Chapter 11 Grace
Grace
Normally she loved this time of year. The autumn air was crisp, sharp with the promise of change.
Today, she just felt cold.
Kids waved at her from across the street. “Bye, Miss Hart!”
She heard the cruiser before she saw it. The low rumble of the engine rolled up behind her, familiar as a heartbeat she no longer needed to listen to.
Grace didn’t slow. She didn’t tuck her chin or let her hair fall like a shield.
She kept walking.
The white-and-blue Crystal Lake PD cruiser eased into her peripheral vision as it approached the stop sign ahead.
For months, she’d bent herself around Luke’s comfort. His rules. His fear of being seen.
Grace stared straight ahead, shoulders back, steps even. She didn’t look at him.
There was a quiet, almost startling satisfaction in it. In denying him the reflexive warmth she used to give without thinking. In keeping herself whole.
He passed her on the street.
Grace didn’t waver.
He hadn’t wanted her. She wasn’t going to let herself be pathetic about him.
She turned onto Maple Street, chin lifted, stride strong.
Crystal Lake was small. Too small to avoid him forever. Too small to erase history.
But it was also hers.
And Grace Hart would not make herself smaller to move through it.
She had never been the kind of person who tracked cars. And if she hadn’t been on alert for Luke’s police car, Grace probably wouldn’t have noticed the dark sedan parked on her street.
The sedan sat halfway down the block, tucked neatly against the curb. The windows were tinted dark, the kind that reflected sky and trees and gave nothing back.
Her steps faltered for half a second.
She told herself it was nothing.
Someone visiting. Someone lost. Maple Street wasn’t exactly dangerous—just a stretch of modest houses and cracked sidewalks and the quiet routines of people who liked their lives predictable.
Grace resumed walking, forcing her pace to stay even. She did not look at the car again.
Her house came into view, white siding and the crooked porch railing. The sight of it usually settled her. Today, the relief was thin.
Grace unlocked her door quickly and stepped inside, shutting it with more force than she meant to. She slid the deadbolt into place and stood there for a beat, palm pressed flat against the wood.
She exhaled, shaky, and told herself—again—that she was being ridiculous.
“Eli?” she called.
“Kitchen,” her brother’s voice answered.
Grace rounded the corner and found him leaning against the counter, phone in hand, one eye still faintly bruised but less dramatic than when he’d first arrived.
He was wearing one of her hoodies, sleeves pushed up, looking almost—almost—like the version of him who used to steal her cereal and complain about homework.
“You’re supposed to be resting,” she said.
“I am,” he replied. “I’m resting vertically.”
She hesitated, then said, carefully, “There’s a car parked outside. Dark sedan. It wasn’t there this morning.”
Eli’s expression didn’t change.
“Lots of cars park on Maple,” he said easily.
“Eli.”
He met her gaze then, something flickering in his eyes before he smoothed it away. “Grace. I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about.”
She studied him—the way his shoulders were just a little too squared, the way his phone never left his hand.
“You sure you’re okay?” she asked quietly.
“I promise,” he said.
She nodded, even though the unease didn’t fade. Even when she looked out the front window.
The sedan was gone.
That should have made her feel better.
It didn’t.
Grace wrapped her arms around herself, telling herself she was safe. That this was her home. That nothing bad ever happened on quiet streets in small towns.
Still, she checked the front door lock again.
Just to be sure.