Chapter 4
T he doorman calls, informing me that Grace is on her way up seconds before there is a knock on the door.
And when I see her, I practically drop my phone. “What the hell?” I snarl, walking over and grabbing her arm without a second thought. She’s ice cold. Completely frozen through and soaking wet. “Your lips are blue for fuck’s sake!”
It started pouring about twenty minutes ago, the warm summer temperatures plummeting along with it, and by the look of her, she was out walking in it.
Her hair is matted down her face, her yoga clothes soaked and sticking to her like a second skin.
She doesn’t answer me, and I can’t tell if it’s because she’s hypothermic or because something horrendous happened.
“Grace,” I practically bark her name, drawing back to check her over. Her eyes meet mine, and even though I take that as a reassuring sign, they are utterly lifeless. Completely devoid of their usual sparkle. “You’re scaring me. Talk.”
“You’re not Oliver,” she finally manages, but it’s quiet and her teeth are chattering so badly, it takes me a minute to figure out what she actually said.
“Huh?”
“Oliver. You’re not Oliver. I came to find Oliver.”
I stare blankly at her. Of course, she didn’t come here to see me. “Oliver moved to Chestnut Hill with Amelia and Layla, remember? I bought his place from him and moved in last month.”
“Right.” She bobs her head. “I forgot that. My mistake. I’ll go.”
“The hell you will. Come with me.”
I don’t give her the choice. I drag her through my apartment, past my date who is sitting at my dining room table with her eyebrows at her hairline, and back into my master bathroom.
I release her, steadying her with my hands because she looks like she’s about to collapse at any second, and duck down until I meet her eyes again.
“Bath or shower?”
She blinks at me, seemingly lost in her own reverie, so I solve this for her.
The bath will take too long to fill up. I walk into my shower, reach for the knob and turn it on, all five showerheads come on at once.
I even add on a little steam to seal the deal.
Shaking the water from my arm, I step out of the shower.
“The shower is running.”
Nothing. It’s like she’s not even here in the room with me.
“Grace, you need to get undressed.” And I don’t feel safe leaving until I see you move .
But she doesn’t move and now I’m scared. Like really fucking scared. What happened to her tonight? Wordlessly and with my eyes on the wall and not her body, I begin to lift her shirt up.
That must snap her out of her trance because she swats my hands away and mumbles something that sounds like, “I can do it.”
“Can you really?” I ask, not even being a dick and she nods once. My mind racing a mile a minute, my heart pounding just as fast. Something is seriously wrong. “Did someone hurt you?”
“No.” But she laughs, the sound mirthless and chilling.
“Did you have a seizure?”
“No.”
“Will you be okay if I leave you in here alone?”
“Yes.”
One-word answers, but it’s something. “Just get undressed and into the shower to warm up. Don’t come out until I bring dry clothes for you. There are towels on the warmer right there.” I point over her shoulder, but she doesn’t so much as blink or shift in that direction.
I don’t leave her until she moves toward the shower, and I can see that she’s steady enough on her feet. Shutting the door behind me, I lean against it for a moment, blowing out a heavy breath.
What the motherfuck?
In all the years I’ve known Grace, I’ve never seen her like this. Not when her grandfather, who she was very close with, died. Not when her freaking beloved childhood dog was run over. Not even when she fell out of the tree in our yard and broke her wrist.
Grace is always in control. She’s a picture of composure. Nothing rattles her. It’s what makes her such a brilliant doctor and surgeon.
So again, what the motherfuck?
I listen for the sound of her entering the shower and when the pattern of water hitting the tile changes, I leave her and head back into the dining room to my date.
“What was that?” she asks, and I harden instantly at the way she crinkles her nose in disdain. “Why were you bringing a soaking wet woman into your bedroom?”
“Jamie, I’m sorry but I’m going to have to cut our date short.”
Her eyes narrow and her back stiffens. “What?”
“My friend is going through a crisis, and I need to help her.”
Jamie stands in a huff. “You’ve got to be kidding me?” Her hands go to her hips and it’s like she’s reading my mind because those are my exact thoughts. She has got to be kidding me. How can she not just say something like, oh, I’m so sorry, of course I’ll leave you to help your friend ?
“No. I’m not kidding you,” I reply, my tone clipped as my patience run out with this woman. All I can think about is getting back to Grace. “Which is why you need to leave now.”
She stomps off, back toward the kitchen, snatches her purse off the counter and continues to stomp like a five-year-old all the way to the door. I open it for her, making sure she walks through it and when she makes no move to do more, I press the button on the elevator.
Some kind of shrill sound escapes the back of her throat at that. “I am so not coming back,” she threatens.
“I don’t care,” I tell her with zero emotion.
She lets out another small huff, but thankfully the doors to the elevator open and she steps on, flipping me off as the doors close.
I roll my eyes, but quickly dial the doorman on my cell and ask him to make sure she gets into a cab or an Uber, and then I hang up and run back through my apartment and into my bedroom, practically at a sprint.
I hit up my closet, grab the first things I come across that will be way too big on her and then knock gently on the door to the bathroom. “Grace?”
“I’ll be right out,” she shouts, her voice sounding clear and strong.
“Okay. Take your time. I’m going to crack the door and place some clothes on the counter.”
She doesn’t respond, so I open the door, doing just as I said I would while avoiding the steamy mirror and the glass shower at all costs. I’m tempted to call Oliver, but I wait. Something had her taking to the dark rainy streets in search of him and I need to know what I’m dealing with first.
Sitting on the edge of my bed, I prop my elbows on my parted thighs and drop my head into my hands. But when I hear the door open, my head instinctively raises and what I’m hit with makes my breath stall in my chest.
Jesus Christ.
I swallow hard, doing my best to ignore the way she looks in my clothes with her long, wet hair cascading down the shirt making her nipples stand at attention. Blinking, I force my eyes up to hers as the scent of Grace wearing my shampoo and body wash assaults my nose.
“Are you hungry?” I ask as she stands before me.
I get a shrug for that, but again, I don’t give her the option. Suddenly I need to get my brother’s best friend who looks way too tempting out of my bedroom.
“I made food that you’re going to eat.” I stand, taking her by the arm once more and leading her down the hall to the kitchen.
“What happened to your date?”
I glance down at her, but she’s not smiling and she’s not teasing me.
“Gone.”
She shakes her head slowly. “Sorry I ruined your night.”
“You didn’t. Now sit down.” I guide her to one of the stools at the island. “Have a glass of wine.” I pour her a very full glass of red. “And tell me why you showed up here looking like a drowned rat.”
She stares down at the glass, clasping it in her hand before raising it to her lips and taking the daintiest of sips.
When she sets it down, she lets out a weighty sigh.
“I really want to drink this. I really want to get so drunk that I can’t think or see or remember anything.
But I shouldn’t, right?” Her eyes meet mine for a flicker of a second before falling back to the wine.
I can’t tell if she’s actually asking me or not.
“Stress. Heartache. Too many emotions. If I drink, with the way my day has gone, I’ll probably have a seizure and I didn’t bring my meds with me.
Nothing.” She laughs then but there is no humor to the sound.
“I left with nothing. Not even my phone.”
“Grace…” I let her name trail.
With her eyes still on her glass, she says, “Tony slept with another woman.”
“That stupid fuck!” slips out before I can stop it.
She doesn’t react and I want to kill the bastard. I want to beat him to within an inch of his puny, pathetic life. I could do it too. He’s a weakling, not to mention three inches shorter and about twenty pounds of muscle lighter.
Oliver would want in on that. Hell, all of my brothers would.
“How did you find out?” I lean against the island and place my hand on her shoulder because she looks like she needs the comfort and support. My other hand is balled up into a fist at my side. She leans into me, barely hanging on.
“I overheard the woman talking about her wild night of hot sex.” She hiccups out a snort, shaking her head. “Can you freaking believe that? I mean, what are the odds of the woman who slept with my fiancé sitting behind me in the café I was eating lunch in?”
“One in a million?”
“At least. But she didn’t just walk into the café and say I had sex with Tony Marvelo. No, she sat there behind me, gossiping all the juicy details to her friend.”
“Shit,” I mutter, briefly closing my eyes. Grace sits up, shifting away from me, and I release my hold on her shoulder. “I am so sorry, Grace.”
I grip the counter when what I really want to do is hug her. Hold her. I want to wrap her up in my arms and kiss away all her pain. Erase that stupid piece of shit from her head and her heart because he never deserved either and I want them. Damn, I’m such a fool.
What the hell am I even thinking? These are not thoughts I can have. But seeing her like this? Every protective instinct I’ve ever possessed rages.