Page 17 of Giving Grace

Now it’s his turn to shake his head, his dark-eyed gaze dropping down to my bare feet. “I don’t want you to go.”

Relieved and feeling pretty ridiculous about it, I cross the room, rounding the bed to stand on the other side of it, behind him.

“What if I can’t?” he says in a gruff tone without turning around to look at me. “What if this morning was just a—”

“We’ll figure it out.” Lifting my shirt over my head I drop it on the floor. “No matter what happens,” I tell him as I reach back to unhook my bra. Let it slide down my arms to join my shirt on the floor. Work my panties off my hips and slide them to the floor to step out of them. “I won’t be disappointed.”

He makes a sound in the back of his throat that tells me he doesn’t believe me. Because there’s nothing I can say to change his mind, I do the only thing I can. Tugging my jeans down over my hips, I step out of them before adding them to my pile of discarded clothes. Naked, I reach out to pull the covers back to slip between the sheets of Ryan’s bed, the cool cotton of them stiffening my nipples instantly.

Even though he knows what I’m doing, that I’m in his bed, he still hasn’t turned around. Still hasn’t moved, like he’s not sure what he’s supposed to do next. Like he’s trying to remember how this is supposed to work.

I’m about to open my mouth and tell him that it’s okay. That we don’t have to do this, Ryan’s arms come up, lifting the hem of his shirt along with them. Up over his head before it’s tossed on the floor.

There are scars on his back. Burn scars from the explosion he survived, still pink and new, splash up from the waistband of his track pants, twisting and snaking their way across his lower back, toward his ribcage. Higher on his back, a slash mark cuts across his spine and a round, lumpy scar that looks like a bullet hole, high on his shoulder.

“It’s okay,” he says quietly. “You don’t have to touch me if you don’t want to.”

Before I can really comprehend what he’s saying, Ryan reaches for the bedside lamp and turns out the light.

Twelve

Ryan

After plunging us both into the dark, I stay where I am, letting my hand drop down, away from the lamp and back to my lap. I know what I’m doing. I’m waiting. For Grace to make some insipid comment about the scars on my back. For her to tell me they don’t matter.

Maybe I’m just waiting for her to leave.

I don’t want her to.

I’d probably chase her down and drag her back to my bed if she tried.

So what the fuck are you waiting for, Ranger? Time to nut up or shut up.

The problem is, I psyched myself out. Looked in that fucking drawer full of condom Conner left for me. Started to wonder if I’d be able to get it up long enough to use one.

Started to worry that maybe I would.

Behind me, I hear the subtle intake of Grace’s breath, telling me she’s about to say something. Tell me it’s okay. We don’t have to do this. We can call it off if I want.

Because I’ll lose my fucking shit if she says any of the above, I force myself to move before she can make a sound.

Pulling the covers back, I force myself to lie down beside her. Dig my heels into the bed to keep myself in place when I feel her move toward me across the mattress. She nudges my arm away from my side, settling into the wedge to rest her cheek on my shoulder. Her full, soft breasts pressed against the sidewall of my chest while her hand slides across the plane of my stomach to settle itself on my hip.

We lay like this for a while. Me, flat on my back, staring at the ceiling, trying to figure out what to do with my hands. Grace, wrapped around me, feeling so goddamned good and right, I’m afraid to move. Afraid to breathe because I know I’m going to fuck this up. I’m going to push her away again. I’m going to keep pushing her away and, sooner or later, it’s gonna stick.

“Ryan?” She whispers it, her mouth brushing against shoulder.

“Hmmm.”

“How’d it happen?”

I knew she’d ask about the explosion—everyone eventually does—but that doesn’t mean I want to talk about it. It doesn’t mean I want to tell her how, as a ten-year vet with seven years as a Ranger under my belt, I still managed to fuck up so bad that I nearly got my leg and junk blown off.

Mainly because I don’t know. I don’t remember what happened that day. How I ended up this way. The last thing I remember before the explosion is boarding our transport. The rest is a yawning black hole of nothingness. Too deep and dark for me to see the bottom of it, and that deep dark scares the piss out of me. Not knowing what I did. Not being able to remember. Because the longer I stare into it, the crazier I feel.

“How’d what happen?” I don’t want to talk about it, but I will. If Grace can be brave enough to ask me, then I can be brave enough to tell her.

“This.” She lifts her head and tilts it to press her lips to the raised, red lump of scar tissue that rides high on my left shoulder. “You have one just like it on your back.”

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