Maybe I should’ve sought her out first thing this morning and apologized.That’s what a better man would’ve done.
“Give me your phone.”I reach out my hand.
“What?”
“I’ll put my number in.”
She pulls the device from her purse and hands it over.I quickly punch in the digits and hold it out to her.“You don’t need to go through Ginny.Contact me whenever.”
“Thank you.”
I look past her, focusing on the empty yard, and she clears her throat, her voice softening.“I just want to understand.The issue wasn’t that I helped… It was that you didn’t have the numbers, right?”
The unpleasant truth sits between us, and I nod.
“Crandall wasn’t wrong about the contacts.It was my responsibility, and I have the numbers in my office.A lot of good they did me there.”
She steps closer, moving carefully as if not to spook me.“That doesn’t mean you failed.”
“It does to me.”The admission slips out before I can cage it.
Her eyes ease—not with pity, thank fuck—with an understanding that feels too deep for comfort.
“You kept a dozen kids calm, warm, and got them home safe.”She takes another step toward me, closing the gap.“That’s the job, Maddox.Not memorizing phone numbers.”
A rough breath scrapes up my ribs.“You don’t get it.”
“Then explain it to me.”
I stare at her and take in how composed she is, simply waiting, no judgment in the lines of her face.
Something raw stirs in my chest.“I can’t afford mistakes.I should be able to handle it on my own.”
“Needing help isn’t a mistake.”Those blue eyes bore into me, almost willing me to see things her way.
“You shouldn’t have had to step in.”I pull my work gloves from my jacket pocket, needing something to hold.“That shouldn’t have fallen on you.”
“It didn’t.We were both there.You did your fair share.”
My gaze drags back to hers, something unsteady rattling my rib cage.Before reason can win and keep my mouth shut, the one word I’ve been dying to ask since last night springs from my lips.“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why did you help?”
“Because you were juggling a broken-down bus; excited, hungry, and tired kids; and a bus driver who had no clue how to help.”The corners of her mouth lift slightly at the mention of Mr.Powell.
He’s a nice guy, but she isn’t wrong.He was useless.
“I did what I did because Icoulddo something.Watching someone try to find a solution when I can help feels… wrong.”
A pinch tightens right where my heart should be, because her admission echoes how my father lived his entire life.
Damn, this is how trouble starts.Quiet, earnest trouble with big eyes, an elegantly defined jawline, and an unbending spine.
Grace Buchanan is dangerous in all the ways I don’t have room for.The kind of dangerous that makes a man forget why he keeps his distance.Why alone is easier.
And still… I fucking like her.Too much.Too fast.More than I should.