Grace leans into me as I help her to her feet. She might not know me, but she trusts me—as much as she trusts anyone, I think. And I’m so damn grateful for every time she lets me touch her. For every look. Every hint of a smile. I will be for the rest of my life.
Her steps are a little less hesitant than earlier, but I get her into the wheelchair quickly. She’s exhausted. Tomorrow is going to be a long damn day.
“Grace, say the word and we can stay right here. Dinner can come to us.”
She straightens her shoulders, peering up at me from the wheelchair like I’m a complete idjit.
“I need to do this,” she says. “I need to know…I can.”
I ain’t about to argue with her. Hell, after what she’s been through, she deserves to win any fight we have for the rest of our lives. “If it gets to be too much, just tell me. I’ll bring you right back here so you can rest.”
Grace
I don’t know how to tell AJ that “my room” is the last place I want to be. Dr. Reyes, Lourdes, and Marta have been patient and kind. I think they’re good people—even if they do work for the cartel.
But in that room—in that bed—I’m no one. Out here—even stuck in this wheelchair—I feel like someone. I don’t know who she is yet, but I want to find out.
My mouth starts to water once I catch the scent of the food. It’s almost enough to distract me from the men’s voices echoing off the tile floors.
Almost.
My heart starts to pound, and panic swells in my chest.
This is your family. There’s no reason to be afraid.
If only I could convince my broken brain it doesn’t need to worry.
Parker is the first one I see when AJ wheels me through the arched doorway. Her easy smile helps tamp down my nerves. “About time, AJ. We were about to send out a search party.”
“And leave all this food unguarded? I taught you better than that,” AJ replies, the hint of amusement in his gaze, the gentle tease, soothing me even more. He cares for these people. He trusts them. Maybe…I can too.
He parks the wheelchair in the corner of the room, helps me to my feet, and keeps his arm around my waist until we reach the table. His steady strength seeps into me—not only my limbs, but somewhere deeper. Every small gesture—every smile, every touch, every patient word—gives me hope that some day soon, I won’t be this terrified, broken thing. That I’ll be me again.
Seated with Parker on my right and AJ on my left, I risk a quick glance at Jasper and Connor across from us. Jasper loads a plate with two tamales and generous scoops of rice and beans, then sets it in front of me.
The scent hits me first. Rich and smoky. Warm. Familiar in a way I can’t explain—or don’t remember. Do I like tamales? Apparently I do, because my stomach growls so loudly, Connor’s brows shoot up and Parker stifles a snort.
Even I smile. But it fades the moment I reach for the knife and fork. My right hand cooperates well enough, but my left…I can’t quite close my fingers over the knife’s handle. It slips from my weak grasp and clatters onto the plate.
I swallow a sob, my gaze pinned to the edge of the table. Five minutes ago, I felt almost…normal. But suddenly, all my broken pieces are on full display. I should be stronger by now. Better.
AJ says nothing, simply eases the fork from my hand and starts cutting the tamales into pieces. There’s no fuss, no panic, no undue attention to my failings. When he finishes, he turns back to his own plate and spoons fresh crema over his beans.
“Thank you,” I whisper, my throat so tight, I’m not sure he’ll be able to hear me. But under the table, his hand brushes my knee for the briefest of touches.
The first bite is heaven. And when I try a piece of the masa dredged in crema, I almost moan.
As we eat, Parker asks Jasper about Emi’s job and Connor shows off pictures of his step-daughter on her first college tour. AJ keeps quiet, stealing glances at me from time to time, probably checking to make sure I’m not about to topple right off the chair.
When all the plates are clean—even mine—Connor clears his throat. “Grace, we’re leavin’ around ten tomorrow mornin’. It ain’t too bad of a trip, but it might be a little rough on you. Almost two hours in the car, then around ninety minutes in the air. Maybe a little more since we can’t fly above ten thousand feet.”
Four hours. I can barely stay awake for that long yet, let alone stay upright. I must look as nervous as I feel, because AJ reaches over and links his fingers with mine. “The plane has reclining seats, darlin’. You can sleep the whole way if you want. And once we land, it’s only half an hour to get home.”
Home.
I’ve seen a dozen photos of the house on Lake Travis, but none of them feel like home. Will that change when I see it in person? Or will I still be as lost as I am now?
“Grace?” AJ leans over and cups my cheek, his hand warm and gentle against my skin. “Ain’t nothing we can’t handle together. I believe that. Truly. You’re gonna be okay.”
