Page 52 of In Every Chapter

I gritted my teeth and continued marching through the pounding rain. I was in no mood to be bossed around.

The truck followed me, and Greyson tried again, softer. “Paisley. You don’t have to talk to me, but I need you to get in. Please.”

It was the barely repressed, passionate please that had me whirling towards him. Only it wasn’t graceful. More like a baby giraffe on skates as I slipped and grabbed the door handle for balance.

I jabbed my finger at him, cold rain streaming down my face, plastering my bangs to my forehead. No doubt looking like a beautifully drowned rat—original comparison courtesy of Juliet . . . as a compliment. “If I get in, it’s only because I’m cold. I’m still freaking mad at you,” I hissed.

Greyson’s face was impassive. “Understood.”

I slammed the door harder than necessary after I climbed in, but Greyson didn’t say anything. Didn’t look anything. Seriously, was the man so unflappable? Was this what I got for marrying a retired Marine? A stone wall with no emotion.

He waited for me to buckle my seat belt, and I considered leaving it off just to be petty. But I wasn’t petty. I was angry. And also crying. I hated crying. Of all the things I’d inherited from my mom, it had to be the stupid weep-at-everything-even-commercials genetic makeup.

Growing up, I’d been told I needed thicker skin. My skin was plenty thick, thank you very much. I’d survived my dad leaving, an alcoholic mother, and foster care, for crying out loud. But my tears weren’t a sign of weakness and had nothing to do with my lack of strength—and everything to do with a depth of feeling. I felt a lot. Too much. And I hated it.

My teeth chattered in a mix of anger and chills.

Greyson cranked the heat. Ridiculously too thoughtful man who wouldn’t let me suffer in the cold. Which made the tears fall more thickly. And definitely didn’t help the situation with my glasses fogging up beyond all manner of usefulness.

The road and the silence stretched across the miles. True to his word, Greyson didn’t say a word. Didn’t ask any questions.

“Is it true?” I finally asked, anger bubbling over. “Jared’s dead? And no sugarcoating. I deserve the truth.”

“Yes,” Greyson said simply.

Even though I was expecting it, the bluntness hurt. Icy shivers rattled my spine and my resolve. “How? And when?”

“You remember marrying him?”

I snorted and crossed my arms. “That’s kinda the reason I thought he was my husband.”

Greyson exhaled softly. “You married him seven years ago. End of January at your church in Seattle. You didn’t want to wait and had already been approved for married housing on campus.”

I closed my eyes, leaning my head against the headrest. This part was familiar. I could picture it. The poofiness of my dress—his mom’s because it was a Nichols’ family tradition. The smell of roses and lemon cleaner. Jared’s boyish grin. Mama D and Pops walking me down the aisle. My cheeks flamed, remembering that kiss after the pastor declared us husband and wife. Then our wedding night and brief honeymoon with a promise of a longer one over spring break. I cleared my thoughts and turned the heat down a smidge.

Despite the darkness of the cab, I could feel Greyson’s side-eye, but I ignored it. “What next?”

Greyson’s jaw ticked, and he slowly pulled to a stop at an empty four-way stop. But he didn’t drive forward. We were far enough out of town that it wasn’t a big hazard this time of night.

The silence made me itchy, and my skin prickled with tightness. I needed to know. I’d been stuck in limbo long enough, aching to know the truth and yet terrified of what I’d find. “Greyson, please,” I whispered. “I can take it. If I’m not with him, did I do something—”

“No,” Greyson growled darkly. “You’re not to blame for any of this. Got that?”

I recoiled at the vehemence and stared wide-eyed. Taking a shaky breath, I waited for him to collect himself.

“I’m sorry. I just . . . I can’t let you think any of this was your fault.” Greyson cleared his throat, and his strong neck muscles bobbed in the dim light. “He hit you. Repeatedly.”

All the moisture fizzed out of my mouth. He . . . what? “That . . . that can’t be. He loved me. Why would he . . . ?”

Greyson inhaled sharply and ran his hand through his hair. “Ask Jules if you don’t believe me. She’s the one who helped you get away from his control.”

I’d hurt him. I didn’t doubt him, exactly, I was just . . . shocked. Without thinking, I reached out and touched his forearm. “I wasn’t insinuating you’re lying. It’s just a lot to wrap my head around.” And heart.

He nodded and eased into the intersection. “You filed for divorce that summer and came back to Serenity Springs. But he stalked you, harassed you. You took out a restraining order. Halfway through your master’s, he . . .”

Greyson was silent for a long time.

My anxiety was mounting with imagining the hundred different ways that sentence could end. “You promised me honesty,” I nearly snarled. “I’m so tired of being handled like spun sugar. Tell me.”