Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
MACK
“ W ith a face like that, little brother, I’d need an escape room, too.” Lawson drops on the sofa beside me. I know Grace getting another room was his idea. Always the good brother, Lawson.
“Fuck off, Laws.”
“Can’t, Ma needs you to stop harassing the help.”
“Whatever, you all just can’t help yourselves, can you.”
I snap the remote toward the TV. Sports bursts to life on the screen. Another reminder of something I can no longer do.
“Get over yourself, Mackie-boy, not everything is about you.”
“Yeah, right. That’s why every single member of this family is bending over backwards for this invalid.”
He sits up, face stone, and twists on his seat to face me. Grace is in the kitchen going over the pain meds and what I assume is the paperwork for the physio routine.
“Mack, you’ve got this backward, buddy. We’re not accommodating you, we love you. This is where we want to be. You’re not an inconvenience, you’re our priority .”
I can’t respond. Instead, I shift my focus to Grace. She leans against the counter on one hip, her hands crossed over her chest, hair falling around her shoulders, eyes focused on the papers on the counter. Her gaze drifts from the counter and finds mine, as if she’s thinking about me or something. She smiles, and my gut flips into my throat.
Fuck.
I snap my eyes to my brother. Whose eyebrow is raised now, a shit-eating grin blooming across his damn face. “Stop with the bad attitude, Mack. The hole you dug is deep enough. Time to claw your way out. Or I’m coming down after you to drag your sorry ass out.”
“Fine, I’ll try. But I don’t need a babysitter.”
“Like I said, not everything is about you, little brother.”
What the hell’s that supposed to mean?
“Whatever,” I grunt.
“Stop fighting, Mack.”
We fall silent and watch the TV. The men run around chasing a ball to entertain the masses. I zone out.
You got this backward.
Not everything is about you.
Grace is here, even though I asked them not to find another carer. Does she need to be here?
The fleeting moment of empathy fades.
What the hell does that have to do with me? She can find her refuge someplace else. The last thing I need is temptation I have to squash every time she walks past, or when we’re caught in the same space as each other. She’s too young. She must be at least ten years younger than me. She should leave and find herself someone who can give her everything. That Joel guy. He keeps texting.
Not stay here and end up anchored to half a man.
The bitter thoughts send a sardonic laugh up my throat. Laws glances at me before returning to the game in front of us. Here I am, assuming she would be into me. I highly doubt it—she barely tolerates me. Pretty sure if the paycheck dried up, she’d hightail it out of here on the next wind change.
On that note, I slump further into the chair, letting the pity party I’m throwing myself pull out all the stops.
When the cake is cut and the clowns are sent in, I let the fire consuming my chest take me down.
Fuck my miserable life.
The delight on Grace’s face drains as the words I spat at her sink in.
“Addy said?—”
“Don’t care. Not doing it. And definitely not with you.”
Her eyes widen, mouth gaping, brows snapping down. I take in the spare room she’s spent hours turning into a home gym, all set up to accommodate my exercises and physio routine.
I’m an asshole. I’m aware.
“Mackinlay. You have to do this. The doctors?—”
I hold a hand up. “Stop, Grace. I’m not doing it.”
I don’t dare raise my voice, lest the cavalry—in the form of my older brother—hears and falls in to help defend her position.
“You are a stubborn ass, you know that, right?”
“Not very quick on the uptake, are you, young’un.”
She scrunches her face with a head tilt. “Did you just call me young’un? What are you, ninety? For your information, I’m not as young as I look.”
“Okay, Miss Sorority.”
“Fine, if you won’t do it for yourself or even your family, do it to get rid of me.” The hurt flashing through her eyes sends the stone that lodged in my throat with her last words sinking to my gut.
I open my mouth to respond, but Laws appears in the hallway, leaning on the opening, still in his running clothes, arms folded over his chest, eyebrow raised.
“Fine, out of my damn way.” I wave a hand toward the door.
Grace retreats, and I swear a glint of moisture lines her eyes. She’s halfway down the hall before I have the chance to repair the damage I did. I walk into the gym space. The posters from the physio are up on the wall. Towels sit rolled up on a small table. A water station. A radio. The equipment is set out in the exact order I need to use it. A new fan in one corner.
Guilt washes over me like a bucket of ice water dumped over my head.
Fuck me.
Might have to dial back the asshole. I run a hand over the closest machine and walk to the small table to check the exercises I have to do and in what order. A note is written in the margin of the page.
Mackinlay,
The sooner you can get your strength back, the sooner I’m gone.
Grace.
There it is, in black and white, hard evidence of my behavior. Laws is right—hell, they all were—this isn’t me. It’s like I lost who I was on that rooftop. This other version of me has taken over. I would like to say it’s purely survival mode, but I know deep down, that’s not an excuse. Never was.
“You should be grateful, and you should also make nice with Grace before I hand you your ass on a platter, Mackie-boy. Don’t think I’m above beating up a crippled man.” His brows are lowered but he winks at me. The sentiment rings true.
“Yeah, I know.” I can’t meet his gaze.
“If you stop feeling sorry for yourself for just a moment, Mack, you might see she is hurting as much as you are.”
I stare at him, mouth agape.
Is that it? What everyone has alluded to, but never voiced? Grace is here because she’s hurting? Never before in history of mankind has a man fallen so far, so fast. Propelled to a deep guilt by way of selfish ignorance and self-absorption.
Sweet Jesus, I am a first-class heartless asshole.
Running a hand through my hair, I close my eyes and exhale.
“Maybe if you’re nicer to her, she’ll show you what she’s been up to in the spare room?” Laws knows that’s been bugging me since the day she set it up and closed the door. I could tell myself I’m not interested in what’s in there, but that would be a lie.
I’ve been smelling fumes and shit for days.
I’m guessing paints, or something. Maybe she’s taking apart the Beetle’s engine. It hasn’t moved in days. Not since I railed her about not being here when I got home from my appointment. It could be oil I’m smelling...
A hand waves in front of my face. I jerk up and meet Lawson’s amused face.
“You need a hand to get through these exercises?” He nods to the first piece of equipment.
“Spot in for me?”
“Sure,” he says, sitting on the bench portion of the abdominal machine, his AirPods in his hands. I sink to the machine that runs my legs through their paces. I start off on the lowest weight and grunt through the first few reps.
Laws studies my form. “I mean, come on. Life’s not all bad if your workout partner is that pretty.”
I scoff a laugh, and he beams at me, the handsome motherfucker.
Nicely played, Laws. Somehow, I doubt Grace is going to want to be my partner in anything after the last few weeks of living with me.
I continue the reps on the chart, but the burn in my legs forces me to stop. The fitness I gained as a soldier is nowhere to be seen. My body is weak and the tremble that rose with the last few reps only serves as a reminder of how far backward I’ve slipped. It’s my own fault. I knew the routine I was supposed to uphold to regain my strength. I didn’t do it.
I’ve had this equipment since the week I came home, thanks to my brothers. I never used it, just left it stored away. Shut the door and ignored it most of the time. Serves me damn right if I never recover. Maybe I don’t deserve to.
I feed Laws something about a suggested rest period between body parts and move to the machine for my upper half. I have a little more luck. Most likely from using crutches and hauling my half-useless body around for the last three months.
“How are you feeling?” a soft voice asks from the doorway.
Laws gives her a half-assed salute as he leaves the room. This time when I meet her gaze and find a response, it’s more honest than before.
“Feelin’ useless . . . and stupid.”
I slump against the back rest and wipe the sweat from my brow. Grace hands me one of the towels, and I dry my arms and the back of my neck. Only fifteen minutes of real exercise, and I’m exhausted.
“You should feel proud, not stupid. You turned your one day into day one.” Her smile is genuine. Kind. Nothing I’ve seen from Grace until this moment.
Now I feel guilty on top of stupid.
Own it, Mackinlay. I can hear Ruby’s words. Thank heavens Ruby is not the one running my recovery, or I’d be outside halfway through a ten-mile run right now. I love my sister-in-law to bits, but that girl has bigger balls than Harry.
Life wouldn’t be the same without her. She will always have my love and respect for how she turned my brother’s life around. Period.
“You’re doing an awful lot of thinking.” Grace’s smile is still as beautiful as it was moments ago when it appeared, only now it has a hint of cheek to it.
“I don’t?—”
I shift on the seat and clear my throat.
The apology I rustled up before she walked in is stuck, wedged behind my Adam’s apple like a damn stone. She tilts her head and drops to the seat of the abdominal machine. Now her smile slips, and she presses her hands over her denim shorts, chasing away non-existent creases.
“Grace, I don’t want you to go. I’m sorry about what I said. How I said it.”
She looks up from staring at her hands, now clasped in her lap. “Okay. Are you still going to fight me on every single thing? The housework, your recovery?”
“Well, not every single thing...” I smile at her.
Her eyes soften and she runs a hand through her hair by her ear, tucking it away. It’s thick and slips back around as she dips her head. “I should make a start on lunch.” She stands and walks toward the door.
“Grace?”
She turns back, a hand on the doorframe. Her tank top rides up, and between her short denim shorts and the soft material of her top, a small sliver of her stomach shows. I force my gaze to stay on hers.
“Mackinlay?”
“It’s just Mack.”
Her face bursts with a grin, lighting up her eyes. A second later, the air that was inflating my lungs is nowhere to be found. My heart rate elevates like it’s mid-rep on the leg press and every ounce of blood sinks south.
Sweet Jesus.
No, Mackinlay, she’s ten years younger than you.
An employee.
Don’t even go there.
I rub my hand over my face, and when I look back up, the doorway is empty. Me and Grace, being nice to each other, is a dangerous place to be.
For her.
I start on the leg machine, aiming for maximum discomfort. Anything to tamp down the hard-on that’s fighting its way to life from a single interaction with her.
No, if anything, we can be friends. Nothing else would be fair to her. How can half a man be anything a woman like Grace would ever want, let alone need?
I push up and let the burn swallow my muscles whole.
Thankful for the punishment to replace the thoughts running my body into a frenzy like I’ve never experienced over a woman before.
One Mississippi.
I groan against the weight as the muscles in my thighs bulge to life.
Two Mississippi.
I exhale, trying to shake those blue eyes and that beaming smile from my mind.
Three Mississippi.
They don’t budge.
Fuck.