No wonder I don’t feel like I belong.

I don’t.

The last time I felt this out of place was, weirdly, that one night in high school that changed my trajectory. Was that a mistake, too? I miss Mom.

But I can’t think about that now. Deep, determined breaths firm my shoulders and help me resume my safe position on the riverbank of my rocky, emotional rapids.

No frowns, no fears, no tears.

When I leave the bathroom, my warmest, widest smile accompanies me.

21. Grady

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Grady

Marina disappears down the hall for the bathroom, and I hope she’s okay. Earlier at the G&G and the dock, she seemed confident, hopeful, and excited. But here, even before Colin’s dick move, it’s like we took a wrong turn, evident in her uncertainty and wine-guzzling. It’s a family game night—she should enjoy this more than anyone.

As soon as I think it, the realization burns through me like wildfire—I’m a fucking idiot. This must be excruciating for her so soon after the accident. I destroy her chances for a family and then bash her over the head with mine to make sure she knows what she’s missing. I must have an advanced degree in being an asshole for how expertly I’m accomplishing it.

Appetite gone, I dump my plate in the sink between Elena and Mom as they theorize how much money Ashe must’ve put down on the expensive home.

“Does that matter?” I ask. “The entitled prick made that decision without her. What does that tell you?”

I’m unsure what shocks them most—that I volunteered an opinion or what I said. I don’t stay for more conversation, though I hear words like “controlling” and “awfully close to Cora” as I venture down the dimly lit hallway.

Marina’s cane catches on the doorjamb when she exits the bathroom, making her tumble into my arms. Her cane falls, and so does her plastered-on smile.

I say, “You okay?” as she says, “I’m okay.”

“Want to get out of here?” I blurt over her breathless, “I’m a little tired.”

We both take a breath, chuckling at talking over each other. Her grip on my forearms tightens as my hands gently rest at her sides like middle schoolers about to slow dance for the first time.

She doesn’t need my help, but she’s not letting go. I’m close enough to catch the sweetness of the wine on her breath and wonder about the softness of her lips as she lightly nibbles her bottom one.

“There you go again, catching me,” she says softly.

Her words yank me back to that day when she stumbled from her wrecked car, ripped the knife out of her body, and fell into my arms. Here we are again, two feathers caught in the wind.

“I’ll always catch you.”