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Still, I’m so exhausted that I fall asleep just moments after my head hits the pillow.
8
Ciro
We’re all under different types of stress. Different types of pressure.
None of us had any clue when we stole Grace from that church on her wedding day that things would end up like this.
Damian dead.
Camilla alive.
Dozens of questions still unanswered.
I leave Hale alone in the office, knowing that nothing else I say is going to change his mind. He has to think things through himself. We know he’s just trying to protect her, but she can’t hide from who she is forever.
And Hale can’t protect her from everything. None of us can.
As long as she’s here, one of us, she’ll have to face the same things we face. She’ll have to step into roles that we play all the time. He’ll see it’s for the best to have Grace and Camilla meet, even though the thought makes even me wince.
I hesitate on the landing of the stairs, debating whether or not to go back into the living room where I left Grace, Zaid, and Lucas a couple of hours ago. I left them less to comfort Hale and more to get out of my own head, work through my own shit.
It’s getting harder to resist Grace.
I slump down onto the stairs, sitting on one of the steps and resting my elbows on my knees. I haven’t had time to think lately, haven’t had time to deal with anything but what was in front of me in each moment.
When Leland was still alive, I hardly knew myself, half the time stuck in that place in my head where time doesn’t exist, where everything around me is a shadow. When I go to that place, it’s like walking through a pit of heavy darkness with only my fucking demons for company.
But not tonight.
Tonight, I finally came back. Fully. Completely myself. Downstairs in the living room, I woke up again to everything around me—the last of the demons slinking back into their shadows, waiting for the next time they could take hold of me.
For the first time in days, I saw clearly. Thought clearly. Felt clearly.
And the first thing I thought of was Grace. The first thing I saw was Grace. The first thing I felt was Grace.
Like snapping back into my own body at full speed, I’m consumed by her all over again. When I handed her that drink, she looked different than I remembered her looking just a few days ago. More sad, more worn down. Tension that shouldn’t be allowed to touch her now consumes her, the weight of the world pressing heavily down on her. My heart felt like it might punch a hole through my chest with the need to comfort her. To help her or to fix her somehow.
But I couldn’t. I can’t.
Because if I touch her, I’ll break her.
If I let myself near her, I’ll hurt her. And worse than that is the way she looks at me—as if she knows. As if she understands. As if it breaks her heart.
The last thing I want to do is break her heart.
Jesus. I’m so fucked up.
I scrub a hand down my face, then surge to my feet, shaking my head to clear it.
When I finally get back to the room, it’s empty. I didn’t really expect to find anyone since it’s late and we’re all fucking exhausted, but a small part of me wanted Grace to still be here. Waiting for me.
And yet, the other half of me is relieved she isn’t.
It’s the constant war of my heart, my body, my mind.
Wanting Grace. Not having Grace.
