to yourself , she chided. You’re beginning to doubt your own mind. Of course Griffin is going to maintain his innocence. That doesn’t mean he isn’t guilty.
She needed time to sort things out, to remember, and yet she didn’t want to remember. With tentative fingers, she reached for the keys and slid them closer to her, wrapping her fist tightly around them.
His eyes darted toward her closed fist, then back to her face. “I should thank you, for one thing. If it hadn’t been for me spending time in prison, I may never have given a damn about anything. Because of my hatred for you over the years, I was more determined than ever to prove to you my innocence. I was also determined to show you I was good enough for you. Hollin, the spoiled little rich girl. And Griffin Wells, white trash, is how this town used to think of me.”
She swallowed thickly, listening to him rant.
“When I got out of prison, I worked three jobs just so I could buy the land this trailer sits on. Nate Whitaker trusted me to buy it on land contract. And then I started saving money until I could afford to buy more property and start my own construction company. Last summer I bought an old house across the lake from your family home. Once I finish the renovations, it’ll be worth twice what I paid for it. It doesn’t matter much that I won’t be able to pay off the bank until I’m ninety years old. People around here have now started to show me a little respect.”
He released a lengthy breath and ran a hand through his hair. The cowlick he’d had as a teen still poked out at a weird angle from the top of his head. “I’m proud of who I’ve become.”
“If that’s true then why do you keep this old, beat-up trailer?” she asked.
He smiled crookedly. “Roots. You can’t forget your roots, Hollin. No matter how much people think they’ve changed over the years, you can’t hide who you really are. I keep this place as a reminder.”
He was crazy. She needed to remember that. He’d also had her falling for his pitiful story until he’d thrown that last part in. Who in their right mind would want to come by this old rattle trap to read the newspaper?
“You know,” he said, trailing a finger across the back of her hand, the one holding the keys. “You never did tell me what it is you’re doing here.”
Hollin met his gaze and froze.
#
Griffin pulled his hand away. When was he going to learn to keep his hands off her? Her demeanor changed instantly, the moment he’d touched her. Her chest rose and fell beneath her tan trench coat. And she looked at him with wary eyes.
She bit at her lip, then swallowed. “If I’m going to live in this town again, I need to face my past.”
Narrowing his eyes, he cocked his head to study her more closely. He had no idea if she was being straight with him, and that irked him. He used to be able to read her so well.
“This is where I met you,” Hollin continued, her voice shaky and uncertain. “So I thought I should start here.”
Griffin felt empty inside. Facing her past obviously meant facing her attacker. And since she believed the attacker to be him . . . He flopped onto his back again and stared up at the ceiling. “This is my property, and you’re not welcome here. No one is.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
He angled his head to look at her. Was she serious? She’d apologized for stepping foot in the dump where he’d grown up, like it had some kind of sentimental value to him. He almost laughed.
He watched as she slid off the bed, brushed her hand over her trench coat, and tucked her hair behind her ears. “I’d like to leave now.”
Was she asking permission? Continuing to stare up at her, he lifted a shoulder from the mattress in a careless shrug. “No one is stopping you.”
Keeping her gaze on him, she backed out of the room and into the hall. Then she turned and ran.
Griffin heard the wood steps creak and groan, her car roar
She needed time to sort things out, to remember, and yet she didn’t want to remember. With tentative fingers, she reached for the keys and slid them closer to her, wrapping her fist tightly around them.
His eyes darted toward her closed fist, then back to her face. “I should thank you, for one thing. If it hadn’t been for me spending time in prison, I may never have given a damn about anything. Because of my hatred for you over the years, I was more determined than ever to prove to you my innocence. I was also determined to show you I was good enough for you. Hollin, the spoiled little rich girl. And Griffin Wells, white trash, is how this town used to think of me.”
She swallowed thickly, listening to him rant.
“When I got out of prison, I worked three jobs just so I could buy the land this trailer sits on. Nate Whitaker trusted me to buy it on land contract. And then I started saving money until I could afford to buy more property and start my own construction company. Last summer I bought an old house across the lake from your family home. Once I finish the renovations, it’ll be worth twice what I paid for it. It doesn’t matter much that I won’t be able to pay off the bank until I’m ninety years old. People around here have now started to show me a little respect.”
He released a lengthy breath and ran a hand through his hair. The cowlick he’d had as a teen still poked out at a weird angle from the top of his head. “I’m proud of who I’ve become.”
“If that’s true then why do you keep this old, beat-up trailer?” she asked.
He smiled crookedly. “Roots. You can’t forget your roots, Hollin. No matter how much people think they’ve changed over the years, you can’t hide who you really are. I keep this place as a reminder.”
He was crazy. She needed to remember that. He’d also had her falling for his pitiful story until he’d thrown that last part in. Who in their right mind would want to come by this old rattle trap to read the newspaper?
“You know,” he said, trailing a finger across the back of her hand, the one holding the keys. “You never did tell me what it is you’re doing here.”
Hollin met his gaze and froze.
#
Griffin pulled his hand away. When was he going to learn to keep his hands off her? Her demeanor changed instantly, the moment he’d touched her. Her chest rose and fell beneath her tan trench coat. And she looked at him with wary eyes.
She bit at her lip, then swallowed. “If I’m going to live in this town again, I need to face my past.”
Narrowing his eyes, he cocked his head to study her more closely. He had no idea if she was being straight with him, and that irked him. He used to be able to read her so well.
“This is where I met you,” Hollin continued, her voice shaky and uncertain. “So I thought I should start here.”
Griffin felt empty inside. Facing her past obviously meant facing her attacker. And since she believed the attacker to be him . . . He flopped onto his back again and stared up at the ceiling. “This is my property, and you’re not welcome here. No one is.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
He angled his head to look at her. Was she serious? She’d apologized for stepping foot in the dump where he’d grown up, like it had some kind of sentimental value to him. He almost laughed.
He watched as she slid off the bed, brushed her hand over her trench coat, and tucked her hair behind her ears. “I’d like to leave now.”
Was she asking permission? Continuing to stare up at her, he lifted a shoulder from the mattress in a careless shrug. “No one is stopping you.”
Keeping her gaze on him, she backed out of the room and into the hall. Then she turned and ran.
Griffin heard the wood steps creak and groan, her car roar
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