Page 78 of Grace

My gaze moves from house to house, from garden to garden.

I take a long, deep breath, then exhale slowly. My stomach rebels—it feels like a miniature storm inside me. My mouth slowly fills with bitterness. I swallow again and again, fighting the nausea. I close my eyes for a moment. I open myself to the pleasant atmosphere surrounding me. To life, with all its flavor. The sunshine on my skin, the gentle caress of the breeze, the melody of children laughing. The rumble of car engines, the happy chirping of birds. The silent dance of trees, the wind whispering through their leaves.

Was it easier to step out onto the street when he was behind bars?

No.

It wasn’t easier, but I did it because I had to. For myself. I’ve had so much pain and bitterness in my life; so much has been taken from me…

The girl deep inside me longs for everything life could give her.

I don’t want to hurt her. I don’t want to take from her what she deserves. It’s because of her that I can command my body to move—because I remember her. I can see her in our backyard with her parents, Daisy and Billy. She’s smiling, happy, and courageous.

Full of life.

That girl has been drowning beneath the surface for years, waiting for me to help her, to show her the way out of the darkness.

I want to free her, but I fail her over and over again—because my memories stir up mixed emotions. A vast weight of grief and anger that overwhelms joy and happiness, locking me in a dark room with no escape. The thing is, the past is with me, here and now. Being replayed, reminding me of everything that’s gone, everything that can’t be mine anymore.

Cameron didn’t like the idea of handing most of the bar’s management tasks to an emotionally unstable girl, but Cyrus steered our heated conversation into calmer waters and brought up several solid points that highlighted the benefits for both of us.

For example, Cameron has a short temper and hates dealing with suppliers. He prefers to stay behind the bar, talking to guests—something I’m not very good at. So they struck a deal. As long as I don’t screw up anything important and follow instructions, I can mostly run the bar.

I’m organizing the beer crates and writing down the orders when the door creaks open behind me.

“I’ll be done soon,” I say, turning back. Lifting these heavy crates, I’ve worked up a bit of sweat. I grab the green crate and try to lift it with all my strength, but it drops back to the ground. The bottles rattle, and I shudder—Cameron would be beyond pissed if I damaged our stocks. Even Cyrus wouldn’t like it if I made our already thin profit margin even thinner.

Someone steps beside me and places his hands next to mine. His large palms grip the crate, veins standing out. My heart pounds like a trapped animal’s. Very slowly, I turn my head to the side. My hair falls across my face, but our gazes still meet. I bite my lip, wipe my sweaty hands on my jeans, and take a shaky step back. My back hits the deck.

Chase lifts the crate and stacks it on top of the others, the muscles in his back and arms tensing.

My lips part. I stare at him, out of breath, eyes wide, as he turns toward me in a slow, deliberate motion. His eyes catch mine instantly. He’s wearing dark blue jeans and a black T-shirt—and no hoodie to hide his identity.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, stuttering.

“Do you think you’re safe here? That you can hide from me here, Grace?” His voice has an ice-cold edge. Still, my anger overpowers my shock and terror—my blood boiling in my veins, claws raking over my nerve endings. Chase is moving closer. Too close.

His hot breath brushes my face. My hands cling to the desk desperately.

“Don’t do this to me, Chase! Don’t haunt me!”

“Don’t be afraid of me. I won’t hurt you,” he whispers. It’s terrifying how seductive his dark eyes are. His gaze explores my face, and his attention almost feels like a caress.

“You lied to me! You’re lying to me, Chase. You said you wouldn’t hurt me, but you still are. Why? Why won’t you leave me alone? What do you still want from me?”

“Only you.” His voice softens. “I only want you, Grace.”

“Chase…” I press my hand against his chest to keep him away. He covers my hand with his palm and pulls it to his heart. The sharp lines of his face blur in the dim light. The rapid beat of his heart and his familiar scent send a ripple of warmth across my skin. Low in my belly, aching desire coils like a whirlpool.

I’m sick. I’m still sick!

He buries his face in my hair and inhales my scent deeply. He pulls me into his arms. For a second, my body tenses, then I melt against him. I close my eyes and shut the world out. In my imagination, there is another world where we’re in an empty, black room. That world cannot be real. It can’t be. None of this can be real.

“This is not real.”

“It is. I’m here, Grace.”

“No.” I shake my head wildly. I resist, burying my face in the hollow of his neck. My tears soak his T-shirt. “You cannot be real.”