Page 26 of Saving Grace

Grace.

God dammit.

The thought that I will always be this way. Never whole again.

Fuck this bullshit six ways to Sunday.

Fuck everything.

Hours later, when I pry myself from the floor, the house is quiet and dark. The girls are long gone, and Grace is sound asleep in her room. Tonight, her door is open as if she’s listening out for me. I hesitate as I pass her door. The fume-filled tang of something like turpentine wafts around.

Ignoring the malodor, I wander to the kitchen on one crutch and grab a glass of water. Back in my room, I scramble in the dark for my AirPods, shoving them in my ears when I find them. The house is all shadows and darkness. I swear as I lift my arms over my head and sink into the mattress with a sigh. Something appears in my doorway before retreating.

I turn up the volume to drown out those rooftop sounds still haunting me. The last thing I see as I close my eyes is Grace. Her fingers in her hair sitting in front of me plaiting deftly, her soft blue eyes stuck on mine.

Sweet Jesus.

I roll over, hissing as the ache in my hip intensifies. Cock hard as a rock from the slightest thought of her, I rub the heels of my hands into my eye sockets. Stars burst into my blacked-out vision, and I try to push her from my mind.

Harry’s tax papers.

Ma’s disappointed face.

Nothing works . . .

Then Butters’s grin hits me like a ton of bricks and the buzz that Grace brought fades.

A stone wedges in my throat, and I try to remind myself—like I have a thousand times before—it wasn’t my fault.

Tell that to my broken heart.

Chapter Seven

GRACE

The text on my phone buzzes again. I’m too scared to touch it.

Where the fuck are you, Grace?

Joel.

Who else?

I have been ignoring his texts. But this is the first time he’s wanted to know where I am. The previous ones were him yelling at me, in all caps, about taking off with my own money. Come back to do my chores. He needs to get laid.

Blah blah blah.

Not my problem.

Until now.

Now, he wants to know where I am.

Shit.

What part ofdisappeared without contactdoes he not understand?

I hold the coffee cup in my shaking hands, sipping cautiously, like it’s the hot brown liquid’s fault.

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