Beside me on the couch, I felt Gracie's entire body tense up. My eyes darted towards her face. She looked visibly distressed and seeing her in pain was doing all sorts of messed up things to my heart. It hurt me to hurt her, and I didn't want to continue this conversation at all.

But, then, she released a trying puff of air and prompted me to keep going, "What happened after Lydia... showed up?"

Instantly, a barrage of mixed up, blurry images flashed across my mind. They made my chest tighten with remorse, with guilt. With confusion, too. Honestly, I drank way too much that night. I wanted to kick my own ass for being such a dumb fucker.

My brow creased with dismay.

I could kind of remember blips and snippets from my dialogue with Lydia at the bar, but, from there, afterwards, I could barely recall how I tumbled into bed with the woman. I felt like it had something to do with Craig.

Fucking Craig!

What had Lydia told me about him?

Something about Craig and Gracie not being engaged anymore?

I couldn't remember Lydia's exact words, but I know I had been seriously triggered over whatever it was she said to me.

Suddenly, an irrational and indignant part of my brain insisted that I had been with Gracie and not Lydia that night. My mind dredged up a snapshot of a single, stubborn thought from that night; a thought of wanting to kiss Gracie more than anything in the world.

My Gracie.

Hell, at the time, I thought I had been with Gracie that night even though logic and reason suggested that my whiskey-drenched, delusional narrative couldn't be further from reality—

I wanted Gracie, but I couldn't have Gracie, so I fucked Lydia as a sad, hollow replacement for the real thing. That was the simple, ugly truth of the matter. I didn't even know how my cock managed to stay hard enough to fuck anyone. I had been so stupidly shitfaced.

Suddenly, I hated myself more than ever, and it became damn near impossible to find my words.

I kept trying, though. I didn't give up. I tried to give Gracie the facts that I could remember, to only focus on the facts, "After Lydia showed up, we made some small talk."

Her eyes narrowed slightly. "What kind of small talk?"

"I think we were chatting about the Corps. Then, we, um... might have talked about... Craig?"

Gracie's eyebrows lifted up. "My Craig?"

"Yeah. Your Craig."

I stifled a shudder. Just saying the bastard's name made my skin crawl. Even though he wasn't anyone of importance to Gracie anymore, I was still jealous of him.

Jealous—of all the years he had been able to spend at Gracie's side as her boyfriend, as her fiancé.

Years—that should've been mine.

With some effort, I forged on, "I had asked Lydia about you, about how you were doing, I believe, and your sister told me that you had broken up with Craig."

Gracie muttered irritably, "I should've guessed that Lydia was the one who told you. I had been wondering where you heard about my break up with Craig..."

I grimaced and gave her a brisk nod. "That news... really fucked with my head."

She looked hesitant to ask, "Why?"

"I guess... I realized, then, that I had given you up for no reason."

Her face pinched with disbelief. Gracie looked away. "I don't even know how to respond to your bullshit..."

"You may not believe me, Gracie," I insisted, "but I never, ever wanted to break up with you. It fucking killed me to watch you date Craig."

"Then," she whispered sadly, "why didn't you fight for me?"

"I was... scared."

Wide-eyed, she demanded, "Scared... of what?"

Scared of turning into my dad, of hurting Gracie like my dad had hurt my mom.

I couldn't tell her this part, though. These fears already sounded ridiculous in my head, especially considering how I had never laid a hand on Gracie, or any other woman, in my life. I didn't know if she would believe me.

So, I gave her the light, condensed version of the truth, "I was scared that... I wouldn't be able to treat you... right. At the time, I thought you might be better off with... Craig."

Anger and pain sparked in her eyes.

Gracie growled accusingly, "If that was how you felt, at the time, why did you even bother to text me, then, after what you did with Lydia? Were you planning to hook up with me, too?"

Her words shot into me like bullets.

Gritting my teeth, I bore the pain like a wounded soldier on the battlefield and tried to explain in a lame, awkward manner, "Of course not! I wasn't expecting anything from you except, maybe, a chance to talk things out. At most, friendship. I swear to God, I didn't contact you to fuck you or to fuck with you. I only wanted a chance to be in your life again. Since I knew Craig was out of the picture."

A grimace of disapproval flattened across her mouth. "Oh, Gray..."

Jesus.

My skin felt clammy as fuck. This discussion was starting to make me sweat. My finger started tap-tap-tapping away on my lap. My gaze drifted to the floor. I couldn't look Gracie in the eye anymore.

I mumbled in disgrace, "I know it all sounds so fucked up. But I'm telling the truth. That's what was running through my head back then.

Gracie fell silent.

Tension stretched between us like a thick, suffocating cloud.

My nerves constricted and coiled within me until I could hardly bear it anymore. I glanced up from the floor to steal a look in Gracie's direction.

She looked tired. Drained. Heartbroken.

Her eyes found mine.

Then, in dead, lifeless tones, Gracie asked, "So, who made the first move? Was it you? Or Lydia?"

"I'm pretty sure," I confessed quietly, "it was me. I was the one who kissed your sister first..."