The Presence of Grace (Love and Loss #2) Read online

  “Shall we?”

  I pushed open my door and joined Devon in the damp, warm air of the evening, glad I’d gotten an iced drink. I followed his lead and we walked to the path, taking leisurely steps at a slow and relaxed pace.

  “So, besides the second job, have any plans for the summer?” Devon asked, breaking the comfortable silence of the three minutes it took for us to make it to the path.

  “Not really. I’ve got a lot of books I want to read, but that’s about it.”

  He chuckled, then said, “That sounds amazing.”

  “I imagine you don’t get a lot of free time, being a single parent.”

  “Tons,” he said with more soft laughter. “The hour between them going to bed and me passing out is just enough time to accomplish exactly nothing.” His laughter died, and then he continued. “Olivia used to be really great at planning things for the summer. Swimming lessons, soccer camps, play dates. I was pretty oblivious. I just went to work, came home, and went where she told me on weekends. It never occurred to me that keeping kids active and occupied in the summer was a full-time job.”

  “Sounds like she was a great mother.”

  I caught him nodding in my periphery. “Definitely.” He was quiet for a moment—we both were. I didn’t know what to say next, but he continued. “Can I tell you about her? This is strange for me—a first. I haven’t met anyone I wanted to spend time with, but it feels wrong to be with you and not get it all out. Does that make sense?”

  It did and it didn’t; I wanted to spend time with him too, and I wanted to know about his marriage and his wife, but it didn’t feel like any of my business. So I told him the truth. “I’ll listen to anything you want to tell me.”

  He was quiet for a moment, but then he spoke and had all my attention.

  “I met Olivia my junior year of college. She showed up at a party and seemed to be one of those typical freshman girls who went to frat parties to get drunk and hook up. The instant I saw her, there was something about her that pulled me to her, but she was with one of my frat brothers. I tried to brush the thoughts away, but all night I watched as she got progressively drunker and my brother got progressively handsier.

  “At the end of the night I saw them going up the stairs and he was practically carrying her, she was so drunk. He looked buzzed, but definitely wasn’t as gone as she was. It made me sick, so I intervened. I pretty much wrestled her away from him and she was so drunk she didn’t even notice. He was pissed, called me a cock-block, and I knew my whole frat would be angry with me, but I didn’t care. I took her in my room, laid her in my bed, and slept on the floor.”

  He paused, taking a sip of his coffee, and continued slowly on the path.

  “When she woke up the next morning, she assumed we’d slept together and was treating me the way she probably treated all the guys she woke up with the next morning. She tried to brush me off, tried to act as though it wasn’t a big deal, but when I explained to her what had really happened—that my fraternity brother was going to practically rape her—she just broke down on my bed. I sat with her, all day, and listened to her story. Turns out, she’d dated a guy all through high school and during her junior year he actually had raped her.”

  “Oh, God,” I said automatically, my hand coming up to cover my mouth as I gasped. “That’s terrible.”

  “Yeah,” he agreed sullenly. “It was one of those situations where she’d said yes before, so he didn’t think her screaming ‘no’ meant anything.”

  I closed my eyes and tried to push the images my mind conjured up aside. I’d never been sexually assaulted, but I could imagine the fear and anger and helplessness that came along with it.

  “It went on for a couple of months before she could end the relationship, and when she left for college, all the anger she felt toward him turned into an effort to reclaim her body. She slept with guys, said yes to anyone, because saying yes was her right and she wanted to use it.” He let out a large sigh and I couldn’t help but feel bad for him; he was obviously upset about what she’d gone through. I wanted to comfort him in some way, but didn’t know how. “Of course, that particular day we didn’t work through all that. That information came in the following years. But that day, the day she woke up in my room, was the first day of us, and we were together from that day forward. I felt this need to protect her, to show her that guys could be decent, that we weren’t all assholes.”

  It seemed fitting, the thought of Devon on a white horse, wanting to rescue a damsel in distress. His goodness was something I’d been attracted to since the very first time I met him.

  “It was hard in the beginning. She tested our relationship a lot. She obviously thought, somewhere inside, I’d treat her just like all the others, that one day I’d leave her if she pushed me away hard enough, but I couldn’t. I loved her because she was broken, but I also loved her because she was strong enough to take care of herself. She didn’t need me, but she wanted me more than she could admit, and that made me love her even more.”

  I never would have thought listening to a man describe his love for someone else would make me fall for him, but I was. Hearing the way he described her, how he cared for her, how he wanted happiness for her, it went a long way to endear him to me. I wanted, so desperately, for someone to care for me that way, with that much intensity and love.

  “It wasn’t until Ruby was born that Olivia seemed to accept that I wasn’t going anywhere, that I wanted her—flaws and all—and that she wasn’t getting rid of me.”

  “She was lucky to have you,” I said softly, saying words truer than I’d ever spoken. I didn’t know Olivia, but I knew she was lucky to have Devon behind her and beside her.

  He let out a loud sigh. “I know it must seem that way to you, hearing all this, but really I am the lucky one. Breaking through her boundaries was hard, but what I got in return was incredible.” He smiled at me and I knew he was thinking about his children. And suddenly, before I could even try to rein it in, I was tearing up. All I could imagine was Devon and a woman who looked like an older version of Ruby, so incredibly happy, and then having it all ripped out from underneath them. How unfair it was to be given the love of a lifetime, only to have it taken away. I pictured the Devon I’d first met three years ago—the broken, sobbing, destroyed man who was in the midst of mourning.

  “Devon,” I whispered, a tear escaping down one cheek. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Hey,” he said, turning to me and noticing my tears. “Come here.” He wrapped his arms around me and I curled into him, keeping the hand with my coffee at his side. “No crying. I’ll never get you to go out on a real date with me if I make you cry,” he said, joking, rubbing his free hand up and down my back. “Don’t be sad,” he finally whispered right next to my ear.

  “I just can’t imagine,” I said, pulling away and wiping under my eyes. “I’m sorry, I just remember you that night outside the school, and how upset you were.”

  “Yeah,” he said, half groaning. “That was a dumb idea. I should never have gone that night.” I nodded, agreeing. “But,” he said as he dipped down, making himself eye level with me, “we might not have ever met if I didn’t.”

  The intensity of his eyes made a ball of warmth form inside me, and I couldn’t help but blush. He stood and we started walking around the pond again.

  “Do you believe in fate?” he asked, his voice softer and almost wistful.

  I thought about my life, of all the circumstances that had brought me to where I was in that particular moment, and the idea that it had all been predetermined was pretty depressing. I wanted it to be random, to not have to think about walking along a path that was so broken and jagged without any hope of maybe finding an alternate route.

  “I don’t know,” I answered as honestly as I could.

  “Believing that Olivia and I met for a reason, and that there’s a purpose past her death, is the only thing that got me through it. I had to believe that there was more waiting for me and R
uby and Jax.”

  “That makes sense.”

  We were quiet for a few more minutes and my mind was reeling, taking in all the information he’d given me. We came upon a bench, situated to face the pond, and he motioned toward it. “Shall we?”

  “Sure,” I said with a slight smile, taking a seat on the bench. He sat next to me and I let out a breath.

  “I’m sorry I dumped all that on you,” he said, making me turn to look at him. “I learned a while ago that honesty is the best policy. There’s more I want to tell you, but I don’t think it needs to be said tonight.”

  I blinked at his candid words, wondering why the idea of a dishonest man was always the go-to, when obviously there were men in the world who viewed the truth as a necessity instead of an agenda.

  “We’ll have time for everything important,” I whispered, still looking in his eyes.

  “I hope so,” he said, just as quietly. We sat on the bench for a while; the only thing heard was the splashing of the water and the rhythmic sounds of frogs croaking. The sun had set since we’d arrived, but the air was still warm and comfortable. Eventually, Devon spoke again.

  “So, I’ve spilled all my beans for the evening. How about you?”

  “Me?”

  “Yeah, you,” he said, smiling again. Moonlight lit his face, making him all the more handsome. “What’s your story? I didn’t get much information out of you at Disney World.”

  “Not a lot to tell,” I said, hoping he believed me. There were things to tell Devon about, things I would eventually have to tell anyone I seriously considered dating, but I didn’t want to drag us any further down than we already were. “I went to college for elementary education, married my college boyfriend soon after we graduated, started life together, realized life wasn’t always the fairy tale you were told to expect, then moved here as soon as the divorce was final.”

  “Wow.” He sounded surprised.

  “Wow?”

  “I mean…,” he started, rubbing his hand along the back of his neck. “You’re so young. That’s a lot to go through at your age.”

  “You’re too young to be a widower.”

  “That’s the truth.”

  “I’m sorry, I’m not trying to be rude.”

  “No, no, you’re not. I’m sorry. You just look so young and I thought…. Wait, how old are you?”

  “I’m twenty-seven. Old enough to be married and divorced. Actually, I was married at twenty-one, divorced at twenty-four, and a Floridian shortly thereafter.” The air was still between us and I heard the bouncing of a basketball from the courts at the other end of the park. I took another sip of my coffee and worked up the nerve to ask the question that was practically burning in my mouth. “Does it bother you that I’ve been divorced?”

  I wasn’t brave enough to look at him, to try and read his face before he gave his answer.

  “I think what bothers me most about it is that someone was stupid enough to let you go.”

  I wanted to tell him everything in that moment, but the overwhelming urge to not ruin all I felt between us won out. There will be plenty of time to ruin it.

  “Hey,” he said softly as his hand wrapped gently around the back of my neck, and my eyes slowly fluttered up to meet his gaze. “I’m not doing a great job of cheering you up, am I?”

  I let out a small laugh. “Death and divorce are my top two favorite topics of conversation.” He laughed with me and I almost lost my breath as his thumb moved up and down the sensitive skin of my neck. His hold on me was gentle, yet firm, and I wasn’t complaining. It had been a long time since a man’s fingers had trailed over any part of me, and I both loved and hated how wonderful it felt.

  “Shall we finish our lap around the pond?” His voice was soft and I got the impression that walking around the pond wasn’t actually what he wanted to do. I hadn’t been with many men, but I could tell when one wanted to kiss me. Devon’s eyes were dark, hooded, and darting down to my lips with every other loud thump of my heart. And even though kissing Devon seemed like a great distraction from all the bad, I knew if we were going to have a first kiss, I didn’t want it to be in the wake of the death and divorce speeches.

  We made it back to Devon’s car, the rest of the walk uneventful but enjoyable; Devon made sure to keep the conversation light, telling me funny stories about Jax and Ruby. I had a few gems to tell him myself, what with my entire workweek full of eight-year-olds.

  Just before he opened the door for me, he asked, “Can I take you out on a real date? Wednesday night, maybe? Dinner? A movie?”

  “Sure,” I said, trying not to blush. “I’d like that.”

  Chapter Eight

  Devon

  I hastily pulled into a parking spot outside Grace’s apartment building and cringed when the car slammed into the sidewalk. I pushed open the door as I turned the car off, and walked as quickly as I could without looking like someone was chasing me. I found the door with her apartment number on it and knocked.

  Grace opened the door with a beautiful smile and before she could do or say anything, I started apologizing.

  “I’m so sorry, Grace. The kids took forever to get ready. Jax couldn’t find his left shoe, and Ruby was not only moving the slowest I’ve ever seen her move, but she also had the worst attitude. I’m sorry.”

  “Really, it’s fine,” she said, still smiling as she stepped out into her breezeway.

  “It’s not fine,” I said to her back as she turned to lock her dead bolt.

  “Devon, it’s thirty minutes. You texted me and let me know you’d be late. It’s not like I don’t understand how children are the ultimate time suckers.” Her laugh rang out, echoing around us, making my nerves, which had previously been completely raw, calm. I was immediately at ease.

  I was also immediately noticing the dress Grace was wearing.

  There was nothing overtly sexual about the dress, but everything about Grace was sexy. The way the soft blue fabric crossed over her front, cutting right between her breasts. Or the way it hugged her waist and hung perfectly from her ass.

  I couldn’t remember the last time I purposely looked at a woman’s ass.

  The bottom of the dress flared out slightly when she turned, letting me take in the length of her legs.

  “You look amazing,” I stammered before I could stop myself.

  “Thanks,” she replied shyly. “You look pretty great too.”

  I looked down at my white cotton button-up shirt and jeans. Nothing special about me. Guys had it easy in the What to Wear on a Date department.

  I led the way to my SUV, opening the door for her, watching as she nimbly folded herself in, giving me another shy smile. I crossed in front and climbed in, turning to her with another apology on the tip of my tongue.

  “We can’t make the early movie, but we can get dinner and hope we make the later showing. I’m sorry, again.”

  “Dinner sounds great, Devon. And it’s fine. No more sorrys.”

  We talked all the way to the restaurant and the conversation flowed effortlessly, which only made me more nervous. I wanted the evening to go well, for us to be comfortable around each other and for everything to go smoothly. It was scary how much I wanted all that. It had taken me long enough to come to terms with the fact that I wanted to take Grace out on a date, and now that the official date was happening, I was prepared for disaster—for some cosmic joke to play out and to hear the laughter ring inside my head, saying, “You didn’t think dating would be easy, did you?”

  But aside from the late arrival, so far it was smooth sailing.

  I didn’t know what to do with goodness—it had evaded me for so long.

  Still, there we were, driving to dinner, talking, and nothing terrible was happening. Grace laughed as she told me stories about all the drunken college kids she’d served over the weekend, and I entertained with my account of the elderly woman who’d come into my hardware store looking for a chain saw to take down the tree in her front yard tha
t blocked her view of the hunky swimsuit models that lived across the street.

  “She did not!” Grace teased, laughing as I pulled into a parking spot at the one good Italian restaurant in town. That time I managed not to ram my car into any cement dividers.

  “She did. And even though it went against my better judgment, I couldn’t find a valid reason to not sell her a chain saw.”

  I listened to her laughter as I climbed out of the car and then opened her door for her. I held out my hand to help her out, and when she placed her hand in mine it was as if every part of me was aware of it: my heart rate increased, the hairs on the back of my neck stood up, and my mouth ran dry. My whole being was completely attuned to the fact that her hand was in mine and it felt incredible. Once she was on her own two feet, I let her hand fall away, even though it almost hurt to lose the contact.

  We walked into the restaurant and, luckily, were led to an open table. The waiter took our drink order and then we were left to each other once again.

  “So,” I said, trying to keep the conversation going. “What made you want to be a teacher?” A smile started in the corner of her mouth, a small one, and I could tell she was trying to hide it, but she couldn’t contain it and eventually it shone brightly. “What’s so funny?”

  “Do you know how many times I’ve been asked that question? Something about teachers, I guess. Everyone always asks that. I imagine investment bankers don’t get the same question. Or mechanics.”

  “Maybe it has something to do with the entire universe understanding that teachers get royally screwed when it comes to pay and appreciation. I think people are interested in why someone would willingly sign up for a job that doesn’t get the thanks it deserves.”

  “Perhaps,” she said in a way that made me think she didn’t agree. “Or maybe it’s that everyone thinks I’d have to be crazy to willingly become a second-grade teacher,” she said with a laugh.

  “Is that it? Are you crazy?”

  “No,” she said on a sigh, her gaze slowly falling to her hands, clasped together and resting on the table. “I just really love children.” Her words were somber and sad; a blaring contradiction to the laughter just seconds before, and even the words themselves.