As much as Isabelle wanted Grant to stay, she knew he wouldn’t. And when he left, he’d feel guilty for walking away from the kids and the problems they had yet to face. She didn’t want that for him. She loved him and wanted him to move on with his life and be happy. She loved him enough to respect his choices. Because of that, she had to ask him to leave. Now, before she no longer could.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

Grant heard Isabelle’s light footsteps behind him. He pulled a glass from the cupboard and asked her, “Want one?”

“Sure.”

He filled glasses with ice and poured them both a soda.

“We need to talk,” she told him.

Conversations that started with that phrase never went well. He let out a small, resigned sigh and sat down at the table. “I’m sorry about that. I didn’t mean to make things harder on Rachel.”

“She’s talking now, which is better than before. It will make things easier on her when she sees the therapist tomorrow.”

He pushed her soda across the table, being careful not to touch her hand. He wanted to touch her so badly—to pull her into his arms and hold her. If he touched her even a little and felt her soft skin against his, his resolve would snap. He’d pull her against him, and although he’d only mean to comfort her, he’d want more.

Grant didn’t want to be selfish. Not with Isabelle. He’d be a good boy and keep his distance.

“Okay, then why do I feel like I’m in trouble, being asked to stay after class?” he asked.

Isabelle gripped her glass hard and stared at the table. “I think it’s time for you to go.”

Shocked outrage rocked him, making his body tense up. She wanted him to leave? He’d tried so hard to do everything right, and she still wanted him to leave?

Grant’s jaw clenched until he could swear he heard teeth crack. It took him a moment to speak, but when he did, his words were clipped. “You still need me. You can’t do this all by yourself.”

“I can take care of two kids by myself. Women do it every day.”

“Amanda will be coming to stay here soon. Then you’ll have two kids—both of whom are messed up right now—and a woman who needs lots of care. Are you going to try to work and do all that, too?”

“I’m going to take some time off work to take care of her. And Keith offered to come every day for a few hours and help out.”

Grant bit back a scathing comment about just how he thought Keith wanted to help her. That was just his jealousy talking, and no matter how much Isabelle hurt him, she didn’t deserve to see that ugly side of him.

“Why?” he demanded. “Why get rid of me now?”

“I’m not getting rid of you at all.”

“Yes, you are, and I think I have a right to know why.”

Isabelle rubbed her eyes, suddenly looking more tired than she had since the poison had hit her. Grant had to clench his hands together to keep from reaching out to her.

She clearly didn’t want that from him anymore.

“Rachel is getting attached to you,” she said.

“So? Don’t you think she deserves a little adult comfort right now? If she feels safe with me, what harm could there be in that?”

“The harm will happen when you leave.”

“I’ll stay as long as I need to.”

Why not? He had no place else to go now. He didn’t want to go back into the army, and he no longer had a job waiting for him. He could go hang around with David or Caleb, but he’d just be in the way. They had their wives now. They didn’t need him.

Isabelle’s eyes brightened with frustration. “You’ll stay until she’s eighteen? Until she’s through college? Are you going to be the one to walk her down the aisle when she marries? She needs permanence right now. Stability.”

“And I’m not stable?”

“Your life is in Colorado. Why are you acting like it’s not?”

He looked at the table. She didn’t know he’d lost his job, and that’s the way he wanted it. He didn’t want her to know he was just another unemployed, homeless loser. He wanted her to remember him as a better man than that. “You’re right. My life isn’t here. I should just move on before I make things harder.”

Isabelle laid her hand on his wrist. Grant flinched and barely restrained himself from turning his hand over so he could feel the slide of her fingers over more sensitive skin. That would be the same thing as torturing himself, and he didn’t need to help any in that department.

“You’ll always be welcome back,” she told him in a voice so sweet it made his throat tighten. “Any time you want to come for a visit.”

He gave a harsh bark of mocking laughter. No sense in letting her believe in some fairy tale between them. He knew once he was gone, she’d move on with her life, even if she didn’t know it yet. “Yeah. I can just see it now. Me sleeping on the couch while you and whatever man you end up with lie in bed together down the hall. Thanks, but no thanks. If you want me to leave now, I will, but I think it’s best if we just cut our ties.”

She squeezed his wrist. “I won’t ever do that, Grant. You’re part of my life.”

“Not a big enough one to matter.” He jerked away from her and pushed away from the table, making the chair legs scrape loudly against the floor.

“Please don’t do this, Grant.”

“Do what? I’m just doing what you asked me to— leaving.”

“Tonight?”

“Why not? It’s better for everyone this way. You said so yourself.”

Isabelle grabbed his arm before he could leave the kitchen. She wasn’t strong enough to stop him, but he took the hint and stopped himself.

She stepped around him so she could look him in the eye. His body was rigid, vibrating with hurt and anger.

“I’ve known from the moment you stepped through my front door that you would eventually leave again. It was just a visit. Was I wrong? Do you want to stay?” she asked him.

“Not if I’m not wanted.”

She cupped his face in her warm hands, and it took everything Grant had not to kiss her. He loved her so much. He’d never thought he’d love anyone again after his mom died. But Isabelle had done something to him to bring that part of him back to life. It hurt so much he wasn’t sure he could be grateful.

She’d said she loved him, but she’d also been out of her mind at the time, afraid and in pain. And she hadn’t said it since.

“You’re wanted,” she whispered. “More than you know. But I’ve been through this before. Twice. We want different things out of life. It will never work for us, and I’d rather see you happy with someone else than miserable with me.”

She’d given him a chance, and Grant pounced on it. “What do you want that’s so different from me?”

“A family. You said yourself you didn’t want to be a father. Those two things can never mix.”

He’d never said he didn’t want to be a father. He’d said he couldn’t be one—not unless he was sure he could be a good one. There was a big difference between those two things, but he wasn’t strong enough to explain the details to her without crying like a baby. She saw him as a hero, and he liked that. Heroes didn’t cry, so Grant kept his mouth shut.

Besides, she was right. The two of them could never mix long-term. He’d want her to have everything she wanted, and when he couldn’t give it to her, it would kill something inside of him. He’d become bitter and resentful. He’d ruin her life.

It had happened to his parents, so Grant wasn’t foolish enough to believe it couldn’t happen to him. History had a way of repeating itself. There was no escaping it.

“I’m going to go pack.”

“Please don’t leave tonight. You’re upset, and I’d worry about you being out on the roads so late. You’ve been taking care of us, and I know you’ve hardly slept at all.”

“I’m fine. I’ve been trained to go without sleep,” he said.

“Maybe, but I haven’t been trained not to worry.” She leaned against him and laid her, head on his shoulder. “Please. Wait until morning.”

This time Grant failed to stop himself. It might be the last time he ever got to hold her, and he wasn’t going to let it slip by. He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her close.

The scent of her hair would be with him until the day he died, haunting his dreams, taunting him with what could have been.

“I’ll wait.” Because she’d asked him, and Isabelle Carson might never ask him for anything ever again.

Dale’s stomach finally forced him out of his room. At least it was late and he wasn’t likely to run into anyone. He couldn’t stand the looks of pity he kept getting, or hearing how sorry people were that his father had been killed.

He wasn’t sorry. He was glad the bastard was dead. Maybe if he said it loud enough, often enough, people would start to believe him.

Maybe he would believe it himself.

The stairs creaked under his feet like they always did, and he saw Grant sit straight up on the couch where he’d been sleeping.

“I’m just getting a snack,” said Dale. “I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

Grant shrugged and tossed off the blanket. “I wasn’t really sleeping anyway.”

Dale eyed the duffel bag sitting at the foot of the couch. A razor, a toothbrush, and a change of clothes sat on top of it. Isabelle had told him that Grant was leaving in the morning, but until now, Dale wasn’t really sure it would happen. Seeing him all packed and ready to go made it seem more real.

He’d gotten used to having Grant around. It was kinda nice having another guy in the house—made him feel less conspicuous somehow, like less of an intruder.

“Mind if I sit with you?” asked Grant.

“Whatever.”

Grant poured himself a big glass of milk while Dale nuked some leftover lasagna.

“Isabelle would insist on you having some kind of veggies with that,” said Grant.

“Yeah, she would. Good thing she’s asleep.”

“I suppose I should insist on her behalf.”

“Don’t bother. You’re leaving in a few hours, anyway. No point in sucking up to her now.”

“It’s not about sucking up,” said Grant.

He got up, fetched a couple of apples out of the fridge, and washed them off. He set one on the table beside Dale. “Eat it. It’s good for you.”

Dale rolled his eyes. “The last thing I need is another wannabe parent. Just back off.”

“Nope. Not going to happen. You’re pissed off at the world right now, and that’s fine, but you don’t get to make Isabelle’s life hard because of it. She doesn’t deserve that.”

“A lot of people get crappy things they don’t deserve. They should learn to suck it up.”

“Is that what you’re telling yourself? To suck it up?” asked Grant.

“Don’t try to psychoanalyze me. And don’t pretend like you give a crap.”