Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
MACK
O f all the consequences of being injured, not being able to hold Grace hurts the most.
Mack – 0
Explosion – 1
I can rattle off a ton of things I’ve lost, some more permanent than others. But never did I ever think not being able to be with the woman I want would be on that fuckin’ list. It’s twofold, and it’s my own stupid damn fault.
One, because I was an utter asshole when she first arrived. I’m pretty sure she doesn’t have plans to stay.
Two, I will never be the whole man she wants and needs.
We sit in silence at the doctor’s office, waiting for my checkup appointment. We haven’t spoken a word since yesterday. I’m too much of a coward to ask. Not wanting to know if it’s because I crossed the you’re my employer line. Or whether it’s our age difference. Or the worst option. She’s not into me.
That would fit, I guess. I’m no Great Reed Rawlins. No stoic, chip off the old block Hudson Andrew Rawlins. Just another middle child with a grudge big enough to see him enlist in the military to prove a point.
Look where it got me.
“Mackinlay?” the nurse says at the end of the hall, file in hand. I stand and Grace follows.
“You want me to come in with you?” she asks, worry lining her face.
“I’m good, won’t be long.”
She pushes up a soft smile and wanders back to the chair she’s been sitting in for the last hour.
The nurse fills the silence along the long stretch of hallway with mindless chatter. Something about the weather. I tune it out.
“Here we are, doctor won’t be too much longer.” She waves a hand, and I walk into the room and lower myself onto the chair on the opposite side of the desk.
Five minutes and about five hundred knee jumps later, the doctor enters and shuts the door. His white overcoat is crumpled. He looks tired. His dark hair is peppered with grey, but he beams a genuine smile as he sits in his chair. “How have you been, Mack?”
“Good, making progress.”
“Wonderful. Do you have some help around the house? I think the last time I saw you, you were in between housekeepers?”
“Yep, have help.”
The words burn my tongue. Grace is so much more than the help. She’s my constant companion. My sounding board. My biggest cheerleader. The only person who’s managed to get my ass into gear and stop the ongoing pity party that held me captive before she came along.
“I’m glad to hear it. However, we have the results of your last scans. And I’m afraid it’s not the best news. Preliminary tests were inconclusive, but the damage to your lower back and hip may mean you never recover the full range of motion, not without extensive physio.”
“Will I be able to ride again? It’s kind of an occupational requirement.”
“A fall could be disastrous for your mobility now. So it’s a maybe, at best.”
“Fine.”
“Let’s take a look at your range of motion.” He stands and gestures to the small bed. “Hop up for me, will you?”
I slide up onto the bed and lay my head on the plastic-covered pillow. His hands grip my ankle, pushing my leg up, bending it at the knee before laying it out to one side. My hip clunks. But there is no pain like there was weeks ago.
Progress is progress.
He tests the other side. When he is satisfied with what he finds, I slide off the bed to my feet.
“This is your last visit with me. You can see your GP for pain meds. But only use them if needed. Your recovery will only stall if you become reliant on them.”
Not likely.
I haven’t taken anything since the Ferris wheel. Didn’t feel like a necessity after that point. My focus has shifted. My goals, loftier. My routine, stricter.
That angry man who hated the world and barely tolerated his loving family was left somewhere on the second go round on the wheel lit up with rainbow lights. When the only thing that hurt was seeing Grace broken. It was as if someone slapped me awake.
My eyes are wide open now.
And she is all I see.
I will bend into whatever she needs.
Friend.
Great boss.
Platonic companion.
Her heart is safe with me.
If that fucker Joel ever sets foot on my ranch, he’s a dead man.
Grace pulls her phone from her back pocket as it vibrates. With nothing more than a frown, she returns it to her pocket as she leans against Ma’s kitchen counter.
Ma putters around, cooking her Sunday favorites. Addy is by the fridge with Rubes, explaining the plans for Ma’s next birthday party. If anyone deserves a birthday celebration, it’s Grace.
After what happened on her twenty-first birthday.
Harry sits at the table with me, newspaper in hand. Reed waltzes through the front door, making tracks for his wife. Wrapping her in his arms, he folds himself around her from behind. She melts into him.
Lucky bastard.
Adds chuckles and pads to the table. “What you workin’ on, Mack?”
I clear my throat and drop my eyes to the tax papers I’m supposed to be giving the once-over before Sunday lunch. “Ah, the usual, Harry’s dirty work.”
The newspaper rustles, and my old man’s gaze turns into an incredulous expression over his reading glasses. “Son, you never been anywhere near my dirty work.”
“Damn straight,” Huddo says, walking through the front door as he tosses his Stetson onto the hook and toes his boots off. He’s covered in dirt and sweating up a storm. “Hey, sweet girl.” He drops a kiss onto Addy’s cheek, and she screws up her face, scrunching up her pert nose.
“Don’t you dare hug me in those filthy clothes, Huddy,” she squeals.
Huddo chases her down the hallway with his arms out like a monster. Huffing a laugh at my ridiculous brother and the way those two are insufferably happy, I turn back to the papers.
Assets.
Liabilities.
Depreciation.
Yada yada yada.
I zone out.
Ma’s arm slides over my shoulder as she bends over. “Can you give me a hand with the table?”
“Sure, Ma.”
I follow her to the counter, and she loads me up with warm dishes. They all smell amazing, the savory fragrances tangling together. We push through the back screen door, and Charlie, Huddo’s dog, growls at me.
I growl back. A giggle hits me from behind. Snapping my head back, I find Grace, also with a stack of lunch stuff. Nice one, Ma.
I head to the weeping willow we have every Sunday lunch under and unload onto the long wooden bench seat. Addy appears with a cloth and flings it open, letting it settle over the long table. Without a word, she heads back inside.
Grace stands, cradling her load. “Ah, where do you want these?”
Shit. I move in and take the top two dishes covered in foil, setting them on the table. She pops the last one beside them. Turning back, she slams into my chest. With a breathy laugh, she steps out of my space, tucking a long strand of hair behind her ear. “So, Sunday lunch is kind of a big deal for your family?”
“Yup, every Sunday.”
Her eyes widen as her brows lower. “Then why is this the first one we’ve been to?”
I run a hand behind my neck. Because I’m a selfish ass who couldn’t be bothered to show up for my family.
“I told Ma I wasn’t up to them. Honest to god, the last thing I felt like was being around all this happiness when I couldn’t get out of my own angry way.”
She slaps my arm. “Mackinlay!”
“Hey, we’re here, aren’t we?”
“I could have come without you, if I’d known.”
“Guess you could’ve. Ma would have liked that...” I sway on my feet a little. “But?—”
“What?” She tilts her head, brown hair slipping over her shoulders. The V-neck shirt she has on over her jeans has my head utterly messed up.
“I like our bubble, Grace. At home. Where there’s no expectation, and it’s comfortable. Safe.”
She bites her bottom lip and moves closer. Peaches and vanilla shroud me. “Oh, I have expectations of you, Mack.”
Her gaze wanders over my face, settling on my mouth before she snaps her eyes back up. I swallow as the blood pumps faster through my veins, heart thundering behind my rib cage as her hand comes to rest over it.
“I do have expectations. I expect you to do your physio three times a day. To eat every last mouthful of the healthy food I make you. To let the sunshine touch your skin at least once a day. And I expect you to make a full recovery.”
She pushes up on her tiptoes and plants a soft kiss to my stubbled cheek. Stunned, I move on my feet and turn to watch her as she walks back to the house, her long hair bouncing around her shoulders and down her back. On long legs that have my cock harder than humanly possible, she sways, the tilt carrying on her hips and ass like temptation personified.
When she reaches the screen door and glances back, there’s something in her eyes I haven’t seen before.
Fire.
My heart crawls into my throat, and my cock twitches. My head is spinning.
Four hours and three whiskeys later, Grace is behind the wheel of my Chevy as we head for home along the gravel road. She hasn’t said a word since we climbed up into the truck. Despite the effects of being around my family and the vibrant conversation, merriment, and alcohol, my mind is stuck in a loop.
Grace’s hand on my chest.
Her words, hope and confidence in me rolled into one.
The way my body responds to being in the same space as her. That look in her eyes before she went inside at lunch. This thing in my head, the chemistry that has had me on edge for weeks, isn’t just me. It’s not one-sided.
Grace glances at me with a shy smile. “You’re quiet.”
“Pot, kettle, Gracie.”
She scoffs a laugh and slows the truck as we turn into the ranch driveway. She’s good at driving it. I don’t know why she thought she couldn’t do it.
“I don’t think I could eat another thing after today. I can make you a coffee or some tea, if you like.”
Her words are a reminder she’s still my employee. I’m still her boss. She is still waiting on me. I should let the chemistry fizzle out.
“I’m okay, thanks. Gonna do some physio and some weights and take a shower.”
Something like hurt flashes through her eyes as she sends her gaze out the windshield.
“Sure.” She parks the Chevy inside the barn and kills the engine. Hopping out, she wanders to my door and leans on the open window. “I’m going to go for a walk, then. Mind taking my stuff in?”
“Okay. Keep an eye out for snakes.”
“Yes, Dad.” She smiles, but it fades, and she pushes off the door and walks toward the fields. The afternoon heat is mild, and I haul ass out of the truck and head inside with her bag and phone. Skin warming under the sunshine, sweat sheens over my forearms, neck, and face. Inside, the cool air of a closed-up house with an air conditioner that’s been running for hours greets me.
Bliss.
I set Grace’s things on the kitchen counter and grab a glass from the drying rack, filling it in the sink. The cool liquid sinks all the way to my stomach, cooling me down as it goes. Vibrating from under the handbag makes me still. I flip the bag off to find Grace’s phone ringing.
The name flashes on the screen.
Joel.
What the fuck?
Why the hell is he still calling her?
I swipe up the phone and answer it, pressing the speaker icon. Nothing comes through the line. Faint puffs of breath buffet against the speaker. I slam a finger onto the red icon and hang up. I oughta block his number.
Not my place.
Not my phone.
Not my girl.
Fuck me.
Instead, I slide it into the bag and take it to her bedroom, depositing it onto her bed. Five minutes later, I’m taking out my anger over a man who doesn’t deserve the air he breathes on the home gym. The heavy weight clunks with a vicious snap on every rep. I push the bar up again, biceps screaming at me to stop.
Arms akin to jelly, I make a start on my legs. The muscles in my thighs bulge and flex as I lift the bar with my ankles, toes pointing up. Sweat covers every inch of me. It trickles down my back and through the valleys in my chest, and my palms are too slick to grip much of anything. Focus homed on the poster on the wall by the door, I jerk back to reality when Grace appears in the doorway.
“Anything interesting happen while I was walking?”
“Nope.”
I swing the bar up as my thighs start to burn. The weight slams back to its cradle with the next down movement.
“What did the machine ever do to you, Mack?” She raises an eyebrow and folds her arms over her chest.
I grunt and swing the bar up again. This time my legs fail, and it pushes my ankles down with weighted force. Fuck.
“How was your physio?”
“Didn’t do it.”
“Mackinlay Rawlins,” she scolds, walking to my side, arms still crossed over those perfect fucking tits. I force my eyes anywhere else. The floor. The wall. The rolled-up towels.
“You wanna talk about it?” she asks, wry words slipping through curved lips.
“Nope.”
Her hand grips my jaw, turning my head to face her. “Well, I do.”
“Nothin’ to talk about, Grace.”
“Is that what you think? That nothing exists here?” She gestures between the two of us.
Of course I don’t.
But she’s too young.
I’m too fucked up.
I won’t—I refuse—to be someone else who hurts her in the long run.
“It—” I start. I run my hands through my damp hair before letting my head fall back on the padded headrest behind me. I close my eyes. How the hell do I confess what I want, when it’s unfair to her?
I don’t.
She moves beside me. My eyes are still closed. The vision of her walking away from me earlier hums to life. My chest tightens. A weight settles onto my lap, and I open my eyes.
Grace sits on my lap, her hands flat on my T-shirt over my pecs. Her focus is on her hands, her breaths fast and shallow. “Have you ever really wanted something, but things that happened before ruined it for you? Or at least, you thought they would?” she whispers.
My nostrils flare. My cock is at full mast, and I’m sure it’s digging into her ass. “Kind of,” I say, not sure where she’s going with this.
“I thought after Joel, romantic relationships would be out of the question for me. That love and sex and everything that goes with it could never appeal to me again.”
Hearing the word sex from her lips as she sits on my rigid-as-fuck cock steals the last of my air.
“Gracie,” I choke out.
“Mack, I know you would never hurt me. So, if you don’t want me, please tell me.”
She closes her eyes.
As if that will save her from what she doesn’t want to hear.