Grace
The television hums above the bed, a low drone I can’t quite tune out. AJ found the news channel earlier and left it on mute, saying it would help keep me distracted until Emi’s segment came on. I’m not sure if it’s working or just making things worse.
Parker fiddles with the remote, tapping it until the volume rises enough for me to hear the anchor.
“And now, with an update on the Grace Stone kidnapping case, Emmylou Marsh,” the man says.
The camera pans to Emi, poised, perfect makeup, hands folded in front of her. She painted her nails dark red just the other day. Right after she did my toes.
“Grace Stone miraculously reappeared on the Butler trail a little over two weeks ago with no memory of her life. Her injuries required brain surgery, and she underwent that surgery this morning at Austin Memorial. But I’m pleased to report that Ms. Stone has been released and will be recovering at home with her family.”
God, I wish that were true. I’d do anything to get out of this hospital. Even out of this bed.
Footage of me—or at least someone who looks like me—appears on screen. Jasper, who really can double for AJ without his beard, thanks to his dark glasses and Stetson, wheels the other me through the hospital’s front doors. The woman smiles faintly, a scarf pulled low over her face and a bandage covering her left eye.
Emi’s voice plays over the clip, crisp and confident. “I have a short statement from the family. ‘After everything Grace has survived, she deserves peace. We’re grateful to the surgical team, and to everyone who worked so hard for so long to bring her home. What she needs now is privacy and time to heal.’”
The camera returns focus to Emi, and she smiles, her eyes shimmering. “Good for her. Back to you, Jim.”
My chest tightens with the effort of merely breathing. Shit. Panic edges closer, until I fumble for Parker’s hand. I want to know who this other me is. If she’s good enough at her job to defend herself if the cult comes for her. If they even told her what Prophet did to me.
“Write it down, hon. Don’t worry about talkin’ yet. That’ll come back to you soon.” She slides the sketchpad onto my thighs.
“Worried. Jas. Fake me.”
I blink hard, trying to clear the fuzz at the edges of my vision. It’s been hours, and I still feel like I’m walking through quicksand. Or…thinking through quicksand. Can you think through quicksand?
Shit. I can’t focus. All I want to do is sleep. But I need to hear Parker’s answer first.
Parker leans closer, her blond brows pinching together. “Grace, you’re okay. Promise. Jas and a whole team are headin’ to your house right now. AJ’s just outside talkin’ to Connor, who’s posted up at the entrance to your subdivision. And Hardison’s chatting up the nurses down the hall.”
She sounds so confident. And one thing I’ve learned about Parker the past few weeks? She doesn’t sugarcoat anything.
I want to tell her I’m grateful. That I trust her. But I’m so tired, I just keep hold of her hand until I drift off to sleep.
Chapter Seventy-Three
Grace
They wheel me into a new room—smaller, quieter, but with a wide window that lets in a gray wash of Austin sky. The constant hum of machines has faded, and there are fewer wires to manage and navigate. A kind nurse comes to help me to the bathroom. My entire body is heavy, my head wrapped in a dull, constant ache. If I nod, the entire world wobbles, the vertigo threatening to come back with a vengeance, so I keep the sketchpad close, like a lifeline.
AJ dozes in the hard plastic chair. He’s been right next to my bed—in both rooms—all night. Parker’s curled up in the corner under the window, a blanket tugged up to her waist. They’re both still here. Both still wearing yesterday’s clothes.
The speech therapist comes and works with me for almost an hour. Simple sounds. Vowels. My name. AJ’s. She says it’s all about waking my brain back up. Letting it remember how to form words. I try—God, I try. But the words don’t come. Only broken echoes of them. By the time she leaves, I’m wrung out.
“You did great, darlin’,” AJ says, as if he knows how much I hate this forced silence.
I lift a shaky hand, point to my temple, and wince.
“Do I need to get the nurse?” AJ’s entire body stiffens, his voice laced with panic.
I frown, shaking my head softly. A tiny moan slips out before I can stop it.
He grips the call button anyway, thumb ready. I cover his hand with mine, hold for a beat, then lift it so I can swirl my finger in the air. I’m just dizzy, and my sketchbook is too far away for me to reach easily.
In the corner of the room, Parker sits up straight, her gaze narrowing on my hand. “I’ve got an idea. AJ, Isabel’s coming by with a little something for Grace. Go meet her in the waiting room.” She cracks a smile. “And bring me some coffee when you come back, will ya’?”
AJ doesn’t move. A low rumble in his chest could almost be a growl. I don’t like the idea of him leaving anymore than he does, but I’m safe with Parker. And he won’t be far. I squeeze his hand, trying to let him know it’s okay.
