Page 48 of Giving Grace

Ryan

I don’t know what happened. How we got here. Grace slumped into the passenger seat of her bright yellow SUV. Me at the wheel. Molly passed out in her car seat behind us. All I know is that I went inside to find Patrick and Cari so I could make my excuses and leave and somehow I ended up here, with them.

Not somehow, Ranger. You know exactly what happened. You saw the look on Grace’s face, heard the way her family was bullying her into things she didn’t want and you dove in, head first, like you always do, without thinking of the consequences.

It’s how I ended up with the choice between the Army and a prison cell. It’s how I ended up standing on top of that IUD and fucking up any chance I had of a normal life. It’s how I ended up destroying any chance I might’ve had with the only woman I’ve ever really wanted.

And it’s how I ended up here with her now.

She hasn’t said a word since we left. Didn’t put up a fight when I took her car keys and put her in the passenger seat before hefting Molly into her car seat and strapping her in while her father stood on Declan’s front porch with his thick, tattooed arms cross over his chest and the kind of look that would kill me where I stood if looks were capable. Because the last time he saw me, he told me to stay away from them, that a washed-up soldier with a bum leg and a head full of scrambled eggs was the last thing Grace needed to be saddled with and even though he was right and even though I’ve done my best to do what’s right by her, here I am, diving headfirst into something that I’m pretty sure I’m not ready for.

Like she can read my mind, Grace sighs. “It’s okay, Ryan,” she whispers, momentarily drawing my attention away from the road in front of me. Her entire body is turned toward the passenger side door, has been since I put her in car, her forehead pressed against the window. “I don’t expect you to—” She stop herself short, a frown pulling her generous mouth into a thin, hard line. “I have some money saved. I’ll google a hotel.” She lifts her head away from the glass and gives it a resolved nod like her mind is made up. “Molly and I can—”

I look away from her, refocusing my attention on the road in front of me. “No.”

From the corner of my eye I watch her sit up and turn in her seat, toward me, and wait for me to finish talking. Maybe follow up my refusal with an explanation. When I don’t, she looks over her shoulder to make sure Molly is sleeping.

“No what?”

“No, you aren’t going to a hotel.” I give her a shrug. “You can google from here to Boston proper, Jimmy, and I still wouldn’t take you—”

“I told you to stop calling me that.” Suddenly angry, she hisses it at me like a snake, hands ball up into fists, sitting on her knees like she’s thinking about using them on me.

“And I told you that if you need help, I’m the one you ask. Me, Grace.” I’m angrier than I have a right to be. I haven’t been there for her, not the way I should’ve been. It’s stupid and irrational because she can’t predict the future. She had no idea her family was going to ambush her the way they did, but I can’t help it. “Not Patrick. Not your parents. Not that giant, tattooed fuck you were dancing with—me. You and Moll are—”

“We’re nothing to you.” She turns in her seat to face me completely, the glare she’s aiming at me so hot I can feel the side of my face singe “Buying me coffee doesn’t give you the right to just barge back into our lives whenever the mood strikes and pretend to give a shit about us. It doesn’t make you her father and it doesn’t make you my savior.”

Breathe, Ranger.

Don’t say a goddamned word because you’re only going to make it worse.

Just keep your mouth shut and breathe.

“I thought we settled this,” I say it quietly, hands hooked around the steering wheel, fingers gripped tight, biceps flexed like I’m about to rip it from the steering column, because I never fucking listen. I never do the smart thing. Never do what I should. Certainly not when it comes to her. No, when it comes to Grace Faraday, everywhere I step is a potential landmine. “You said we were good. You said you—”

“Did I?” She turns in her seat again, pushing her knees against the door like she’d open it and do a tuck and roll down the highway if it didn’t mean leaving Molly behind. “Well, I guess that makes me a liar, doesn’t it?”

Yeah, I’m not ready for this.

I’m barely qualified as functional these days. I need a watering schedule to keep a houseplant alive. I can’t even take more than one college class at a time without fear of implosion. What makes me think I’m ready to take on a woman and her kid is totally and completely beyond me.

All I know for sure is ready or not, whether she wants me or not, Grace needs me. Molly needs me and I’m not flinching away from that. Not this time.

The rest of the drive is made in silence—Grace turned away from me like she can simply will me away by pretending I’m not here. Me, staring through the windshield while I try to figure out what I’m supposed to do next. By the time I turn into the parking lot of the center, I still haven’t figured it out but I pull into my spot near the back door and kill the engine. And then I do the only thing I know how to do.

I dive in, head first.

“Here’s what’s going to happen, Jimmy,” I tell her, pulling her keys from the ignition to drop them into the cup holder. “I’m going to get out of the car and I’m going to take Molly upstairs.” Unbuckling my seatbelt, I turn in my seat to look at her. “I’m going to put her to bed on the futon in my spare room and then I’m going to get out of this suit, take a shower and then I’m going to go to bed because my leg is fucking killing me and I just really need this day to be over,” I tell her while opening my car door and stepping a foot onto the pavement. “So, you can either come upstairs with me and we can figure out the rest of it in the morning or you can start screaming and call the cops to come arrest me for kidnapping—either way, Molly and I are going inside.”

Thirty-one

Grace

I watch in the side mirror as Ryan carries Molly to the backdoor of the center, each of his steps slow and methodical, like he has to prepare for each of them so his leg doesn’t buckle. It reminds me of what he told me on Friday. That his leg is usually good in the morning but that by afternoon, he usually needs his cane to help keep himself steady.

Before I can think things through, I’m pushing my own door open and retrieving my keys from the cup holder and the small duffle I was smart enough to throw clothes into from the trunk area. Reaching over the back of the seat, I grab Ryan’s cane from the backseat before slamming the hatch shut and charging after them.

Barely sparing me more than a passing glance, Ryan shifts Molly in his arms to dig a set of keys out of his pocket. “Here,” he says, passing the keys off to me. “My alarm code is 0123.”

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