Page 32 of Saving Grace

Might have to dial back the asshole. I run a hand over the closest machine and walk to the small table to check the exercises I have to do and in what order. A note is written in the margin of the page.

Mackinlay,

The sooner you can get your strength back, the sooner I’m gone.

Grace.

There it is, in black and white, hard evidence of my behavior. Laws is right—hell, they all were—this isn’t me. It’s like I lost who I was on that rooftop. This other version of me has taken over. I would like to say it’s purely survival mode, but I know deep down, that’s not an excuse. Never was.

“You should be grateful, and you should also make nice with Grace before I hand you your ass on a platter, Mackie-boy. Don’t think I’m above beating up a crippled man.” His brows are lowered but he winks at me. The sentiment rings true.

“Yeah, I know.” I can’t meet his gaze.

“If you stop feeling sorry for yourself for just a moment, Mack, you might see she is hurting as much as you are.”

I stare at him, mouth agape.

Is that it? What everyone has alluded to, but never voiced? Grace is here because she’s hurting? Never before in history of mankind has a man fallen so far, so fast. Propelled to a deep guilt by way of selfish ignorance and self-absorption.

Sweet Jesus, I am a first-class heartless asshole.

Running a hand through my hair, I close my eyes and exhale.

“Maybe if you’re nicer to her, she’ll show you what she’s been up to in the spare room?” Laws knows that’s been bugging me since the day she set it up and closed the door. I could tell myself I’m not interested in what’s in there, but that would be a lie.

I’ve been smelling fumes and shit for days.

I’m guessing paints, or something. Maybe she’s taking apart the Beetle’s engine. It hasn’t moved in days. Not since I railed her about not being here when I got home from my appointment. It could be oil I’m smelling...

A hand waves in front of my face. I jerk up and meet Lawson’s amused face.

“You need a hand to get through these exercises?” He nods to the first piece of equipment.

“Spot in for me?”

“Sure,” he says, sitting on the bench portion of the abdominal machine, his AirPods in his hands. I sink to the machine that runs my legs through their paces. I start off on the lowest weight and grunt through the first few reps.

Laws studies my form. “I mean, come on. Life’s not all bad if your workout partner isthatpretty.”

I scoff a laugh, and he beams at me, the handsome motherfucker.

Nicely played, Laws. Somehow, I doubt Grace is going to want to be my partner in anything after the last few weeks of living with me.

I continue the reps on the chart, but the burn in my legs forces me to stop. The fitness I gained as a soldier is nowhere to be seen. My body is weak and the tremble that rose with the last few reps only serves as a reminder of how far backward I’ve slipped. It’s my own fault. I knew the routine I was supposed to uphold to regain my strength. I didn’t do it.

I’ve had this equipment since the week I came home, thanks to my brothers. I never used it, just left it stored away. Shut the door and ignored it most of the time. Serves me damn right if I never recover. Maybe I don’t deserve to.

I feed Laws something about a suggested rest period between body parts and move to the machine for my upper half. I have a little more luck. Most likely from using crutches and hauling my half-useless body around for the last three months.

“How are you feeling?” a soft voice asks from the doorway.

Laws gives her a half-assed salute as he leaves the room. This time when I meet her gaze and find a response, it’s more honest than before.

“Feelin’ useless . . . and stupid.”

I slump against the back rest and wipe the sweat from my brow. Grace hands me one of the towels, and I dry my arms and the back of my neck. Only fifteen minutes of real exercise, and I’m exhausted.

“You should feel proud, not stupid. You turned your one day into day one.” Her smile is genuine. Kind. Nothing I’ve seen from Grace until this moment.

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