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Relieved that he’s engaging, I have to bite my lip to keep from grinning. “What?”
“Kermit’s finger.”
“Eew.” I laugh as I bat his arm. “That is vile.”
His broad shoulders shake as his laugh rolls out. He has a gorgeous laugh, booming and infectious. And right now, it’s the best sound in the world.
I’m still laughing when I give him another one. “What did the duck say to the hunter?”
Gray chokes down a laugh before asking, “What?”
“I don’t know.” I shrug. “I wasn’t there for that conversation.”
And he laughs again, his expression open and happy. “That is the goofiest one ever, Mac.”
“I know. Hey.” When he looks at me expectantly, I give his hand a tug. “What’s up with you and your brother?”
Gray’s expression falls as abruptly as a lid being slammed shut, and a twinge of guilt hits me. It’s a sneak attack and shitty of me. But there’s a difference between slapping a bandage over a wound and trying to help heal it. I can’t heal all of Gray’s hurts, but I want to try.
“You don’t have to tell me,” I say when he doesn’t say anything.
Gray leans back against the seat and runs a hand over his face before looking off. “I don’t want to.”
It shouldn’t hurt. He has a right to his privacy. But a lump rises in my throat anyway. And it takes effort to nod. Not that he’s looking my way to see it.
A gust of wind hits the truck and it shudders. I should take him inside, comfort him with my body, and forget trying to make him talk.
He sighs and turns to me. His eyes are haunted.
“Gray...”
“It’s okay, Ivy.” He seeks out my hand and holds it again. His fingers have gone cold. With his free hand, he rubs his eyes as if his head hurts.
As if in a fog, Gray stares at his hand, his fingers spread wide. Red abrasions mar his knuckles. He makes a fist and lowers it.
“I hate violence. Believe me, I get the irony of being a football player. But it isn’t the same. On the field, it’s controlled. Well, mostly. And we’re fairly matched up. But off the field?” He shakes his head. “Only a coward uses his fists when he can easily walk away.”
“I’m sorry I egged your brother on and made you fight.”
Gray’s brows lift in surprise before snapping together in a frown. “Don’t ever be sorry for being yourself. I will always defend you, Ivy, and I won’t lose a wink of sleep over it.”
He looks down at his hand again. “I wanted to beat the shit out of him for even talking to you like that. It...unsettles me. I don’t want to be like them.”
“Like them?” I ask.
“I have three brothers. Jonas is the oldest. Twelve years older than myself. Then there’s Leif, who is ten years older, Axel is three years older, and I’m the youngest. Axel is all right but we’re not close. Jonas and Leif are total assholes.”
He glances at me, his brows pulling together in a bemused frown. “You really didn’t google me at all, did you?” There’s no accusation in his voice, only a soft wonder.
“No,” I confess quietly. “Truth? I wanted our friendship to be about Ivy and Gray. Not what the rest of the world thought about you.”
For a long moment he just looks at me, his expression giving nothing away. Then, with his free hand, he reaches out, and the tips of his fingers graze along my cheek.
“Same here, Ivy Mac.” His touch drifts away. “So I’m assuming you didn’t recognize Jonas, did you?”
“Was I supposed to?”
He laughs without humor. “I guess not. Though it’d probably piss him off to hear that.” Gray rolls his shoulders. “Jonas Grayson, superstar offensive lineman, two-time Super Bowl winner—”
