Things Remembered (Accidentally On Purpose Companion Novel #3) by L.D. Davis Page B

wall of glass and gazed out at the city as I thought about exactly what Grant had done to make me react so harshly.
     

     
    Grant came to see me after Sharice’s funeral, still dressed in his black suit. His eyes were red-rimmed and watery, and he looked so damn tired and weary. He was twenty-six years old, but stress, heartache, and grief made him look three times his age. I knew I had to fix myself for him. I knew I was part of the reason why he looked so ragged and anguished. It made me feel so fucking guilty.
    I was glad that he came to see me before I got moved to the psychiatric ward. We weren’t allowed visitors there during the evaluation period. I would have been able to talk to him on the phone, but I needed to see him face to face. I needed that physical contact to reassure and comfort me, just as I knew that he needed it for his own comfort.
    He came in as he always did and kissed me tenderly on the mouth. Cupping my cheek in one hand, he asked, “How are you feeling, Baby Girl?”
    “I’m not the one who just buried a sister.” I traced his jaw with my fingers.
    Tears slid slowly down my cheeks. I was crying for Grant’s sorrow, and I was crying for my own. Shari had been my best friend.
    He gently grasped my wandering fingers and pressed them to his lips, closing his eyes. We stayed like that for several moments. His own tears dripped on my hand, trickled down my wrist, and dropped onto my lap.
    When he finally opened his eyes, he held my hand tightly and leaned down to kiss me. It started out soft and tender like the first kiss, but quickly developed into one of desperation. He held the back of my head with his free hand and kissed me as if trying to save a life, but I didn’t know if it was his or mine.
    He pulled away suddenly, leaving us both breathless and slightly dazed. I watched him warily as he stood just out of my reach. He closed his eyes again and pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers. I knew I had to tell him something to ease his pain. There was no substitute for Shari, but we could find a patch of green grass amongst all the dead, brown landscape around us. We could find a piece of happiness together, and it had to start with me. I knew that.
    I opened my mouth to tell him, but he spoke first, in a murmur so soft, I didn’t understand what he said.
    I reached for him. “I didn’t hear you.”
    He didn’t open his eyes. He didn’t move his fingers. He didn’t come to me, even though I knew he could sense me reaching for him. He did, however, repeat himself.
    “I’m leaving.”
    “Okay,” I said slowly. “I understand, but you know the routine. I won’t be out of here for a few days at least. When I come out—”
    He looked at me then and dropped his hand to his side in a fist.
    “Mayson, I’m leaving . I’m moving back to Texas. By the time you’re released, I won’t be here.”
    Astonished, I could only stare at him with my mouth open and my eyes wide. When he began to cry, I jerked into action and tried to go to him. He put his hands up to ward me off, though, like he was afraid of me. Maybe he was.
    “I love you,” he said with such force that it almost knocked me over. “I love you, but I refuse to watch another person I love to get put into the ground. I can’t stay here anymore and watch you kill yourself. I will not hold your dead body. You are going to die, Mayson, and I don’t want to be here when it happens.”
    He turned away from me, and I knew I would never see him again if he walked out the door. As panic swelled in me, I scrambled to my knees, sobbing as I again reached for him.
    “Grant,” I cried and began to frantically implore to him. “Please. I’ll get better. Please, please, please. I’ll go into rehab and do it for real this time. I promise. Just please don’t go. I need you. I need you.”
    He stared at me for a few seconds with tears still streaming down his face. Then he came to me. He pulled me into his arms, held me