Page 8 of Saving Grace

Fear snakes its way through my limbs.

Double-checking the lock, I dive to the floor by the bed and pluck out my overnight bag. Heart flinging against my ribs, I stuff clothes, underwear, and anything else I can find from my side of the dresser into a duffle. I grab the envelope with the money I stashed away earlier today and toss it in, too.

A fist thunders on the door.

“Fuck.”

“Grace! Get out here!”

He’s pissed.

If I leave this room, it’s going to hurt. A fresh surge of fear prickles over my skin. My breaths, choppy and short, turn raspy. The door rattles under a new siege of anger and knuckles. I grab up the bag.

The door busts open.

Eyes catching on the half-packed bag, Joel stalks into my space. “What the fuck?”

I drop it to the bed and close my eyes, hands pressed into my chest, fingers tight around the charm Mama gave me.

Dear God, if you can hear me . . .

Chapter Two

MACK

Ican’t move.

Traction holds my body motionless. My mind, however, is not as blessed. Almost two weeks to the day, and the last thing I said to my spotter still runs on repeat through my head.

“Calm down, Daisy, it’s probably backup comin’.”

Liam Arnold Butler—Butters, we call him.

Called him.

My last words to him cost him time and, ultimately, his life.

I grind my jaw shut, pressing the thought—no, the memory—down. Happy smiles and cheeky pranks on base are what I will remember. Not the limp, lifeless version of him rescue pulled from the rubble of three stories’ worth of stone.

A sigh drifts up from the visitor’s chair by my bed. The early morning sunlight splinters through the white blinds covering the wide windows of my very pale, very clinical hospital room. Ma moves in her sleep. Her hair mussed, her shirt crinkled.

“You’re awake. Mornin’.”

Pa waltzes in with two coffees like he’s walking into a party. I’m pretty sure my family has a rotation. I haven’t had a day to myself since being admitted to this place. They take it in three-day stints. This is my folks’ last day. Huddo and Adds will most likely be here by noon to take the next allotment of days.

I love my family, I really do. But right now, all this fussin’ and pity is sending me crazy. And I’m the last guy on the planet to deserve it.

“What’s with the scowl, Mackie-boy?”

My gaze darts to the door at the sound of my big brother’s voice.

Lawson.

“Hey, Laws.”

“Well.” He wanders to my bedside, coffee in hand like the parentals. “You most definitely put some effort into getting outta the chores, didn’t you.”

“Fuck off, Laws.”

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