Page 61 of Saving Grace

“See, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” Mack dots a kiss on my cheek before unfurling his hold on me. The chill that falls in as he moves away is part his absence and part my unease. If I know Joel, he won’t heed anything I tell him. He never has.

Shaking it off, I wander to the kitchen, sliding my phone into my back pocket. Mack is pulling items from the fridge. “I’m cooking tonight. Pick a movie on Netflix, will ya?”

I hover by the kitchen counter a moment. I would rather be busy. My mind doesn’t need a second’s leeway to dwell on the threat from Mississippi. So, I try to help, and he bats me away. “Ah! My turn. You do enough around here.”

The sofa gives way like an old friend when I sink into it and hunt through the cushions for the remote. With the telltale echoing sound of Netflix bursting onto the TV, I lean into the softness. Like I’m searching for refuge, and its cotton filling is my sanctuary where none shall find me. I toss my phone onto the small side table and flick through categories trying to find something we will both like.

Romance movies – no.

Thriller – hell no.

Military flicks – ah, probably not.

Comedy – sold!

I chose a popular standup gig that’s a good hour and a half long. Enough time to eat and cuddle up. A man and two bowls appear as I shuffle the cushions around to make our spot in the center. I take the bowl from his hand and toss the salad and chicken with ranch dressing using the fork already dug into the mix.

Mack is planted by my side a second later. I press play and a British guy starts up. He’s like a life-size version of a ventriloquist doll. But hell, he is funny. Inappropriately so, most of the time. I shovel my delicious meal into my mouth between bouts of laughter. Mack is doubled over by midway through.

It’s so wonderful to see his face lit up with pure joy. Tears leak from his eyes as he clutches his stomach. When his hysterics finally die out, he shakes his head. “Jesus, Grace. I’m gonna choke on my chicken.”

The mouthful I was chewing lodges in my airway. Choked out gasps compete with the laughter I can’t stifle at Mackinlay’s ridiculous face. He pats my back, and I manage to swallow the food, coming up for air like a diver on their last run, all out of oxygen.

“Fuck, sorry, gorgeous.”

His face is twisted, fighting hysterics. I push from the sofa and pull out two glasses, filling them with water from the fridge. On my return, Mack’s face has fallen, his gaze set on my phone. Like moving through molasses, I turn to find what has his attention.

Another text.

Joel.

I pass the glasses to him and grab the phone. Not hesitating this time, I open the message.

Bile claws its way up my insides, burning like a house fire in June. I can’t pry my eyes from the screen.

So few words.

Impact—unfathomable.

You don’t walk away from me, Graceless. I WILL FIND YOU.

The air in my lungs stalls out. My chest burns. My heart flings against my ribs, sending a burning flurry of ash down my limbs.

“The asshole agree to leave you alone?”

I snap my head up. Hopeful blue eyes study my face. The happy man I’m falling for from just moments ago flashes through my mind. Everything he has gone through after his tour... I will solve my own problems. Fight my own battles.

Mack pats the cushion beside him. On wobbly legs, I walk between his and drop onto his lap, burying my head into hisneck and letting my hair fall around his shoulder and arm. Right here, I’m safe. So here is where I intend to stay. He turns away and chugs down water. I delete the message and toss the phone onto the sofa.

“Yep,” I say, but even the word burns my tongue. I already regret my first and last lie to Mackinlay Rawlins.

“You want to see what else the funny man has to say?” he whispers into my ear, sending goosebumps over my body.

“Sure.” I ignore the stone forming in my throat.

Chapter Sixteen

MACK

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