Page 53 of In Every Chapter

“He was driving under the influence and hit a telephone pole. It killed him and the passenger.”

I gasped, hand over my mouth. The words sent icicles down my spine. He died . . . for the same reason my mother was in jail before she died.

“You inherited his estate since the divorce was never finalized because he refused to sign the papers, moved to town immediately after graduation, and have been here ever since.”

Tears rained down my cheeks. I didn’t know when they’d started falling again, but they fell hot and thick. “Did we argue? You and me? Before all this?”

Greyson jolted at the conversation change but shook his head slowly. “No more than most couples. More bickering and teasing than actually arguing.” He slowed down to a crawl on the dirt road. “And never shouting or raising voices, Pais.”

In the corridor of my mind, the muffled shouting and arguing echoed from an apartment in Seattle. It was Jared’s voice and was I . . . crying? But the hazy picture refused to fully crystalize. “You should have told me this earlier. I deserved to know.”

Greyson raked a hand through his hair. “Forgive me for being more concerned with your welfare than the status of your ex-husband.”

“Sarcasm doesn’t suit you.”

“How would you know? You don’t remember.” The barb hung between us, and Greyson flinched, like he wanted to catch it back. “Pais, I—”

“No. Just forget it.” I crossed my arms over my chest and shivered in my damp, soggy state. “If he’s dead, where’s he buried?”

“Banks, Oregon.”

I cringed. The day I left to start my new life in Seattle, I’d vowed to never return to my home state. Probably a foolish, idiotic, overly emotional teen response, but I’d stood by it. At least, as long as I remember. Then I had to fall in love with an Oregon boy. Figures. “Have I ever been back?”

“Once. To show me his grave.”

I scoffed. “Count on Jared to be the reason I’d be dragged back kicking and screaming.” I leaned my head back against the seat and sighed.

“Do you want to head back to the barbecue?” Greyson asked quietly, his gaze heavy in the dimness of the cab.

I sniffled and scrubbed a hand over my face. “I’m a little too worn out to return to the Prancing Pony.” When he was silent, I started to panic. My knee bounced in a steady drumbeat solo. “But I don’t want to cut your evening short. We can go back if you—”

“Pais,” Greyson cut in, reaching out and gently stilling my knee with his hand. I froze, but my muscles relaxed under his fingers. “You’re not a burden, hear me?”

He couldn’t know how much I needed those words. How much they meant. How desperately I wanted to believe them. But I couldn’t tell him that. So instead I placed my hand over his and squeezed lightly. “I hear you. But I might need a few reminders.”

“Then I’ll be here. As often as you need to hear it.” His words were a solemn vow, settling like a warm blanket over my shoulders.

I sucked in a shaky breath. “Can we . . . That is, will . . . will you drive me there? To the cemetery?” The awkwardness of asking my now husband to drive me to my former husband’s grave wasn’t lost on me, but it had to be done. If I was ever going to reconstruct my life and regain what I lost, I needed to do this.

Hard things couldn’t be avoided, but they were easier to bear with company.

“You sure?”

“No,” I admitted honestly. “I’ll probably start vomiting the minute we hit the state line, but I need to see that marker for myself.” I held Greyson’s unwavering gaze. I needed to see he was really gone. “It’s a bit of a shock to go from thinking I’m happily married to realizing I was a nearly divorced widow with a stalker ex who’s been dead for the last six years.”

Chapter twenty-one

Greyson

“Let’s go home, grab a bag, and head out.” I couldn’t believe I was saying this, but here we were.

Tonight had been an insane night for Paisley, re-meeting so many of my family members, demanding the story of her ex-husband, and now getting ready to visit his grave. It was easy to underestimate Paisley with her willowy build and quiet nature, but I knew my wife. She was velvet-laced steel. Stronger than most people gave her credit for. Yet I could see the threads unraveling as she tried to hold herself together.

And the little joke about The Prancing Pony? It shouldn’t have made my heart beat so fast. Hope ignited in my chest because calling my family home The Prancing Pony had been our inside joke for years. Maybe she remembered or her subconscious was kicking in?

Paisley stared at me, mouth slightly agape. “What about Rosie?” she stammered, like that was the biggest issue with us trekking seven hours across the state in the middle of the night.

Not the fact that we were driving to a cemetery to visit her ex’s grave.