As Gracie's face hovered mere inches from mine, it was so tempting to give in, to close the gap between us and kiss her, because every thought, every emotion, and every cell in my body already belonged to this woman.

But that would be such a fucked up thing to do.

Gracie was drunk.

Gracie was still mad at me.

Gracie would definitely regret our kiss once she sobered up.

It wasn't easy, but, in the end, my Upper Brain won. My Lower Brain could go jerk off in the shower later.

"No," I stated in firm tones even though it killed me to turn her down.

Gently, I nudged Gracie back to her side of the couch.

"If you won't kiss me," she grumbled under her breath, "then I'm gonna find someone who will..."

Her taunt made my eyes grow round. I knew she was drunk. Hell, I knew Gracie probably didn't mean anything she said to me in the past five minutes, but an instant coil of jealousy clenched my heart like a fucking vice.

I didn't want to even imagine another man touching her.

Before I could figure out how to respond, Gracie slumped over on the couch and mumbled faintly, "Actually, maybe I will take a nap. I'm tired all of a sudden."

She closed her eyes and seemed to fall asleep on cue.

This woman!

Feeling horny and annoyed, I grabbed the blanket I had been using last night and draped it over her body so she wouldn't get cold. I stayed for a second just to watch her doze. She looked so lovely. So at peace. As I stood there, my irritation soon melted into a glow of admiration and affection.

I was proud of Gracie for picking up her writing again. She deserved happiness more than anyone. I hoped Gracie would find what she was looking for through her poems and stories. I intended to support her in any way possible.

I also felt relieved that we seemed to be getting along today despite last night's painful blowout. Stevie needed us to be a tight-knit team regardless of our past or my mistakes.

As I tried to make peace with our current relationship, out of nowhere, Gracie's slurred declaration echoed through my mind like a saddening, sickening warning.

If you're not gonna kiss me, then I'm gonna find someone who will...

Shit.

Where had that come from?

I cringed internally.

To be honest, the thought of another Craig coming into Gracie's life made me feel physically ill, but I knew that I'd have to grin and bear it if, in the future, she decided to date some other lucky bastard.

My heart clenched some more.

Clearly, it was time for me to stop obsessing over Gracie and start figuring out my own shit.

I released a sigh and glanced away from her sleeping form.

With my job at Dalton in the bag, I felt freer to focus on other things. I felt as though a weight had been lifted from my chest. Securing new employment had been the most pressing worry on my mind for weeks. Stevie was counting on me to provide for her, after all. As a co-parent, Gracie needed to know that she could count on me, too, financially, as Stevie's other guardian.

Slowly, my eyes drifted up to the crack on the living room ceiling. A frown pulled down the corners of my mouth. I needed to fix that goddamn eyesore.

Then, I glanced around the room. I was met with the sorry sight of peeling paint on the walls, broken tiles and stained carpet on the floor, broken light fixtures, and an outdated layout in desperate need of upgrades. I had always known that my parents' house was in bad shape, but I never noticed just how horrible it was until this very moment.

Jesus fucking Christ.

I guess, over the years, I blocked out all of the ugliness. I ignored the ghosts that still haunted these hallways. I ran from all of my problems that had yet to be resolved in this house and lived in a shithole without recognizing its shittiness.

There was no fucking way I wanted to raise my baby girl in such a godawful dump, but I didn't have the cash to buy a new place, and I didn't want to move into a smaller, cheaper apartment just to waste money on rent.

An idea emerged in my head.

Forget the crack on the ceiling, this whole house needed some intense TLC.

Maybe the time had come to renovate this house for real, to remodel it in a way that would better fit Stevie's needs as she grew older, and, most importantly, to get rid of everything and anything that reminded me of my dad.

A resounding call to action thrummed from my chest.

It filled me with a renewed sense of a purpose.

A purpose I lost after leaving the Corps.

Quite suddenly, this renovation project felt like something I needed to throw myself into over the coming year.

This was important work that needed to be done.

I hadn't been inside a church for years, but I prayed that, in the process of fixing up this house, I might find a way to fix myself as well.

With a yawn and a stretch, I woke up feeling refreshed and sober.

As my eyes fluttered open, I noticed that I was laying on the couch in Gray's living room. A blanket was tucked around me.

I frowned a little.

Did Gray put the blanket on me?

How did I get here?

A few spotty memories crept back to my mind.

The beer I finished at the diner.

The shit I said to Gray.

Kiss me like you used to.

Oh, God.

Oh, God.

Mortification burned through me.

What had I been thinking?

Putting moves on Gray right after what happened between us last night?

Right after I apologized for kissing him?

And yet, and yet—

I'd be lying to myself if I didn't acknowledge the sly, subtle satisfaction that accompanied my embarrassment.

I might have been drunk, yes, but I wasn't innocent in my decision-making at all. I was well aware of my laughably low tolerance for alcohol. Common sense knew better than to drink in the middle of the day, but, earlier, I chose to ignore that tiny, nagging voice inside me. I had also been counting on Gray to be around and take care of Stevie and me as I threw caution to the wind.

Mostly, though, I think my recent epiphanies and change in heart had unleashed something slightly more reckless and wild: The old Gracie would've never been so careless or bold around Gray. This new Gracie, though, just wanted to do whatever the fuck she felt like doing.

This shit was all very new territory for me.

It was exciting.

It was also unnerving.

If I was in charge of authoring my own story, I didn't know whether or not my current state of being would be considered good or bad character development—

Just then, my phone buzzed with not one but two new notifications.

The first text was from Val.

'Call me, chica, I want to ask you something!'

Her message made me smile. I always liked hearing from my best friend.

The second text, however, made me gasp as I skimmed it.

'hey, gracie. long time no talk. i've been thinking about you lately. let's grab coffee and catch up?'

Right away, my stomach sank with discomfort and unease.

Because Craig, my ex-fiancé, had sent it.