Grace's Redemption, page 2
Rather than answer, I strode over and handed them to her so she could see for herself.
She took them from me and glanced down, her eyes scouring the first paper. She studied the marriage certificate way longer than necessary before finally looking back up at me. “Your middle name is Christopher?”
I frowned. That was her big takeaway?
“Yes.” I said the word slowly and carefully. Maybe I had married a crazy woman after all. “And yours is Elizabeth. So?”
She waved the papers around. “This is nothing.” She actually smiled, her expression relieved. “Some papers from a fake little chapel somewhere. Probably signed by an Elvis impersonator. They aren’t legal. You have to have a marriage license to make these—”
I slid the top paper away so she could see the license beneath the top sheet. “Apparently you can get a license almost instantly in Vegas,” I said.
Her hand flew to her mouth as she made an agonized little gasp. “Oh, God.” She sunk to the edge of the bed just as a knock sounded at the door.
“Room service.”
“I’ll get it,” I said, giving her a moment to process as I answered and let the server set up our small breakfast spread before I tipped him and saw him out.
I poured her a mug of coffee and palmed two Tylenols, handing them to her. “Sugar? Cream?”
She took the pills and thanked me, sipping it black, her eyes still glued to the papers. “What the fuck, Mateo?”
I glanced up from pouring my own coffee, a bit surprised to hear my name coming from her mouth. “My thoughts exactly.” I snagged a piece of toast, silently offering her one, which she shook her head at.
She slugged back some more coffee, then put the mug on the bedside table and lay back slowly with a groan to stare up at the ceiling. “This is crazy. This is not me.”
“Me either. Believe me.”
I was a police officer. A family man. Some would say I was a hard-ass. But after all I’d been through, I did not fuck around . . . especially with things as sacred as marriage. I knew better. I’d learned my lessons the hard way. And I did not come here to get drunk and get laid.
This was all business. I’d come to meet up with my friend, Gabriel, while he was in town tying the knot—oh, the fucking irony—so he could introduce me to his boss, Mayor Guidry. I couldn’t make the wedding itself, but he knew my wish to move out of Nevada and had called with an opportunity almost too good to pass up, so I’d promised to hear him out. The chief of police position had recently come open in his sleepy little town of Redemption, Louisiana. A quiet, family-oriented place to start over, far, far away from the hustle and sleazy bustle of Las Vegas.
I was responsible. I still mostly bought into the strict religious values that my very Catholic mother worked hard to teach me. I definitely wasn’t the guy who drank until he lost control and married perfect strangers. I was starting over and had way too much riding on my life choices to make stupid ones.
“Well, this is easy,” Grace said, rolling her head to face me and interrupting my internal self-flagellation. “We get an annulment.”
My mind started ticking on that possibility. Legally, it could be relatively easy, and since we weren’t married in the church, we wouldn’t have to then go through that ridiculously arduous process.
I lifted a brow and sipped my coffee. “Definitely,” I said.
“Great.” She smiled.
“So, Grace,” I began, suddenly curious about this woman I’d apparently run off to the Graceland Chapel with in a drunken state. “What brings you to Vegas? Because I know for damned sure you don’t live here.”
She actually snort-laughed, which was adorable. “God, no. I didn’t tell you last night? It sounded like I was pretty blabby.”
Her expression was a bit chagrined, but I shook my head and shrugged, indicating if she had, I didn’t remember. “I’m not sure how much talking we actually did.”
I showed her the pictures on my phone and watched her expression of disbelief.
“Wow,” she breathed, her blush fast and furious. “I . . .” She bit her bottom lip, which triggered another split-second flash of memory of her doing the exact same thing at the bar. “Well, you said I kept telling you I was a preacher’s daughter, so we talked some.”
“Yeah, there was that.” I polished off my toast, then rose and drew the blinds back for something to do. “So . . .?”
“So?”
I turned back to her. “Why are you in town?”
“Oh. I came for—” She met my eyes and then blinked as she looked away. “I came to help out a friend.”
I nodded. Limited details. We were on the same page. Except for that whole married thing. “Small town?” I asked. “Not New Orleans, according to the dressing down I got last night.”
She tilted her head with a smirk. “Barely a dot on a map,” she said. “I could never live in a city like this. It’s too . . . loud.”
I chuckled. “We can agree on that.”
“Why are you here?” She rolled to sit up and face me, leaning back on her hands.
“Sort of a job interview.”
“Ah. The reason you might be leaving soon?”
“Exactly.”
She narrowed her eyes. “What do you do for a living?”
“I’m in law enforcement.”
Her small smile was reminiscent of the photos currently sitting on my phone, and my immediate thought was that I could see why hammered me decided to put a ring on it, but I quickly squelched that rogue thought.
“I can see that.”
“You can?” I cleared my throat. “How’s that?”
“I don’t know. I just can.” Her expression clouded as the last words trailed off, the smile going with it. She rubbed at her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Maybe because you’re so cool, calm, and collected, while I’m freaking out over here.” Deep brown eyes met mine. “It’s all I can do to hold myself together right now.”
I crossed my arms over my chest. “I’m weirded out, too, Grace. I just have a good poker face.” I sat again and spun my mug around on the table in one neat circle. “First rule in police work, and I’ve found in life . . . no panicking. There’s no point.”
“No point,” she echoed. “Right.”
I watched her closely, wondering if she’d, in fact, lose her shit on me. Or if this was all a ruse. If she was a scam artist. A psychopath. A beautiful one, but still . . . how could I be so damn stupid?
Grace reached up to work the muscles in the back of her neck, her body language so tense it looked like she might break in two. Her hands were slender, the nails short and free of polish. Unlike her toes which sparkled with silver glitter. Most women I knew wouldn’t be caught dead not having the two match. This one didn’t come off as a scammer; she came off as a hot mess.
“I am sore in places I didn’t know existed,” she groaned. “And it is messed up that I don’t even remember what I did to get here.” She glanced my way, her eyes panning me quickly before that blush pinked up her skin again. “Kind of wish I at least had that memory.”
I chuckled. “I could tell you what I remember if you want.” Honestly, I didn’t think it was much more than she could muster, but I was willing to share.
“No,” she said, averting her eyes and then laughing. “I don’t think I have the mental fortitude to take it right now. As long as you tell me there were condoms involved, I’m good.”
I froze as alarms bells started blaring in my head.
No.
I raced to my bag and unzipped the side pocket where I always kept a few, just in case. They were still there. Confused, I pulled them out and stared at them in my hand.
“Mateo?”
“I can tell you I’m clean,” I said slowly, my eyes still glued to the fucking unused packets. “Can you say the same?”
“Clean?” she said, her tone going higher. “I’m—I’m not talking about that. I—” She blew out a frustrated breath that made me look up at her. She looked mortified. “Yes, of course I’m clean,” she said. “I don’t—I haven’t—I’m not even on the pill anymore,” she blurted out, looking embarrassed by the admission. “I haven’t had sex in forever and it was a waste of money.”
I blinked as her words landed, and realization crept into her eyes.
“No,” she breathed, jumping to her feet so fast she almost toppled over. She raced to the trash can and dumped the contents on the ground. Falling to her knees, she began to rummage around. “Holy hell, please no.”
I felt all the blood drain from my head in a tidal wave of absolute horror. I wavered on my feet, sure I was going to be sick right there on that high-end burgundy carpet.
My vision tunneled as I watched her as if from a distance, coming up with nothing in the trash and scrambling to the bathroom to topple over the next garbage can.
“Mateo,” she yelled. “Check the trash next to the desk, will you? Look for a condom.” Her voice became a desperate, throaty whisper. “Did we even do it in here? Were we somewhere else, maybe?”
My feet rooted to the floor.
My head swam.
Bile rose in my throat.
Fuck.
FUCK!
In a flash of clarity, like a sadistic gift from the gods, brief but vivid memories crashed into my consciousness . . . one of her sitting at the hotel bar looking good enough to eat, yet so sweet and innocent, I couldn’t resist buying her a drink. Then the decadent and perfect sensation of our bodies slamming into each other against the wall by the door, naked flesh to naked flesh, then my one hundred percent bareback cock emptying into her from behind as her hands clutched the silk sheets on my bed while her throaty voice begged me to give it to her harder.
Her eyes were wide and worried when she finally came out of the bathroom. “Nothing,” she said, dejected. “Did you find anything?”
I stared at her for a long moment as it all crashed down on me like a torrent of icy cold fuck-you-very-much. “We can’t get an annulment,” I finally croaked, my voice thick and gravelly, even to my own ears.
“What?”
“We can’t—we can’t get an annulment,” I repeated, louder this time, that cheap silver ring now burning a hole in my pocket like a ten-ton fiery weight.
She gripped the doorjamb as if the morning were already too heavy. “Why not?”
I studied her dark eyes. Hated myself for doing this to her. To us.
“Because,” I said. “We didn’t use condoms. And we most definitely should have. Several times. In several positions.”
All the color left her face. She looked like she might be sick again. I could relate this time. “Okay, so we—”
“When was your last period?”
“What?” she asked incredulously. “I can’t believe you—”
“What if you’re pregnant?” I continued. “I’m—” I paused, wanting to explain my past and my beliefs to her so she’d understand, but simultaneously desperate not to. Honestly, at this point, why would she believe me? “I don’t want to tie you down, Grace, but I need to know.”
She shook her head, looking at me like I was crazy.
“I can’t—” I began.
“Yes, you can,” she interjected.
“Grace—”
“What if we hadn’t tied the knot?” she said in a rush. “If I hadn’t crashed here and you never saw me again.” Her brows lifted. “Let’s pretend that.” She spun to pick up her shoes.
“Well, we did, you stayed, and I’m looking at you right now,” I intoned.
She eventually stopped moving and pivoted back to me, her expression pained.
“I know you don’t understand, but I have my reasons.”
“Your—” she stammered, her eyes narrowing in incredulity. “Your reasons? Are you fucking kidding me? Most guys in a situation like this would kill for a get out of jail free card . . . no pun intended.”
I blew out a breath, so wishing I could agree with her. Because I did. But I couldn’t. I fucking couldn’t. “I’m sorry,” I said finally. “I’m not most guys.”
“No.” She stared at me, something breaking in her eyes. “You be stuck if you want,” she said, her voice wavering with something like panic. “I’ll—I’ll figure it out on my own. I can’t do—” She made a circling gesture with her hand. “—this with you.”
“Grace. Please.”
She shook her head. “I’m sorry.”
And, with that, my sexy new wife ran her barefoot ass right out the door.
CHAPTER THREE
Grace
Five cars backed up at what was normally a four-way stop at Main and Savior Street. A light had apparently been installed during the day and a half I’d been absent. Awesome. A blinking one, no less, that essentially served the same purpose, but now had the good residents of Redemption, Louisiana, stopping and starting in confusion and trying not to hit each other.
I gripped the steering wheel tighter and willed my nervous left leg not to bounce. I tried pulling up my to-do list in my head to ward off the nightmarish thoughts that had plagued me since I’d returned from Vegas.
Originally, the plan had been to spend the whole weekend with the rest of the wedding party after Dixie and Gabriel left for their honeymoon, but—then there’d been the thing, and since the wedding party really consisted of just Dixie and Gabe’s friends, it was easy to find excuses to slip out.
So, after running from Mateo’s room like my ass was on fire, I’d finally managed to find mine, pack, and check out of the hotel within thirty minutes. I grabbed a cab to the airport, shot off a text to Dixie, and spent the next hour changing my flight and lying about the reason to avoid the astronomical fee.
A death in the family.
My father.
I’d even mustered up tears. I have to get home, I’d said. My family needed me.
I was probably going to hell for that. If he knew about it, he would tell me I was. If we were speaking, that is. Maybe I’d tell him all about it one day and he could give me the hellfire and brimstone version.
Just thinking about it, my leg bounced, and I pressed my fingers into my knee as I inched my way forward at the light.
Count your breaths, Grace.
Anyway, I’d made it home to my little house on the outskirts of town, to my haven in the woods that I’d inherited from my Nanny Rae after she died. I’d walked in, stripped off everything I had on, and threw it all away, before crying in the shower till the water ran cold.
Then I shut it all off and sat out on my deck, listening to the sounds of the swamp. The birds, the crickets, the breeze rustling the cattails against the big cypress knees, the squirrels jumping from tree to tree, chittering to each other.
This was home. This was real. Nanny Rae was our mother’s mother, and old-school Cajun to the core. My sisters and I spent more time in that swamp, shelling peas on the old floating dock or scraping old paint from pottery for Nanny Rae to repaint, than we did at our own house.
Or Hope and I did, anyway. It was better for us there. Faith—well, her reality was different from ours.
But anyway . . . today was a new day. Vegas was over, and I’d have to fess up to Dixie when she got back, but I doubted the other two women—Presley and Connor—ever saw me leave the reception to sit at the hotel bar alone. I wasn’t in their circle of friends, and they didn’t care a rat’s ass about me. Dixie and I shared a class group at work, backing up each other’s classes and planning the schedules together, so we’d gotten close, but we didn’t hang out after work. Not like she did with them. They all worked together before she came to our school, and Faith did Jiu Jitsu with one of them, but I had no dog in that hunt. No one knew what I’d done, and I would not spend another second worrying about the stupidity of one night.
I had a plan.
I’d go to Deuce, the next town over, after work and pick up a pregnancy test where no one knew me. My period wasn’t due for another week, so there was no point in taking it yet, but . . . I needed to have it on hand. Just for my own peace of mind. I’d do some checking into how to get an annulment without the other party’s permission—if that was possible. God, it had to be possible.
I couldn’t be married to some stranger . . . even if the stranger did have amazing eyes. Or sweet Jesus—pregnant. Not living in this Bible-thumping town, under the judging eye of the most-beloved-on-high Reverend Noel McMasters.
I heard Carrie Underwood singing, “I Don’t Even Know His Last Name” in my head.
“Oh, my God, I’m a country song,” I muttered under my breath, ashamed I hadn’t paid more attention to the details on that marriage license.
My phone buzzed from my bag on the passenger seat, and while I normally adhered to ignoring it while driving, the crawl at this blinking light didn’t qualify as driving. Digging it out, I saw my baby sister’s angelic face.
Crap. Someone probably told her they saw me back in town early over the weekend and she was going to yell at me for not being more social and putting myself out there. Lord, if she only knew.
“Hey, Faith,” I said. “I meant to call when I got back—”
“Need your help, Grace,” she said, cutting me off. Her usually even, melodic voice had an edge to it, and all my flags shot straight up.
“What?” My foot landed hard on the brake, rocking me forward and back again. The car behind me tapped its horn and I resisted the urge to shoot the finger.
“Can you come to the church?”
That question nearly made me forget I was even driving. What?
“The—church?” I said, already shaking my head. “Faith.”
“It’s Dad,” she said. “And before you say no,” she added quickly. “It’s not like normal. He’s—he’s—something’s wrong.”
My skin went icy, remembering the lie I’d told at the airport. I glanced upward. “Call 9-1-1.”
“It’s . . .” I heard his voice in the background, familiar belligerence lacing his tone. “Not that kind of wrong, Grace,” she whispered as if she were muffling the phone.
I shut my eyes and hit my blinker as I reached the light. I knew exactly what kind of wrong it was. I’d spent my whole childhood hiding from it. The question was, although it was familiar to me, why the hell was he showing his ass to Faith, the favorite golden child?
