AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Grace’s red-rimmed eyes open wide as we walk into the open-plan kitchen, dining and living room. Her gaze drifts over the space, taking in the bright décor and the kitchen with its wood worktops and breakfast bar. “You have a beautiful home.”
“I had the whole place refurbished before I moved in six years ago. It’s not huge. Only has two bedrooms.” It’s certainly not big enough for a family, not that I ever expected to have one. I give her a wry smile. “London prices and all.”
Her answering smile is wobbly. “Tell me about it. The rent on my little place is extortionate.” She shivers again and wraps her arms tighter around her body.
“Why don’t I show you where the bathroom is, and you can take a shower?”
She closes her eyes briefly. “A hot shower sounds amazing.”
I dig out an old T-shirt and tracksuit bottoms for Grace, along with fresh towels, and leave her to shower. The clothes will be too big, but they’re clean, as I’m sure she won’t want to put her uniform back on. I don’t know about Grace, but washing off the day is an important ritual for me, so I head to my bedroom and shower in the ensuite.
Fifteen minutes later, I enter the living room in a clean T-shirt and jeans to find Grace standing by the French doors leading to the terrace overlooking the landscaped rear garden. Her hair is damp from her shower, and her face is blotchy from her tears, but she’s never looked more beautiful. The T-shirt covers her from neck to mid-thigh, and she’s rolled up the bottoms of the tracksuit bottoms. Seeing her in my clothes has a primitive emotion rumbling in my chest.
Mine.
Jesus, I want her so much.
“Grace.”
She tears her gaze from the garden to look at me, and the vulnerability and sadness in her eyes almost bring me to my knees. I’m used to bubbly, vivacious Grace, with her ready smile and sparkling grey eyes. This Grace looks defeated, and I fucking hate whatever circumstances are responsible.
I hold out my hand in invitation. She hesitates briefly before moving toward me and placing her hand in mine. It’s a sign of trust, and my throat tightens with emotion. I lace our fingers together and pull her to the sofa, careful to give her space as we sit.
I open my mouth to speak, but Grace beats me to it.
“My father is a decorated veteran and an abusive alcoholic,” she states. “My mother left when I was six, left me with that monster. A monster who, like you, served his country and was given military honours. A man who knocked me around according to his moods.”
Now I understand her animosity regarding veterans. She’s had the worst example possible.
“And he’s a police officer now?” I ask in disbelief.
Grace huffs out a breath. “I know, right? Last I knew, he was still based in west London, and our paths haven’t crossed since I left. That’s why I was so surprised to see him. I suppose he’s been transferred.”
I shake my head in disgust. How can a man like that be in law enforcement?
“Eventually, I learned to predict his moods, judge how much drink he'd consumed, and steer clear of him whenever I could,” Grace continues, lost in dark memories. “I got good at hiding my injuries or treating them myself. When my mother left, I struggled with feelings of inadequacy. My father used her abandonment as a weapon against me. He blamed me for her absence, punishing me for it and telling me it was my fault. He said I wasn't lovable, that even my mother didn’t stay for me or take me with her. His words cut deep, and even though I coped as best I could with the physical assaults, it was the emotional ones that scarred me more.”
My fists curl as I listen. What kind of man does that to a child?A sick one.I’m angry that someone as loving and giving as Grace was treated that way. I’m livid that a man lauded as a hero would do something so wicked as to lay a hand on a helpless child who’d loved and depended on him. Who'd desperately needed and wanted him to love her. But he’d hurt her in every way imaginable.
Grace pauses and scoots closer as if seeking my warmth and reassurance. “During my final year at school, my father got particularly drunk one night and came at me with a bread knife.” Her hand flutters to her hip and the scar that mars her smooth skin. “It was deep, so I had to get treated at the hospital. The nurse who treated me, Maddie, was newly qualified, but she saw the rest of the bruises and scars, and she knew. She told me her stepdad abused her and her mum, but they got out and built a new life for themselves and that I could too. She gave me her number and told me to call her anytime.”
She sighs heavily and leans into me, resting her head on my shoulder. “Would you believe it took me another three months to leave my childhood home? I took my mother’s jewellery and the money I’d scraped to save and called Maddie. She and her husband, Jacob, gave me a roof over my head for almost a year while I got on my feet. I’ll never be able to repay their debt of kindness, but Maddie was my inspiration for wanting a job where I could make a difference in other people's lives. That was five years ago. Maddie put me in touch with her counsellor, and I’ve done a lot of work on myself to process what I went through, but” she pauses, and a solitary tear tracks down her cheek—“I still struggle with feelings of unworthiness. I worry that I’m not lovable.”
By the time Grace has finished telling me her story, she’s sitting in my lap, curled up against my chest.
I stroke a soothing hand down her back. “Do you ever wonder about her? About your mother?” I ask softly. “About where she is?”
“Sometimes,” she whispers. “But not as much as I used to. I have no desire to find her. There’s no coming back from abandoning a six-year-old child.”
I can’t argue with that. “I’m so sorry for what you went through,” I murmur, resting my cheek on her head.
Grace pulls back to look at me. “Do you see me differently? Do you think I’m weak?”
My jaw clenches as I look her right in the eye. “Never. Your parents didn’t deserve you—your goodness, your pure heart, your love. You’ve lived and fought, and you have the battle scars to prove it. It's why you’re so mature for your age, so driven. And it’s why I find you so attractive—that and your undaunted optimism and strength. You haven’t become a victim of the blows that life has dealt you. You’re stronger than I gave you credit for, and sharing that piece of yourself with me only makes me want to protect you, shelter you, and do what I can to help you heal.”
She cups my face, smoothing her thumbs over my cheeks. “That’s what I find so appealing about—seeing how much you care, how deeply you feel.”
I’m certainlyfeelingthings right now—the desire to close the distance between us and put my mouth on hers. “Stay the night. I’ll get you set up in the spare room, and you can get a good night’s sleep. We’re not on shift until Monday, so—”
