Page 49 of Grim

The way he shut down. The way he shut her out. The way he looked at her like he wanted to say something and then closed himself off instead.

She tossed and turned for hours, sheets twisting around her legs, her chest tight with a knot she couldn’t untangle. The sheets felt too warm. The room felt too small. Her thoughts were too loud.

The sunlight creeping through her curtains only made it worse. Warm, honey-gold stripes across her bed, soft and gentle in a way she didn’t feel. She rolled onto her back, staring at the ceiling, replaying every word of their argument.

You won’t give me anything.

How am I supposed to trust someone who won’t trust me?

Her throat tightened. She pressed the heel of her hand to her eyes, willing the ache behind them to ease. It didn’t.

Eventually she gave up.

She pushed the blankets aside and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. Her body felt heavy, like grief had settled into her bones overnight. She wrapped her arms around herself as she walked down the hallway, the house quiet in a way that made her feel even more alone.

She needed something warm. Something grounding. Something to keep her hands busy so her mind didn’t spiral.

She stepped into the kitchen and froze.

Grim was there.

Standing at her counter. Barefoot. Broad shoulders filling the space. Making coffee like he’d done it a hundred times in her kitchen.

He didn’t look surprised to see her. He didn’t look away either.

He just held her gaze, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes.

“You’re still here,” she said softly.

He nodded once. “Yeah.”

“I have the day off,” she said. “You don’t need to stay.”

He didn’t argue. He didn’t leave.

He poured her a mug, set it on the table, and sat across from her, like he belonged there, like he’d always belonged there.

The silence between them wasn’t sharp like last night. It was heavy. Fragile. Waiting.

Sophia wrapped her hands around the warm mug. “You can go, Maddox.”

He flinched at the name, not in anger but like it hit somewhere deep.

He looked like he was about to shut down again, jaw tight, shoulders locked, the same wall she’d hit last night.

He exhaled slowly, shoulders dropping, and said something she never expected. “I grew up in houses that weren’t mine.” His fingers tightened around the mug until she thought it might crack.

Sophia froze. For a moment, he seemed to retreat behind that wall again, the one she’d hit last night, but then something in him gave way.

Grim stared at the table, jaw tight. “Foster homes. Group homes. Couch to couch. I never stayed anywhere long enough to unpack.”

Her heart squeezed.

He swallowed hard, eyes distant, not unfocused but remembering. “I was thirteen the first time a family sent me back. They handed me a black trash bag,” he said quietly. “Told me to put my things in it. I didn’t have much — a couple shirts, a broken watch, a book I’d found at school. I remember the sound of the bag more than anything. That plastic crackle. Loud. Final. Like I was being thrown out with the rest of the trash. The foster mom told the caseworker I was too angry. Too quiet. Said the other kids were scared of me.”

Sophia covered her mouth, breath catching.

Grim’s voice stayed low, steady, but she heard the fracture beneath it. “I hadn’t done anything. That was the problem. I didn’t react. Didn’t cry. Didn’t fight. Just… waited. Like I knew it was coming.”