Chapter Twenty-Seven
Grace
With Belle pressed against me on the couch, I should feel safe. At peace. Even loved.
And part of me does. Somewhere beyond the reach of any memory—deep in my soul—I know I’m home. But until I can piece together what happened to me during the past three years, how can I trust it won’t happen again? Or that this time, I won’t cheat death simply because it was cold outside.
I’d hoped being home would unlock at least some of my memories. But so far, nothing here is familiar.
Maybe after I see more of the house, I’ll feel better. I’m so tired, I haven’t ventured beyond the kitchen.
But this room feels so…lived in. I sank into the cushions like they still held the memory of my butt—or would have if I weren’t at least thirty pounds lighter than when I…left.
If I don’t remember home, maybe I don’t remember healing either. What if it does feel like this, and I’m worrying for nothing?
I glance at AJ in the kitchen. He moves with ease, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, hair mussed from running his hands through it one too many times.
He keeps trying to fill this hollow space inside me with pieces of our lives—memories he carries like they’re treasures—but they don’t belong to me yet.
Exhaustion that only comes from years of stress and strain weigh on his face. This isn’t “I’ve had a long day” tired. This is so much more.
Still, when he catches me watching him, his eyes soften, and he smiles at me. “Almost done. Relax. I’ll be there soon.”
It’s too hard to keep my eyes open, and I jolt as the couch cushions shift.
“I made you some tea.” AJ presses a mug into my hands, and a scent that’s almost familiar wafts over me.
“Is that…lavender?” I ask.
“And chamomile. Honey. A splash of milk.” He says the words like they should have a deeper meaning. But I don’t understand until I take a sip.
My eyes close on a sigh, and I sink deeper into the cushions.
He knows how I like my tea. Even when I don’t.
“Is it…?” He runs his fingers through his hair again, which I’m slowly starting to realize is what he does when he’s in pain.
“It’s perfect. Thank you.” The heat of the mug anchors me, along with Belle’s soft snores and AJ’s scent.
“Did we spend a lot of time in this room?” I ask and take another sip.
“On Friday nights, we’d usually get takeout and watch a movie,” he says, his gaze straying to the TV mounted over the fireplace. “You liked your popcorn with extra butter and a truly unhealthy amount of salt.”
That pulls a laugh from somewhere deep inside me. “That’s probably still true.”
“On Sundays—if I wasn’t workin’—we’d hit up Stonewood Coffee.
Maybe wander through some of the shops on Sixth Street.
We weren’t one of those couples who did everything together—we were both too busy for that—but we tried to make our time count.
My grandfather left me and Jasper a cabin up at Lake Livingston, so when we could, we went up there for a weekend. ”
He’s watching me so closely. Looking for any spark of recognition. Anything to convince him the wife he knew is still inside me somewhere. God, I wish I could give it to him.
My fingers start to tremble, and I set the mug on the coffee table. “I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I don’t remember any of it. The tea, the popcorn, Sixth Street…you. I want to. But…”
“I know.” Those two words carry such a heavy weight, AJ sinks deeper into the cushions, his shoulders slumping as a muscle in his jaw tics.
“I’m hurting you.” My eyes burn, tiny pinpricks of pain warning me if I start crying, I might never stop.
“No.” He tugs at his hair, hard. “Yes. But that doesn’t matter. You’re here. You’re home. The rest…even if you never remember who we were…”
His heavy sigh is so full of resignation, I wish I could reassure him. But I can’t. Not yet. Even if our past is only a fraction of our story.
“We’ve loved each other for more than twenty years, Grace. I believe—I know—we can love each other again. That’s enough for me.”
We sit in silence for several minutes, the only light coming from the crackling fire behind the glass insert.
“Do you want to see your studio?” he asks, finally.
The question sends a bolt of panic shooting through my chest. “N-no. I… It’s just…” I sink my fingers into Belle’s scruff, needing something solid to hold onto. “If I go in there and nothing’s familiar…it might break me.”
The first tears tumble down my cheeks, and I don’t even try to stop them.
AJ scoots closer. “Please, darlin’. Can I hold you?”
I practically dive for him—as much as I can dive for anything trapped by my enormous dog, a blanket, and my injuries. With his arms around me, all the noise in my head fades away. It doesn’t matter that I’m broken. That I may never be the woman I was before. I’m alive. I’m home. I’m safe.
For tonight, that’s enough.
“It’s getting late.” AJ’s voice cuts through the quiet. The fire is only embers now. Dark, ominous shadows—the same ones I was so scared of down in Mexico—shimmer in the corners of the room. They’re no less scary here. But at least I’m not alone. “Let’s get you into bed.”
He snaps his fingers, and Belle comes awake like someone just set off a firecracker. “Go do your business,” AJ says and points toward the back of the house.
She looks at me, whines, and lays her head on my legs.
“Belle!” His voice is sharper this time, but she’s still having none of it.
“Let me try.” I stroke her ears lightly, waiting until those ice blue eyes settle on mine. “I won’t leave you again, sweetie. It’s okay. Go do your business. I’ll wait right here until you’re done.”
For a moment, I don’t think she believes me. Until she lumbers to her feet and pads into the kitchen. Every few steps, she looks back at us, and I give her a little nod. Finally, there’s a thump from what I assume must be the mud room.
“Doggie door?” I ask.
“Yep. Her collar has a microchip in it. Otherwise, we’d be feedin’ every raccoon, possum, and skunk in a ten-mile radius.”
AJ braces his hand on the arm of the couch, barely stifling his groan as he gets to his feet, then closes the fireplace insert to quiet the last of the glowing embers.
Moments later, Belle bounds back into the room, her eyes wild.
As soon as she sees me, her entire body starts wriggling, her tail whipping back and forth like a windshield wiper in a monsoon.
I reach for the walker, but my left hand slips off the rubber grip and sends the metal contraption tumbling. “Shit.”
AJ doesn’t say a word. He sets the walker to rights and scoops me up from the couch like I weigh nothing at all. Probably for the best since I don’t know where the bedroom is.
Belle’s nails click softly on the tile floor as she pads along behind us. Photos line the walls, but I can’t focus on them. The world starts spinning like one of those teacup rides at the fair. Tiny bursts of light hide everything but a hint of AJ’s jawline.
I bury my cheek against his neck and pray I won’t throw up.
After another few steps, he stops. “Grace? What’s wrong?”
“Dizzy. Don’t let go yet. Please…”
AJ sinks down, and fabric rustles under us. “Not until you tell me to.”
How can he be so steady when I’m falling apart? I can hear the anguish in his voice. How very much he wants me to be his Grace. But I’m not. I’m not sure I’ll ever be. Yet, he’s still here.
After a few breaths, I risk opening my eyes, and when the vertigo doesn’t immediately overwhelm me, I start to relax.
The large bed is already turned down. The warm beige walls and plush carpet tickle some long-ago memory. But it’s not of this room. It’s the room I was fighting to get out of in my nightmare.
“I’m…okay now,” I manage. But am I? The idea of sleeping in this big bed all alone terrifies me. Plus…I can barely stand. What if they—the nameless, faceless shadows haunting my nightmares—come for me? I won’t be able to get away.
AJ eases me off his lap and I sink against a mountain of pillows. “Wait here. I’ll get the walker, then your pajamas.”
I don’t bother to tell him I can’t do anything but wait.
Belle puts her front paws on the bed and noses my left hand. “I know, baby girl. It doesn’t always do what I want these days.” She whines once, then settles in a fluffy black dog bed in the corner of the room where she can see me.
AJ returns, setting the walker in front of the nightstand, and a bundle of dark peach fabric next to me.
But then he backs away, his hands shoved into the pockets of his Wranglers.
His gaze pings from me to the door to the bed and back again.
“I…uh…I’ll be on the couch in my office. It’s just down the hall. If you need—”
“I don’t want to be alone,” I blurt out. “And…” I fumble for the pajamas. “I can’t take off my bra. Or my socks.”
AJ’s cheeks turn bright red. “Are you sure?”
I nod, slowly.
My husband’s gentle hands peel the sweater from my shoulders. He’s careful not to look down as he loosens the buttons of the flannel shirt. More careful still as he draws the quilt up to my chest and moves behind me to release the catch of my bra.
His breath hitches, and for a moment, tension radiates off of him.
Shit.
He’s just seen my scars. I stare down at my useless left hand cradled in my lap, fighting back tears.
The bra loosens, and he picks up the pajama top. I don’t want him to see me cry—not again—so I squeeze my eyes shut until I find a tiny shred of control.
AJ helps me with everything. Each button. Each tie. He lets me lean on him until I can brace myself against the sink to brush my teeth. At least I’m steady enough to use the bathroom by myself.
I open the door to find him waiting for me in a pair of loose pants and a dark gray t-shirt.
He looks so different in some ways. He carries the same strength.
The same corded arms. The same lean lines and firm chest. But all traces of the Ranger have faded into the background, leaving only the man in front of me.
Vulnerable in a way I hadn’t thought possible.
AJ helps me under the covers without a word, then darts around to the other side. He flips off the light and stretches out on top of the duvet, keeping his distance. But I know he’s there. A steady presence in the dark.
I stare at the ceiling, heart racing. My body aches in places I still don’t understand—and don’t want to.
But I’m not alone.
The gaping hole where my life should be isn’t empty anymore. There’s a single emotion there, swirling so fast, I couldn’t get a handle on it at first. Not until I had AJ’s arms around me.
Loneliness.
Whatever happened to me over the past three years, I know one thing for certain—I was utterly and completely alone.
Blindly, I reach for AJ. His hand closes around mine, thumb brushing my knuckles in a rhythmic pattern.
That’s all it takes for me to feel…safe. To feel like maybe…this could be home.