Page 26 of His Saving Grace

Heat crept up her neck, and she silently cursed the way her body responded to him. That he was a complication she didn’t need didn’t seem to matter. All he had to do was bat his damn eyelashes in her direction, and every hormone in her body stood up and begged.

“What?” The word came out a little more snappish than intended, but she refused to apologize.

“Nothing,” he said, his voice all low and sexy. Jerk.

“Well, then?” She made a swooshing motion with her hands, indicating he should go through the door. With a groan, he pushed away from the wall. She tensed, ready to spring forward in case he stumbled. He didn’t.

And she wasn’t the least bit disappointed she didn’t get to put her hands on him again.

He stepped forward, putting his weight on his right leg, and his jaw tightened.

“Why don’t you use your cane?” She still didn’t know for sure if he had one, but she was going on a hunch.

“I hate it,” he said, moving past her and into the house. He brushed against her, and she had the distinct impression it wasn’t an accident. “It’s a reminder that I’m broken.”

The anger and agony in his voice wrapped around her lungs like a fist, squeezing tight enough to stop her breath. Although she didn’t fully understand what he was going through, she understood the part about being broken. There were days when she didn’t think her pieces would ever fit back together again. They were getting fewer and farther between, but sometimes, sometimes, the cracks felt irreparable.

She stepped inside and pulled the door closed. The cool air swirled around her and she shivered, although the reaction didn’t have a lot to do with the temperature.

Mason limped across the foyer to the base of the staircase. He leaned heavily against the newel post and tilted his head to gaze up the stairs. “I can’t do it.”

“Come on.” She moved over to him. “The big, strong major can’t make it up an itty, bitty, little staircase?”

He glanced at her over his shoulder, his blue eyes tormented. The urge to go to him, to reach out and wrap him in her arms, to tell him it would be alright, overwhelmed her, but she held back. If she was going to keep her distance, she needed to start yesterday.

He swung around and sank onto the stairs with a groan. He leaned his head against the post with enough force to leave a mark. “You think I’m strong?”

She didn’t know what to say to that, so she just nodded.

“What if I told you I’m afraid to go to sleep at night?” His voice was frayed, as if the words were being ripped from him. “That every time I close my eyes, I’m back there again. On the day everything changed.”

She wrapped her arms around herself, afraid of what came next. She wanted to tell him to stop, but she couldn’t seem to get the words past her aching throat.

“I was one of the lucky ones. Two of my guys died that day. The only reason I survived was because a stubborn lieutenant refused to leave me behind. I should be grateful…” His words trailed off, and he pulled his gaze from hers. His eyes darkened, full of storm clouds, and his full lips turned down into a ferocious frown. Silence descended, broken only by the tick-tock of the grandfather clock tucked against the staircase.

The seconds ticked into minutes, and he remained lost in thought, not moving or saying anything. Just staring, his gaze haunted.

“Mason?” She kept her voice low, but she needed him to come back to her. She would never try to understand what he went through. But dwelling on the past, a past you couldn’t change, would get you absolutely nowhere.

He blinked a few times, and then his gaze met hers. The pain reflected back at her made her chest ache. She absently rubbed at the spot and moved to the stairs to sit beside him. “Have you talked to anyone about this?”

He nodded, keeping his gaze facing forward. “I used to meet with a group in Virginia. We’d talk about stuff.” He made a snorting sound. “Well, they’d talk. I’m not much of a talker.”

“You could have fooled me.” She bumped his shoulder with hers. It would be so easy to lean against him, soak in his warmth, lend him what little strength she had left. But she couldn’t afford to. For plenty of reasons. “You’ve been a font of information tonight.”

He snorted again and staggered to his feet. She jumped up, grabbing him before he fell on his head. He draped himself against her, pulling her into his side. She had a sneaking suspicion he was no longer as drunk as he wanted her to believe.

They made it up the stairs without incident. The hallway was dark, and she had no idea where they were going. “Which one is yours?”

“Last one on the right.”

Together, they staggered forward. She bounced off the wall once or twice, but made it to his bedroom in one piece. He opened the door, and she let go of him so he could get through. The moon shone through the open curtains, providing a hint of light. He stumbled to the nightstand and flipped on the lamp.

She stepped into the room. The first thing that hit her was the smell. It smelled like him, only more intense, and her knees threatened to give out again. Seriously, no one should smell so incredible.

The second thing was, it looked like the room of a teenage boy. This had to have been his room growing up, and it didn’t look like anyone had changed it in the time he was gone.

Football trophies lined the shelves. Posters of muscle cars and half-naked girls peppered the walls. There was a bureau and a desk made of a rich mahogany, and a large computer sat on the latter. There were books and photos placed precisely on various surfaces around the room. She spotted his metal cane, leaning against the wall, tucked between the bed and the nightstand.