“Is that name supposed to mean somethin’ to me?”
He chuckles. “It might if you watched the news once in a while. Emerald City is the name in security. Ain’t no one better. Their systems have helped put a stop to a couple of high-profile crime rings in San Francisco, Denver, and Chicago. But they don’t do home installs. Unless you happen to be family.”
“I ain’t family.”
His laugh turns into a snort. “For fuck’s sake, AJ. How can you still think that? If it weren’t for you, I’d be dead. Isabel and Veronica too. They’re sendin’ a team of installers out on a red-eye tonight. They’ll be at the house by ten tomorrow.”
The knots turning my shoulders to granite don’t unravel completely, but they loosen a fraction. “Connor?—”
“And tonight, Jasper, Parker, and I have you covered. You and Grace won’t be alone. Not for one damn second.”
“I can’t lose her again,” I manage through the overwhelming wave of relief threatening to carry me away.
“You won’t. Grace’ll have a wall around her everywhere, AJ. One with teeth. Anyone tries to get to her, they’ll have to go through us. All of us.”
Grace
My nap was nothing but a never-ending series of nightmares. If only I could remember what they were beyond dark shadows and people chanting words I couldn’t understand.
I was so exhausted when I woke up, I couldn’t even muster the energy to ask AJ to join me in the bath.
Now, I sit on the edge of the bed, staring at the closet like it could swallow me whole at any moment. I know the clothes are mine. Some of them even feel…almost familiar. But they all belong to the woman I used to be.
Emi pops out, a deep green sweater in her hands. “This one will bring out the color of your eyes and soften the bruising a bit.” She studies my face. The dark purple covering my cheek and temple has started to fade into a sickly yellow. “It’s strong, but not flashy. It says survivor, not victim.”
She lays the sweater in my lap, and I run my fingers over the soft knit I can’t remember buying. “I don’t want to pretend everything’s fine. It isn’t.”
“You don’t have to, hon.” She crouches in front of me and takes my hands. “The bruises speak for themselves. What we’re doing here is making sure people see you. Not just the damage.”
I want to ask her how she can be so sure there is a me under all the damage, but she pulls a shopping bag from her oversized purse and dangles it in front of me. “I went to the beauty supply store and got you everything you’ll need for makeup.”
“You…” My throat tightens, and I just stare at the bag. First the phone, with all that music, the group chat—where messages fly by at a dizzying speed, and whenever I say something, the heart emojis and replies come almost immediately—and now this?
“I don’t… You hardly know me. Why would you?—?”
Emi’s eyes soften. She sets the bag down and takes a seat next to me on the bed. “Because you deserve to have choices again, Grace. When you’re ready, I’ll go with you to the store. Help you pick out anything you think you might want that isn’t in here. But since the world can’t know you’re alive for another two hours, this…well…it’ll get you started.” She grins and squeezes my hand. “You’re tougher than you think, funny as hell, and Parker’s already adopted you as her sister. That’s enough for me to know we’re going to be great friends.”
The heavy weight I’ve been carrying on my shoulders all day lifts a fraction. I’m not brave enough to hug Emi, so I run my thumb over the sweater again, grounding myself in its texture.
“Come on,” she says, rising and holding out her hand. “Let’s get you into this and start on the makeup.”
I let her help me up, then trade the fuzzy pink sweater for the one she picked out. “See?” Emi angles me toward the mirror. The green makes my eyes look sharper. More alert. Alive. “This is the one. Strong, not flashy.”
Once I take a seat at the vanity, she arranges tubes, bottles, and brushes all in a row. “We’ll keep it simple. A touch of concealer, some powder, and a hint of color on your lips. No eye makeup. Nothing heavy. But, if you decide you want to go all out for a date or just…’because’ some time, you call me and I’ll come show you what to do with all the rest of this.”
Her steady hands move with confidence. Gentle dabs here and there, soft brush strokes. Warmth blooms in my cheeks as she evens out the harsh edges of the bruise.
“In all the pictures from…before…I didn’t have much makeup on,” I whisper.
“And we’re not changing that. What we want most is for the cameras to see your eyes. To see the woman you are now.”
When she’s finished, I almost don’t recognize myself. The scar on my cheek is still there—it always will be—but it doesn’t catch the light like it did before. The bruise isn’t gone, but it’s softer now.
Emi smooths my hair, tugging a few strands into place over the butterfly bandages on my scalp, then crouches so we’re eye level in the mirror. “Grace, people are going to want to see two things today—that you’re human, and you’re still standing. You don’t need to smile. Or be funny. Or look perfect. You don’t need to hide the strength you have, or fake strength you don’t. You just need to breathe. And if it gets to be too much, lean on AJ. Or look for me and Parker. I’ll be in the first row, and she’ll be standing in the back. Okay?”
The bruise throbs under the thin veil of concealer, the sweater doesn’t completely cover the scars around my wrists, and panic still threatens to turn my stomach inside out. But Emi’s words put a tiny crack in the wall of fear I’ve been hiding behind for over a week now. Just wide enough for a hint of light to slip through.
I nod softly. “Okay.”
