Too Close to Resist Page 11

  “Gracie! Oh, my God, I can’t believe it.” Mrs. Melvin’s hand clamped onto her elbow. “I went outside to let Peanut in because she was barking her fool head off and I saw it. Oh, it’s just awful. We called the fire department right away, but I swear it took forever. Carl was out trying to get the garden hose to reach and—”

  “Oh, Grace, it’s just awful. Just awful. You shouldn’t be watching this. Where are your parents? They were here earlier. Do you think—”

  Neighbors’ voices began to meld together, a cacophony of speculation, horror and commiseration. Grace knew she should thank them. She should be glad they cared, but she couldn’t take it. She couldn’t breathe as they circled around her in the dark night illuminated by fire and fire truck lights.

  Grace opened her mouth to speak, but everyone around her was too busy chattering over one another. She had to get out of here. Before she threw up. Before the entire crowd suffocated her. But they blocked her in, talking at once, over each other, stealing all the air.

  Grace closed her eyes, thought about sinking to the ground and sitting with her hands over her ears when a hand grasped her elbow firmly.

  “Grace, your parents keep calling your cell.” Kyle gently pulled her out of the crowd. “I’ll drive you over there and drop you off.”

  The voices continued to chatter at her, but she couldn’t make anything out. She nodded at Kyle and let him lead her back to the car.

  * * *

  IN THE DARK, with Grace pale and shaken in the passenger seat, it was easy to forget where he was and pretend this wasn’t Carvelle. There was too much happening around him to pay much attention to the sick feeling in his stomach, to picture the trailer park on the other side of town.

  Grace sniffled, leaned forward in her seat and wrapped her arms around herself as he pulled into the McKnight driveway. Mrs. McKnight was pacing the yard with a phone to her ear; Mr. McKnight was seated on the concrete stoop until he saw them pull up.

  Mrs. McKnight pulled the phone away, and both she and her husband rushed to the car. Kyle heard Grace’s sharp intake of breath right before she pushed open the car door.

  “Good. You didn’t go. Tell me you didn’t go.”

  The door shut, silencing the rest of Mrs. McKnight’s words and any reply Grace offered. Kyle watched them in the pale glow of the streetlight and the motion-sensitive light on top of the garage. Mrs. McKnight’s mouth kept moving, just like the neighbors’ of Grace’s. Why wasn’t anyone giving her a chance to breathe?

  Kyle shook his head. Not his problem. He’d brought her here because he’d had no other choice. Now he’d dropped her off where she’d be safe and taken care of. He should go. Just back out of the drive and head back to Bluff City. He had nothing to do with this. Grace was fine now. Safe with her parents. What did he have to offer?

  He stepped out of the car.

  “Oh, I’m so glad you drove her, Kyle,” Mrs. McKnight said with a sniffle, her arm entwining with his and pulling him toward the house as Mr. McKnight led Grace ahead of him. Panic began to infiltrate the idiocy of getting out of the car and Kyle struggled to keep calm, focused. Darting away from Mrs. McKnight’s overpowering grasp wouldn’t help anyone.

  “I should—”

  “I know you don’t like to come to Carvelle. It just makes me all the more grateful you helped her. All the more grateful you and Jacob have been watching out for her.” She sniffled again. Kyle tugged on his arm, lightly. Her hold didn’t loosen.

  “Mrs. McKnight—”

  “Can you imagine if she’d been there?” Mrs. McKnight’s voice squeaked and she pulled a tissue out of her robe pocket with her free hand. “If she was supposed to be there. No one in that house. No reason for this.” Mrs. McKnight blew into the tissue. “I’m sorry. I’m blubbering. I’m a mess. I can’t stop thinking about all the possibilities. Horrible what a man can do.”

  Kyle didn’t know what to say. What was there to say? He knew what a man could do, and it was worse than set a fire.

  But what if Grace had been home in Carvelle? As Mrs. McKnight said. What if she was supposed to be home? “So it wasn’t an accident then, the fire? It was set?”

  “Too early to tell, but... Everything was shut off. What could have started a fire?” Mrs. McKnight shook her head. “Colin says I’m getting ahead of myself, but it had to have been Barry. It just had to have been.”

  Kyle let out a slow breath. If he didn’t concentrate on his breathing, he’d concentrate on the type of person who knocked around women. Who would leave someone innocent and sweet like Grace to die.

  If he thought about that, the feelings of rage and retribution returned and he was back in a trailer with a gun to his father’s head.

  “I should get back,” Kyle said as they reached the door. He couldn’t set foot inside the McKnights’ cozy little house. He didn’t belong. No amount of money, nice clothes or kissing Grace could make him belong. “If there’s anything I can do...”

  Mrs. McKnight patted his arm and finally, finally released him. “You’re a good boy, Kyle. A good man, I guess. I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t call Jacob. He’d rush home and I don’t want him driving late at night all worked up. Lord knows he never knows what to do when he’s angry, and this will send him through the roof. Colin and I will call him in the morning.”

  Kyle nodded, swallowed down the arguments against her labeling him good. If he was a good man, things would be different. “Please, call my cell if you need anything else.” He turned to leave, made it all the way to his car, but when he slid inside, he noticed Grace’s purse was still in the passenger seat.

  He couldn’t just leave with it. She might need something. In fact, she probably wanted something of her own. Something she hadn’t lost.

  He picked it up, let his fingers trail across the canvas. The image of her face watching her house be devoured by flame and water would be etched in his mind forever. Everyone had been talking to her, crowding her, but she’d just looked at the house in pain.

  She didn’t deserve this hand. Not her. Kyle’s fingers dug into the heavy purse.

  He was not a good man. Not even close. But he could do something. He could give her something. Be there for her somehow.

  Kyle placed the purse back on the passenger seat and backed out of the driveway. She needed more than a heavy purse she’d grabbed in haste. He could make one more trip. Get her some of her clothes so she could feel normal tomorrow. Herself.

  Get a few things. One last trip to Carvelle. Then, when it was over, and he was back in Bluff City for good, he’d extricate himself from the whole thing so something like what happened in her bedroom never happened again. If he had to move out of the damn house on the bluff to accomplish it.

  CHAPTER TEN

  GRACE TOOK A deep breath. In the hall bathroom of her parents’ house she finally had a moment to herself, to breathe. Just her. No police and questions. No crowding and worrying. No overpowering need to smooth things over, to tell her parents everything was fine.

  Nothing was fine.

  Grace studied her own face. What had she done to deserve this? Whether it was an accident or Barry, what wrong had she done in her life to warrant another hit, another blow?

  Grace sighed and gripped the sink, letting her head fall forward. It didn’t matter. Good or bad didn’t matter. The world wasn’t one big scorecard. Hadn’t she learned a long time ago that people didn’t get what they deserved?

  Grace took another deep breath, splashed some water on her face. She was getting to the numb portion of the whole ordeal. She would go to her old room and sleep. Sleep for a very long time. Her parents could handle the phone calls from concerned neighbors for one night. The police were looking for Barry, keeping an eye on her parents’ house.

  She’d take over everything tomorrow once she had some energy. Once fight
replaced numb.

  God, God, she hoped it would.

  She stepped out of the bathroom. The living room was empty. Everything quiet. She hoped that meant Mom and Dad had gone to bed.

  A knock sounded on the door. Grace’s heart leaped to her throat, panic seizing her. Oh, God, it was happening again. The irrational fear at every little thing.

  Bad guys don’t knock on the door, Grace. Tell that to her shaking hands. Bracing herself against those shakes, Grace moved toward the door with hesitant steps. She peered out the peephole and her heart did a different kind of flop.

  She opened the door to Kyle. “What are you doing here? I thought you left.”

  He seemed startled to see her. “I...I thought your parents would answer. Um.” He shoved her purse into her arms. “You forgot this in my car,” he said stiffly.

  “Thank you.”

  “I brought you a few of your things.” The stiffness eased into something closer to discomfort and embarrassment. He slipped a large canvas bag off his shoulder and handed it to her. “I hope you don’t mind me poking through your stuff, but I thought you might like...you know, your own things right now.”

  Grace swallowed. When the lump in her throat didn’t dislodge, she swallowed again. “Thank you,” she croaked. “I...” She took the bag, peeked at the contents. Visible from the top was a sweater, the family picture that had been on her nightstand at MC, her toothbrush.

  Grace set the bag down, hoping if she moved she wouldn’t be inclined to cry again. Hadn’t Kyle seen her cry enough? But this... God, this sweet gesture coming from him. It really was too much.

  “That means a lot.”

  “It was nothing.” He seemed desperate that it be true, but his returning to Carvelle a second time after spending ten years away wasn’t nothing. Grace could never see it as nothing.

  She met his gaze for the first time. “Kyle.” She didn’t know what to say. Didn’t know what to do. She tried to blink back tears, tried to be stronger and braver than she was. But it didn’t work. This was all too much.

  “Don’t cry.” He reached out, touched her elbow, almost desperately. “Everything...” He trailed off, looking pained.

  “You can’t say it, can you? Good for you.” It was refreshing that someone didn’t feel the need to lie to her. To try to smooth over the pain and hurt. This sucked, and it wasn’t okay. The pain and hurt were there. End of story. Her things and memories were gone forever. Things that could never, ever be replaced. “Everyone keeps saying it’ll be okay, but it won’t be. You know it won’t. I know it won’t.”

  He stared at her with those piercing blue eyes. His hands clamped onto her shoulders. “Grace.”

  She shook her head. “Don’t lie to me, Kyle. I’ve been here before. It won’t be okay. Losing my house will never be okay. What happened before will never be okay.” Her voice broke. The tears she wanted so desperately to be in control of trickled onto her cheeks.

  “You’re right. It’ll never be okay. But that’s life. Things aren’t always going to work out. We both learned that the hard way, right?”

  She sniffled, nodded. Foolishly wished he’d pull her into a hug and soothe her and tell her everything would work out even if it was a lie.

  “But you are the strongest woman I’ve ever met. You are...” He swallowed. “Something bad happened and you made the best of it. You survived and you didn’t shut yourself away. You’ll do the same here. It won’t be easy, but you’ll do it because that’s who you are. You are strong and brave and better than what anyone can do to you.” He brushed haphazardly at the tears on her face. “Okay?”

  Grace wanted to sit down. Wanted to sink right onto the floor, because his words did just that. They floored her. Did he really think all that of her? It didn’t compute. No matter how close they’d gotten, it was more credit than, well, than she thought she deserved. She tried so hard to be strong, but all she could think of were the times she’d failed. When fear had won.

  “It might not be okay.” His thumb brushed across her jaw. “But you will be.”

  It just about did her in, so she stepped into him, and he finally offered what she’d foolishly wanted. A hug.

  “You’re exhausted. You should go to bed.” But he squeezed her to him instead of pushing her away as she might have expected under different circumstances.

  Yes, she was tired. Yes, she should go to bed. Instead she tilted her head back and pressed her lips to his. Nothing hot and heavy. Just a kiss. A little physical comfort from a man who’d given her more than anyone else had tonight. The bag of things, his words. He’d handed her a piece of herself when she’d felt like nothing more than an empty vessel.

  A throat clearing interrupted the otherwise quiet room, the otherwise comfort of the kiss. Kyle practically tripped over himself stepping away from her.

  Grace turned to see her father standing there with an uncharacteristic scowl on his face. “Well,” he said. When he didn’t say anything beyond that, Grace almost laughed.

  “Thanks for bringing my stuff,” Grace said, returning her gaze to Kyle. He had his hands shoved in his pockets. This would all be cute and kind of funny if not for the reason she was here, or the fact that she was thirty, not sixteen.

  “It was no problem. I’ll see you later.” He hesitated, and then backed into the night.

  On a sigh, Grace closed the door. When she turned to face her father, he was still scowling.

  “Gracie, you know I like Kyle well enough, but—”

  “Not tonight, Dad. Not tonight.” She picked up the bag Kyle had dropped off, wanted the goodness of that act to blind the bleakness of this night. It didn’t, but it tried.

  Dad grunted, but when she passed him he put his arm around her shoulders and walked with her into the kitchen. “Go to bed. There won’t be any more news until morning.”

  News. Grace didn’t want any news.

  “It’ll be okay, kiddo.” Dad squeezed, then released her. He managed a smile, the wrinkles creasing into his skin. He looked tired and old. It hurt her heart, if it was even possible for it to hurt more.

  “You and Mom need sleep, too. Where is she?”

  “I wrangled her into bed. God knows she’s not sleeping, but at least she’s horizontal.”

  “I don’t want her to—”

  “We’re your parents. We’ll worry. End of story.” It was his best no-nonsense teacher voice. “Now go to bed. Maybe with a little rest under our belts we’ll all be a little clearer in the morning. They’ll know what caused the fire. The police will talk to Barry and take him in if he did it. Nothing else to do but sleep.”

  Grace forced a smile and headed down the hall to her old room. Dad was wrong. There were plenty of things to do besides sleep. Worry. Feel sorry for herself. Curse Barry to hell and back. Wish he was dead, whether this was his doing or not.

  Grace stepped back in time. The wood paneling of her room, the dark purple curtains. Old photographs and books. A comforter as old as her high school diploma. It was hers and not hers at the same time.

  Grace pulled the sweater out of the bag Kyle had brought. The picture. Her toothbrush. Underneath were a pair of sweatpants, a T-shirt, deodorant. A strange mix of things, but they were hers. That was good enough.

  Grace sank onto the bed, and as she pulled the shirt out of the bag a folded-up piece of paper fluttered to the ground. She picked it up, unfolded it.

  It was the caricature she’d drawn of Kyle. A week or so ago, but it felt like years. He’d kept it. Anal, pragmatic Kyle had kept her silly little scribble.

  When she laid her head down on the pillow, she began to feel the numb and hurt wear away into the fight she desperately wanted. Maybe Kyle was right. This wouldn’t be okay, but hell if she let something make her not okay again.

  * * *

  KYLE TU
RNED THE CURVE, hard-edged ice shifting in his chest. The kind of feeling he hadn’t let in for a long, long time. It was different from what Grace brought out in him. Not uncomfortable, not sweet and light and good. Hard, sharp, shaving away all that goodness.

  Ten years had changed Carvelle. It had expanded slightly, updated in places, but this little section of it looked the same. Even in the pitch-black of the small-town night, with the fire on the other side of town dying down, Kyle knew the trailer park was the same.

  He stopped his car at the entrance. Don’t do it. Turn around. Go home. Don’t do it. Though his mind chanted reason, it barely registered. Just a faint dread, a vague sense of wrongness.

  Kyle slowly pushed the car door open and stepped onto the gravel. Might as well end this day of chaos with a trip to its beginning.

  It smelled the same. The sweet, earthy scent of a spring night not strong enough to cover up the smell of trailer. A metallic, dirty smell. Somewhere there might be trailer parks full of cheerful hanging pots; children’s toys not covered in rust; and decent, hardworking people.

  Not in Carvelle.

  Kyle took a halting step on the gravel road that ran down the center. Actually, calling it gravel was generous. Most of the rock had been pounded into the dusty ground or washed away so that this was really only a path.

  Much like the trailers that lined it on either side. Worn down and out. He could only make out the edges of each mobile home in the faint lights, in the inky black of night, but he could still see it vividly, as if he’d only left yesterday.

  Kyle’s hands clenched into fists as he slowly, painfully walked to the last trailer on the left. All he could see was the shape, but it didn’t matter. The ice in his chest dug deeper, the pain slashing harder.

  Avoidance had worked for so long. What the hell was he doing here? Facing this. It was stupid. Pointless. So he’d grown up here, in this hell? So what?