“Trust me.” She cringes. “I want to kick his ass every day I see him.”
“Wow.” I slide onto a student’s chair, the connected desk tight at my stomach. “It’s going to be hard not to kill him when I’m here.”
This new revelation won’t stop me from visiting Grace.
I was worried about being a dick before, but now that I know what he did to Grace, there’s no more Mr. Nice Guy. If he says something smart, I might not be able to touch him with my hands, but I’ll give him a verbal beatdown like no other. He’ll know never to mess with Grace.
“Look on the bright side,” Grace says. “Had he not done what he did, maybe we wouldn’t be together like we are now.”
“Or maybe you wouldn’t be pregnant by the cheating dick. Eventually, we would’ve dragged our heads out of our asses.”
Grace flinches at my response, all the color draining from her face.
“Shit, sorry.” I roughly drag a hand through my hair, tugging at the ends to cause myself pain—an attempt to forget about Principal Asshole. I can’t let my anger get the best of me in front of Grace. It’ll only make her feel worse about the situation.
I snatch the bag from the desk and start dragging out the contents. My appetite is gone, and the sight of the food makes my stomach curl. I snap off the lid and hand Grace’s salad to her. I don’t even bother with mine. I gesture to her to sit down, and she warily does.
“How did it start between you and him?” I ask, standing in front of her desk.
Grace unwraps a plastic fork. “Having this conversation while in the same building as him isn’t a good idea.”
I snap my fingers. “Good point. Speaking of being in the same building, you think you can do this every day? What about when you have the baby?”
“I don’t love being around him, but I also won’t give him the satisfaction of pushing me out of my job. I was here first.” She grabs her drink and uses it to point to the door. “He can go.”
“If he messes with you, tell me. Tell someone. It seems he doesn’t like the idea of you being with anyone else.”
That’s an understatement. Dude goes into creep mode.
“It’s because he still wants to be with me.” She drops her fork at her confession—a sign that she didn’t plan on disclosing that information.
I raise a brow, and my lungs constrict. “What?”
“He wants me to wait for him until he can leave his wife.”
“Are you …?” I glance at the door, watching it as if he’ll appear there. “You’re not considering that, are you?”
“What?” she shrieks. “Absolutely not. I want to be with you, Finn. Only you.”
I swear, when I take another glance at the door, someone scurries away from it.
“Do me a favor?” I slide out a barstool and plop down on it.
Since it’s early, Silas is the only one working the bar. Not many people go for a drink straight after work. It’s something I’ve never done. I used to work until the wee hours of the morning, and the act always reminded me of my father.
When he actually held a job, he’d reward himself with a drink—well, drinks—afterward.
Silas wipes his hands with a rag while strolling over to me and throws it over his shoulder. “Yeah?”
I wrap my feet around the stool legs, already feeling dizzy before drinking an ounce of liquor. “Pour me a drink.”
He nods, smiling quizzically. “I got you.”
Turning on his heels, he sings along with the music playing in the background. He chooses a bottle of vodka—the most expensive one Twisted Fox carries—and pours me a double.
Grace had plans with Faith after work. Not wanting to be alone, I drove to Twisted Fox. A drink will help clear my head. It was difficult, focusing on work after discovering Grace works with the guy who knocked her up. Not only that but he also wants to be with her. I shudder at the thought of her falling victim to his games again. Grace is strong, but the guy sounds like a master manipulator. It’d kill me to lose Grace to him.
He could leave his wife and ask Grace to be one big, happy family.
I finally have all I want in my hands, and today proved how easy it can slip away.
“You look like shit,” Silas says, smacking a square napkin in front of me and setting my drink on top of it.
“I feel like shit.” I knock back the vodka, and it burns down my throat.
He cocks his head. “What’s up?”
“I met the guy who got Grace pregnant.” Even after the vodka, my throat goes dry.
“Oh fuck. Who?”
I tap my fingers along my chin.
Does anyone else know who the dad is?
Will that break our trust?
Just like Silas won’t tell us anything about him and Lola, if I confide in him about Grace, he’ll remain tight-lipped.
“It’s a guy who works at the school,” I reply, pinching the bridge of my nose.
Silas studies me for a moment. “You’ve been thinking about them being around each other almost daily?”
“That … among other things.”
“Don’t worry about it. Grace has been in love with you for years, man.”
“Nothing is ever permanent, though.” I sigh, hating that I’m being this negative man. “Even when there’s love, relationships don’t always work out.”
I rest my elbows on the table. I came to the bar to chat with the bartender, like one of those drunks who lives at bars. Now that I’ve said the words out loud, I no longer want to talk about it.
“And you and Lola?” I ask. “Any updates on her and Trent?”
Silas presses his fist to his mouth as if settling himself down from those names being said together. “She hasn’t said a word to me, but from what I heard, they exchanged numbers.” He shakes his head. “Lola is talking with Trent. Grace works with an ex. And we thought being friends with girls we liked was gonna be easy.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Grace
“I went on a date with Trent,” Lola tells Georgia and me.
“What?” I shriek. “How could you do that to Silas?”
Lola’s face tightens, and she sucks in what sounds like an irritated breath. “Do what to Silas? He made it clear how he felt for me on my birthday.”
I’m not sure if Lola is talking to—dating—Trent to get back at Silas for his behavior at the club or if she genuinely likes him. We’re all best friends who share secrets, but Lola is the private one of the group. She provides the bare minimum about her life. Our friends haven’t gotten together since the club, so I haven’t witnessed how Silas and Lola are now. When we texted earlier, she told me they were fine.
“Have you talked to him about it?” I might as well be the one who dives into questions. She can’t get that mad at a pregnant woman.
Lola shakes her head. “Barely. He texted and apologized that night. I told him it was no big deal, and I was over it.”
“But you’re not over it,” I deadpan.
“I’m definitely not over it.” She rests her elbows on the table, the bangles around her wrist making a noise as they hit the table. A painful expression crosses her features. “Maybe this is the end of Silas and me.”