Page 79 of Grace

Chase cups my wet face in his palms and looks deep into my eyes. He rests his forehead against mine, his thumb tracing slow circles on my skin.

A soft shudder runs through my body as he captures my lips in a kiss full of love. He holds me gently against him, his fingers tangling in my thick, dark hair. I tilt my head to the side, letting him deepen the kiss.

Our lips move in concert, slowly and sensually. The taste of his kiss, the silent worship, and his scent—deeply ingrained in my memory—make my soul shatter into a myriad of shards. My mind whispers a cruel message to my heart:

“Chase is here, with everything in him that’s vibrantly alive.”

Chase

An hour

For an hour, Grace and I just stood holding each other in that musty storeroom smelling of beer.

Were my life only one hour, I’d pick that one and repeat it over and over again.

.

Grace

“Grace!”

Chase was holding me while Cameron was pounding on the door. While he was shouting. While he was threatening to break it down.

Thanks to my imagination, this hour never happened. Chase was never here, wasn’t holding me in a loving embrace, and I didn’t feel there was nowhere else I would rather be than in his arms. It was only my heart playing cruel tricks on me. Because my mind knows who I belong to.

To Cyrus.

That’s why Cameron didn’t see Chase when I opened the door. Because I hid him.

Cameron looked me up and down, his gaze finally settling on my wrist, where a cut marred the skin. He was searching for fresh scars. Scenting the air for blood like a hound. But what had happened here wasn’t what he thought. Yes, I’d been crying. But it didn’t make me feel any worse. Mom was right: sometimes we have to cry out all our tears to cleanse our souls. To be able to smile again.

“Hey.” Cyrus leans over the bar and kisses my cheek. A smile tugs at the corner of my mouth—one I can’t quite let reach my face. Wendy’s sad eyes stab straight into my heart. Cyrus turns and waves to her, making the poor girl look away, disappointment written all over her face.

“I’m sorry…” I sigh.

“She’ll get over it. Are you finished?”

“Yeah.”

“Cyrus. A moment.” Cameron calls him over, but before he can leave, I place my hand on his.

“I locked myself in the storeroom for an hour. I was crying, but I didn’t do anything bad. Packing the crates got to me—I’m not doing too well right now.”

“Why didn’t you ask for help?” he asks, a note of disapproval in his voice. I don’t have to answer for him to understand—it’s enough to just look at him.

“Put on your coat.”

“Okay.”

It’s my turn to lean over the bar and kiss his cheek. Cyrus flashes an overwhelming smile at me, making my heart race. I run into the storeroom and put on my jacket. When I reach the doorway, I halt and look back at the desk. I leave Cyrus’s office happily, because nothing has happened here. No one has been here.

I want to heal. Bo’s death gave me momentum—just like Chase’s arrival. If I hadn’t met him, maybe still nothing serious would have happened between Cyrus and me. And feeling like I’m an equal partner in our relationship is important to me as a woman—and as a person, too.

Cyrus says goodbye to everyone with a fist bump, then slides an arm around my waist before we step out into the night. I inhale the cool evening air deeply.

“I’ve been thinking I should get a motorcycle for our trip to California. We could visit a few cities on it, too.”

“You’d look great on a motorcycle,” I agree. “It sounds dangerous, though.”