Grayson's Vow (105)
“Jesus. You’re something, you know that?”
She looked briefly satisfied.
“And it’s not even that hot anyway,” I muttered sullenly. I was fully aware she was attempting to guilt-trip me. I sighed, my gaze sliding to the window again. The truth was, though, that maybe a day of hard labor would be a better way to clear my mind than alcohol. And at least it wouldn’t leave me feeling as if there were a ten-ton boulder sitting on my head.
“If it means not listening to you a second longer, I’ll go out there and work my fingers to the bone,” I grumbled, attempting to salvage some pride if possible.
Charlotte shrugged, but I saw her lips curve up into a smile before she turned away.
Damn her.
* * *
When I came in that evening, dirty and sweat soaked, every muscle in my body ached. Apparently, Harley had contacted every ex-con he knew in the northern hemisphere and they were all working at my vineyard. I didn’t know if it would amount to anything, but the sick feeling I’d had in my stomach when I thought of the fruit I’d cared for so carefully rotting and dropping to the ground had abated. At the very least, it would be in barrels, and I’d be able to start bottling the wine. And when I sold this vineyard, I’d get a higher price if it was a working winery and not one that was back on its way to ruin. I’d divorce Kira, make a little money off the sale of Hawthorn Vineyard, and go somewhere and do…something. But what? What did I know apart from winemaking? Not much. The business degree I’d earned long ago in college was a waste now. Plus, few people wanted to hire a convicted felon. Misery threatened. The thoughts that had taken a back seat in my mind as I’d worked all day were back again to torture me.
I took a quick shower and started to head downstairs, pausing in front of the room Kira had stayed in before she’d moved into what I still thought of as our room. Pain squeezed my heart as I looked around the empty space. I opened the closet, but she hadn’t left anything behind. But when I pulled the top drawer of the dresser open, I discovered two forgotten nightshirts. Shamefully, I brought them to my nose and inhaled, breathing in the lingering scent of her, sweet and delicate. I held back the tormented groan that rose in my throat and placed them back where they’d been. That’s when I spotted what looked like a small ring box. I picked it up and opened it slowly, inhaling a deep gulp of air when I saw a platinum men’s wedding band. I pulled it from the dark blue velvet and held it up to the light.
My Dragon. My Love.
The words inscribed inside the ring felt like a blow to my already aching heart. I stood there for what felt like a long time, confusion swirling through me. Finally, I put the ring back in the box and placed it in the drawer and headed downstairs to greet Harley, Virgil, and José, who Charlotte had asked to stay for dinner. They were just arriving, all looking dirty, tired, but somehow happy. Guilt piled on top of my heartache. Despite all their work, in the end, I wouldn’t be able to offer them much. They’d have to find a job somewhere else.
I fist-bumped Harley as I thanked him again.
“Man, you didn’t think I’d stop looking out for you just because we’re on the outside now, did you?” He smiled, massaging his brown, beefy arms. I was sure he was as sore as me, maybe more. He’d been working since sunrise.
“I don’t deserve it, Harley,” I said, rubbing the back of my neck.
“Maybe, maybe not. That’s not for me to judge. I only know who my friends are, and I help my friends. I owe you my life. I owe Kira my life too. Anything either of you ask, and I’m all in. No questions.”
Sudden emotion welled up and I swallowed it down. All I could offer was a nod.
“My woman feels the same too. You got me? Priscilla’s one hell of a woman.” He grinned.
Virgil lumbered in, interrupting us. “Hey, Virgil,” I said. Sugar Pie was behind him.
“Hi, Mr. Hawthorn, sir.” He smiled happily. “Picking grapes, making wine!”
I smiled back. “Thank you, Virgil.” I reached up and squeezed his shoulder. “You’re a good man.”
“José,” I greeted when he, too, came through the door. “Let’s eat.”
As we headed toward the kitchen, Walter was coming down the stairs. He didn’t look well, and the fact that he’d worked all day for me caused a wave of guilt. Christ, he was twice my age. I frowned as he grabbed for the railing, bringing one hand to his chest. “Walter?” I asked, alarm spiking.
He made a choking sound and pitched forward. I lunged for him, breaking his fall with my body. I heard Charlotte cry out behind me and struggled to sit upright with Walter’s weight on top of me.
“Turn him over,” I heard Harley instruct and Walter’s weight was quickly lifted off me.
Everything seemed to slow, voices coming from underwater, the sound of my heart thumping loudly in my ears. I heard José on the phone with 911 as I kneeled over Walter. He was gasping for air, his hand still over his heart. “Help’s coming,” I croaked, my chest filled with fear.
Charlotte was crying silently as she rubbed his hair. He seemed to be trying to say something, first to her and then to me, but no words were emerging, only gasps and grunts for air. Finally, he reached for my hand, squeezing it tightly in his as he choked out, “Like…my…own son.”