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MARCUS
How she looks at me in this moment of total vulnerability guts me, breaks my heart wide open, and emotions flood my chest. Grace is a proud woman who rarely shows her pain. Stubborn is another accurate description.
I clear my throat and tell her honestly.
“Yeah, Grace, you did.”
A small sob escapes her, and her eyes well with tears before I can explain. The sight has me moving to her side, pushing back the blankets to take her in my arms, where she seems to break down, sobbing into my chest. The last twelve hours have been torture. I’ve sat here wondering if she’s ok, regretting so much, haunted by the what if’s that could have been our life if things were different.
“Grace, baby, you scared us. Just us. No one else was on the road.” My throat clogs with emotion, and I’m forced to clear it. “You work too hard. The police agree it was an accident because all your toxicology tests came back clean.”
“Of course, they did,” she says, lifting her head, sounding offended. I brace myself for the defensive Grace I’ve known all too well over the last six years.
“But. Working long hours at the hospital is too much for you, and listen, before you jump my ass and tell me how you can do everything and don’t need anyone; just listen to me. You were on the road alone, no rain or bad weather, but the car rolled so many times, the front end wrapped around your leg, busting your ankle.” I stop, my voice stolen by the images of her mangled van. She was lucky, luckier than she’ll ever realize. “The fire department had to use the jaws of life to get your body out of the wreckage, Grace.”
“God, Grace, you could have died.” It’s all too much, and I finally let the tears trail down my face. I want to be strong for her, tell her everything will be ok. She will heal with minimal damage, but if shit doesn’t change, she will work herself into an early grave.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I’m so sorry.” Then she burrows into my side as if she can’t get close enough. Her small frame tucks perfectly under my arm, and I hold her tight.
My best friend and the mother of my child is worn down and tired. Even after sleeping for so long, she looks like she could easily close her eyes and pass right back out. And yet she drops the ever-present wall around her emotions and reaches up to wipe my face dry. Not hers, mine. Always the caregiver.
I stop her hand from falling away and just hold it against my cheek, closing my eyes. Relief washes over me for the first time as my worry eases. I take a deep breath, weighted with the fear of losing her. I haven’t been able to eat or sleep. I’m thankful for our village of friends and family who always help with Harmony. I was so worried about how she would feel seeing her mom like this, but she seems unaffected.
Wrapped up in each other, I barely notice when night falls. Noise from outside filters in, but we stay in the moment. I reach up and return the sentiment, whipping the tears from her gorgeous face. She is so beautiful it hurts—the familiar ache in my chest returns at how rare it is to be able to hold her this way. Hell, to touch her at all is a rare gift.
“Things are going to change, Grace. They have to. You’ve been working too hard. You need a break. When’s the last time you had a goodnight's sleep and something to eat besides vending machine snacks or macaroni and cheese?”
“I work too hard!?! That’s real hypocritical, don’t you think?”
“I’m taking this as a sign, Grace. No more overworking. More time taking care of the people I love and being damn grateful for them.” My heart is pounding against her. Grace doesn’t like being told what to do or how something will be, and she’s going to put up the fight of her life, but my mind’s made up. I’m going to take care of her, and she might not know it yet, but she’s going to love me again.
To my utter shock, she doesn’t fight me. At least not tonight. She simply nods, tears streaming down her face while she cuddles into the bed, our arms still around each other with no desire to separate. She seems to digest my words, but I also know she’s exhausted.
“Get some sleep. I’m taking care of everything, including you.”
Again, I expect a smart remark but don’t get one. I feel her soft nod against my chest as I continue to hold her. Soon her breathing evens, her heart pounding in the rhythm drilled into my memory. As it plays its familiar tune to me, I hum a new beat. Something that comes to me so intensely that I can’t help but listen. It’s soft, slow, and echoes the longing in the hollow parts of my heart. But as I hum, I’m filled with hope and determination I haven’t had in the past few years.
Grace might keep trying to push me away, but I’m pushing back this time. Because she’s the love of my life, and I’m going to fucking marry her. Claim her as mine, in every way possible. Until then, I’ll care for her and show her what every day with me will look like and when she’s ready to open up to me again, she’s going to let me in, and I’m never leaving.
* * *
The next fewdays are filled with more guests coming to bug Grace. I know they mean well, but my girl is prideful, and I can tell she hates being stuck in bed. Luckily the doctor is giving her the all-clear to go home today.
“Thank fucking God,” Grace says as soon as Dr. Williams leaves. “I’ll call a car and be home cuddling my curly-haired princess in less than an hour.”
She seems relieved, but if she thinks I’m just going to put her in a car and wave goodbye, she is in for an unpleasant wake-up call.
“You don’t need to call a car. I’m taking you home where our daughter is waiting for us, food will be there, and I had your clothes taken to the cleaners, which should be delivered tonight as well,” I announce while looking down at my phone. I also moved some of my things into her house, but I’ll give her a minute before I drop that bomb.
“Really? Ok then,” she clears her throat. “Thank you.”
“That sounded painful,” I smirk.
“What did?”
“You thanking me.”
“Fuck you,” she chuckles. That beautiful smile, bright with amusement.
