Grace's Redemption, page 8
I blew out a breath and let her arm go, rubbing at my eyes.
“I didn’t mean—” Rewind, Mateo. “I know you’re worried about your dad, Grace, I just—I don’t know why you get defensive about this. I’d think we were on the same side.”
Those dark, haunted eyes studied mine as she nodded slowly. “Of course,” she said softly. “Because we both just want this to be over so we can go back to normal, right? Not be saddled with a stranger and a kid.”
We stared at each other, her words soaking the air between us. Why did it feel like saying yes to that was the wrong answer? It was what I wanted.
Right?
Yes. Absolutely. I had no business tying myself to a complete stranger, much less tying Olivia to one. That was stupidity of epic proportions.
“Isn’t that what you want?”
“Yes.” Her gaze darted away, then back. “Of course. Why would I . . . I don’t even know you.” But something in her tone called her all kinds of a liar.
You make me feel . . . seen.
“We can rectify that,” I blurted, my mouth getting ahead of my brain. At her thunderstruck expression, I quickly added, “Well, you know, just in case.”
Jesus, Beckett. Smooth.
What the living fuck was I saying?
“You’re proposing we—” She flushed at her own choice of words. “Get to know each other?”
“I—” I took her arm and moved her out of the way as people rushed past us toward the cafeteria. “Yes?”
I didn’t mean it to sound like a question, but since something else had taken control of my mouth, it was all a toss-up.
“Just in case I’m pregnant?”
I swallowed. “Yes.”
“Because we’re going to be stuck with each other in that case?”
“I—”
“I’m assuming a woman’s right to choose never crossed your mind?”
I backed up a step, stunned. Numb. Honestly, it hadn’t. Nothing short of raising and loving another child like Olivia had ever crossed my mind.
“Grace, are you saying—”
She waved off my response, her body language wilting a fraction. “No.” She shook her head minutely, her eyes closing as she tugged her cardigan tighter and wrapped her arms around herself. Hiding. Protecting. “Sorry, I’m just tired. I’ve always wanted to be a mother. There—would be no choice for me.”
I took a breath and ran a hand over my head. “Good. Okay.”
She opened her eyes and narrowed them at me, tugging her bottom lip between her teeth. “And if I’m not? Pregnant?”
I shrugged as the sudden image of her biting her lip like that at the bar blazed through my brain. “Then no harm, no foul. Maybe we can still be friends.”
“Friends?” she echoed, clearly not convinced.
Hell, I wasn’t convinced, but I was shooting off the cuff here. “Why not?”
“‘Why not,’ he says,” she murmured to herself, glancing around the hallway before turning back to me as if I was crazy. “Okay. Sure. Why not? Hell, my life is already weird enough. Why not this, too?”
“Great.” I pointed ahead, ending that conversation before I put my foot in it further. “Shall we eat?”
She nodded so I led her into the cafeteria where we piled up plates of eggs and pancakes, then sat down to eat. She looked exhausted.
“Did you get any sleep last night?” I asked between bites.
“Not much. Faith called me just after two, and I came straight here.”
“Ah.”
“You?”
I glanced up. “Me, what?”
“How’d you sleep?”
“Oh. A little better than you, but not much. I was up with Olivia during the night, then I got the call about the accident around four.”
Her face filled with concern, making my chest warm. “Is Olivia alright?”
“She had a bad dream.” I sipped my coffee, not sure how much to divulge. I hadn’t had anyone to share this kind of stuff with since Maria’s death. “She, uh, she dreamed I died.”
“Mateo.” The way she said my name, so soft and sweet, hit me in the chest with so many things that I couldn’t process. “I’m so sorry. For both of you.”
I nodded and looked down at my plate. She seemed to get it, and let the conversation fade while we ate, not pushing for details. After we finished, we got Faith some coffee and food to-go, then headed back up to the room.
Grace faced me in the hall outside the door, her eyes wide and open, a little less cautious as she studied me, which I took as a win.
“So . . . what now?”
“It’s not rocket science, Grace. We just keep talking.” I offered her a half-smile. “Call me later after you get some rest, okay? Keep me in the loop.”
She tracked her gaze over my face as if searching for some hidden agenda. “Okay,” she finally said. “Talk to you later.”
I nodded and turned to go but pivoted back. “Grace?”
She paused, her hand on the doorknob. “Yeah?”
You make me feel . . . seen.
“Just so you know . . . I have no idea what I want.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Grace
It had been two days since Dad’s accident—or whatever it was. Two days of going to work in a daze and then coming straight to the hospital to relieve Faith so she could go take care of things at the church, send out the newsletter, reassure parishioners, and grab a few hours of sleep. She’d come back to take my place in the wee hours of the morning so I could go take a shower and go to work. Sleeping wasn’t a big deal for me, I could sleep anywhere. The recliner in Dad’s room sufficed just fine.
Faith didn’t like to sleep while on duty with him, but I didn’t have that hang up. If I was snoozing when he came out of it, I had no doubt he’d make enough ruckus over it to wake me up.
Besides, sleeping there helped with the dreams. I didn’t tend to have hot and heavy monkey-sex-with-Mateo dreams while I was curled up in my father’s hospital room, so that was a plus.
I stood and stretched my achy shoulder muscles, reminding myself of that. It was all for the greater good. I didn’t need to dream of those things, or remember them, or whatever I was doing. I needed to keep my head clear. Keep all the rules straight.
Just so you know . . . I have no idea what I want.
Except—he went and said that.
What the living hell?
Early on the second morning, Faith walked into Dad’s room, a harried air about her, hauling a tote bag full of paperwork, a laptop, and a bundle of mail. “Okay, I’m here, you can go. Any changes or news?”
I blinked at her. “Good morning.”
She cut a sideways glance at me as she unloaded her cargo. “Not the day.”
“Because?”
“Because I need cloning. There’s no way to get all my work done and be here all day.” She grabbed the laptop and commandeered the rolling tray. “Have you heard back from Hope yet?”
I raised an eyebrow. “Little sister fall off the sparkly unicorn bridge this morning?”
“Take it that’s a no?” she grumbled, looking under the bench for an outlet.
A letter that sat atop the rubber-banded mail bundle caught my eye. Mostly because of the bright-yellow ‘Return to Sender’ sticker affixed to it, but also because the return address was Faith’s, written in her own handwriting. To the Elayn Hunt Correctional Center.
I held it up, facing the letter to her. “Writing him again?”
Adam Bishop.
The Bishop brothers, Tobias and Adam, the boys from the other side of the tracks when we were growing up and generally trouble in every form, had weird holds on both of my sisters. Tobias and Hope had a very intense and somewhat volatile high school love story, and he went off the rails briefly when she left town. His little brother, Adam, was an even bigger troublemaker and managed to get caught every time. In spite of all that, Faith was his biggest cheerleader and best friend. And he had a hard-on for her that she never saw—or refused to. But when he went to prison for dealing, he cut off all communication. It broke her heart. I suspected that she didn’t recognize that since she swore they were only friends, but I saw the pain my sister went through. Again and again, every time she gave it another shot, insisting he needed a friend.
She stood up straight again, turning to face me, her eyes landing on the letter in my hand. I saw no surprise, just annoyance, meaning she probably meant to pull that out before throwing the bundle in her bag.
“Not that it’s any of your business, hookup ho, but if you notice the stamp, no.” She busied herself turning on the laptop and clicking buttons. “Apparently, I’m writing to myself.”
“Why?”
She kept clicking. “Because no one opens it on the other side.”
“No, I mean why are you still writing to him?”
Faith breathed in slowly, then out just as slow, and while no one else would see it, I did.
Count your breaths, Grace.
Goosebumps covered my skin, and I backed up a step. Had she come out of our childhood as scar-free as I thought?
“So, Hope?” she asked, diverting my question. “Is she ever coming to help us out?”
“It’s a little different for her,” I said. “She’s not local. She can’t just pick up and leave her job.”
I’d called Hope the first day and filled her in on Dad’s situation. She’d reacted much like I had, with trepidation, tricklings of guilt, and a healthy dose of resentment for feeling that way. “I wish we could love him like Faith does,” she’d said quietly into my ear, while I watched Faith fuss over his blanket.
And that’s the last we’d heard back. Hope said she’d call again, and to keep her in the loop, but she didn’t, and she wasn’t answering my calls or any of the texts we sent.
“You know how she gets when she’s on a case,” I added.
“No,” Faith said, not looking up. “Actually, I don’t. But I know how she doesn’t get when family needs her.” She darted a glance up at me with an exaggerated smile. “Involved.”
I sighed. “Faith.”
“Whatever,” she breathed, waving me off. It was disconcerting to see the one person that always took everything in stride with maniacal positivity, falling off the wagon. “I don’t want to hear how complicated it is, Grace. He’s dying. Get over it.”
The words, the tone, it was all so reminiscent of another time, and she had no idea who she was channeling. A bitter laugh rose from my throat before I could stop it.
“Get over it? Says the girl who never had to stand in her own pee for twenty-four hours because she forgot to kneel at prayer time,” I bit out as I yanked up my bag and threw the crossword puzzle and half-finished water bottle into it. “Kiss my ass.”
I saw the shock and indignation on her face as I stormed from the room. The disbelief mixed with the questioning that always came from her. Did he really do that? Nooooo, not my dad. Not the great Reverend McMasters.
I also saw the worry that I wouldn’t return.
Of course, I would.
In that way, I was made up of more Faith than Hope. Family was family, regardless of what they did to you. I’d be back. But I didn’t have to like it.
It was another delicious dream.
Salacious and hot and so full of bold touches and tastes and sexy words whispered against skin that I would swear I felt every one. I could smell his mouthwatering scent as it enveloped me, wrapping me up. I could feel every thrust, every steamy slap of skin against skin, hear his husky moans and see those eyes drink me in so viscerally that even as I came—back to the living and also right there in my tweed skirt—I wondered if it was really a dream. Or a memory. Then God yelled at me.
“Patricia!”
Except that wasn’t me, and it wasn’t God. It was my dad, looming over me, eyes wild, booming out my mother’s name like she was being summoned to hell.
I heaved in air like I’d been underwater, flailing and banging my knuckles on the steering wheel.
In front of me.
In my car.
I was in my car. In the school parking lot. Having an orgasmic sex dream on my lunch break that was slapped down by my father. Shit.
Not the kids’ lunchtime. Mine. We got a thirty-minute personal break after the kids ate, when many of us would wait to eat in peace or run a quick errand. I had a phone call to make about Dad’s auto insurance post-accident, so I went out to my car.
And passed clean out.
“Shit,” I mumbled, struggling to catch my breath, rubbing my knuckles and swiping at my mouth for drool.
It was a beautiful day, not hot or muggy, and I thought resting my eyes for a minute or two after I hung up wouldn’t be a big deal. Felicity having to come hunt me down in the parking lot said otherwise, as I watched her approach, her head tilted.
I opened my door quickly and straightened my clothes, as if I’d really just been having sex right there in the front seat. Dear God, I was still pulsing down there like I had, and my panties were definitely wet.
Really?
“Grace?” Felicity asked, her eyebrows inching upward. “You okay?”
“Of course,” I said, probably a little too quickly. I motioned toward the car as I shut the door. “Just had to—yanno.”
“Drive to Canada?”
“Make a phone call,” I quipped, giving her a look as I strode past her.
“That must have been—”
“Were there any problems?” I asked, picking up my pace so that she had to turn and double-time it to catch up. My father’s admonishing tone still echoed through me. Patricia! I rolled my head on my shoulders, shaking out my hands. “Anything you couldn’t handle?”
“No, it’s all good,” she said. “Dixie’s sub is taking them on the last bathroom run before getting ready to go home.”
“They’re—?” I stopped short and stared down at my watch. “Oh, shit. It’s nearly—”
“Three thirty,” she finished. “That’s why I came looking.”
I looked back up at her, my mouth agape. “I’m so sorry.”
Felicity laughed. “It’s okay. Are you okay?”
“I—” I just had a screaming orgasm and thank fucking God you didn’t walk up fifteen seconds earlier. “I was so tired, and just closed my eyes for a second, and—whew. I guess I was more tired than I thought.”
She chuckled again. “It happens. My sister is fighting that all the time now that she’s pregnant.”
My feet rooted to the concrete. “What?”
“My sister?” she repeated, like that was the pertinent part. “Since she’s been knocked up, she drives to a little park every day on her lunch hour, sets her phone alarm, and kicks back.”
My mouth went dry. Like cotton wrapped in sandpaper dry. “Why—why—”
“Oh, why did that make her sleepy every day?” she blurted. “I have no idea. I guess a baby sucks all the life out of you? That’s why you have to take prenatal vitamins. The things women have to deal with to be a mom . . .”
She went on and on as I forced my feet to carry me forward, but all I could hear on a constant loop was my own panic.
I fell asleep at lunch. I never fall asleep at lunch. In my car.
I wasn’t exactly clockwork, but I was pretty regular. My period would be any day now. Could be today. Tomorrow for sure.
But . . . could it be—could I actually be—a mom?
No. It was just lack of comfortable, quality sleep from crashing in a hospital room. Waking up every time his night nurse, Adriana, came in to check his vitals. That was it.
Right?
“Hope, it’s me again,” I said after listening to her voicemail. Again.
My tone sounded a lot like Faith’s earlier, but as the day went on, I had to agree with her. It wasn’t fair, the two of us taking on the brunt of everything. There were three of us. And yes, she wasn’t local, but there were things she could do.
“Hopefully, you’re alive and I’m not talking to myself as you lie dead in a ditch somewhere, but that would at least be a reason we haven’t heard back from you.”
I’d gone home and showered and changed into an oversized t-shirt and leggings, hoping the comfort would get me a better night’s sleep. I walked into the hospital room and Faith glanced up from where she sat cross-legged in the recliner, playing a game on her phone.
“We need you,” I said to Hope’s voicemail as I met Faith’s gaze. “Maybe not physically here, but you can call. Stay in the loop. Help out with finances. Call the hospital and wrangle all the insurance things that Faith and I are trying to juggle. Hell, having a pizza delivered would be friggin awesome.”
Faith focused back on her phone screen, her mouth twitching into a reluctant smile.
“But if you’re gonna do that, do it after five,” I added. “Faith’s here days, and she doesn’t know how to appreciate a good pepperoni and pineapple pizza.”
Faith shook her head, not looking up. “That shit’s nasty,” she mumbled.
I paused before clicking off. “And let me know what you’ve found out on that other thing.”
“What other thing?” Faith asked, her tone distracted.
It was her way of smoothing things over. Asking questions, engaging, acting normal, instead of apologizing. I was familiar with the tactic. The McMasters way.
“Just—a coworker of mine has a legal question,” I said, attempting to infuse as much casual disinterest as I could into my tone.
“About?”
She let her phone rest in her lap as she met my gaze. As determined as she was to make up with me, I would have gladly gone another round in lieu of this topic.
I swallowed, and glanced at Dad as he stirred, his fingers flexing at his sides. “Marriage . . . dissolution.”
Faith’s eyes went wide. “Oh, my God, it’s not Dixie, is it?” she whispered. “Is she wanting out already?”
“No,” I chuckled, waving a hand. “Dixie and Gabe are fine, as far as I know. I’m sure Dixie has achieved her no-tan-line tan by now, and he’s enjoying the benefits.” I walked up to her as she stood and wrapped an arm around her neck, pulling her to me so I could absorb her sweet aroma. “Go home. Go to bed.”
