Now Owen. Because I’m not an idiot, and neither is he. He might be angry with Gracie for his own reasons, but he sure isn’t leaving her life anytime soon, if ever.
Still, I know now that even though her family had made me nervous, I wouldn’t change how I met her for anything. I’m glad I had to drive her home from that party, even if she was drunk.
I want to marry her. The real deal, all over again. I want her to take my name and have my kids. I can actually imagine myself settling down with her, not Kate.
Kate. Thinking of her reminds me of the fresh breakup. I hold my tongue, not saying anything about it. Now isn’t the time.
“Do you know what I specialize in?” I ask her, trying to fill the silence, other than her sobs, with some sort of noise. Small talk.
Fuck, I hate small talk.
Gracie snivels. “What?”
I clear my throat. “I specialize in addiction. My patients, most are all addicts of something.”
She’s silent for a moment. “Because of me?”
I nod and look out the window, reaching to flick the lights off, so they don’t drain my battery and drown us in pure darkness. “Yeah, because of you. You know I’ve always wanted to be a psychologist. I just never knew what exactly I wanted to specialize in, though, not for a long time.”
She says nothing for a few minutes, and I don’t press on the subject. I know better than to. I need to let her sort through her thoughts on her own.
“When did you decide?” She finally asks.
I pinch the bridge of my nose and close my eyes, letting out a slow exhalation of air. Finally, I pull my hand down and look at the seat I know she’s sitting in. She’s no longer sobbing; if I didn’t know better, I would’ve thought she wasn’t there.
“The day you left me,” I say softly, but make sure she can still hear me.
There’s more silence. She’s taking in my words, stewing over them. What she’s thinking, I don’t know. I want to know, but again I don’t press it. I refuse to be a poker. I pride myself in allowing people to feel comfortable enough to open up around me, especially Gracie. She used to be an open book, used to tell me anything and nothing. Now I was lucky to get her to tell me what she ate for breakfast.
“I am sorry for that. The way I left was shitty. I should’ve at least talked to you in person.”
Her words surprise me, and I jerk my head in her direction, eyebrows shooting up in surprise. These were words I didn’t expect to hear from her. “You’re… sorry?”
I can’t help but make my statement sound like a question. I just can’t shake the feeling of surprise.
“Yes,” she breathes out. “It was childish of me to just run out. I did it to you and to Owen.”
I clear my throat, trying to figure out how to respond to that. “That – that’s really mature of you, Gracie.”
It’s the truth. It really is mature and shows how much she has grown. The Gracie before would’ve never just up and taken such high responsibility for her own actions. I think I’ve fallen in love with her a little more with this rise to this level of maturity.