Chapter Twenty-Nine
AJ
I didn’t want to leave her. But if I go much longer without a shower, she won’t want to get close to me. And having Grace in my arms is all that’s keeping me together.
Plus, I’m sportin’ almost a full beard, and it itches. A couple days’ stubble is all I can stand.
I lift the simple, silver chain over my head and curl my fingers around her wedding ring. She always took it off for long runs, and when I found it in her jewelry box two days after she disappeared, I “borrowed” one of her necklaces so it—she—would always be with me.
She ain’t ready for me to slide it back on her finger. Or maybe I’m the one who ain’t ready. If I try and she refuses, it might break me.
I reach for my shaving kit, then tuck the ring and chain into one of the side pockets before stepping into the shower.
The hot water cascades over me, burning away some of the stress and strain. But not the memory of Grace having a panic attack over a fucking Halloween costume.
Or the vision of another white dress behind my closed lids, this one stained with her blood.
I hid the costume in the bottom drawer of my desk, then texted Parker, Jasper, and Connor asking them one question—
What do you know about cults?
It’s the only thing that makes sense. But if there were major cult activity in Austin, we’d have heard about it. Especially if they made a habit of kidnapping local women.
Connor said he’d set Zephyr on some internet sleuthing.
Parker can only access some of the Rangers’ databases from home, but she’ll do what she can.
Soon, we’re gonna have to read in Hardison.
He’s so damn quiet most of the time, I don’t know him well.
But Parker trusts him, and that’s enough for me.
I scrub the bar of Irish Spring over my skin. I still remember the last time Grace touched me—really touched me—the morning she disappeared.
My dick rockets to life under my hand.
Fuck.
She ain’t ready for anything more than forehead kisses and being held close, but my body doesn’t know that. If I rub one out now, it’ll take the edge off. I hope.
But even though the memory of our last time together is clear as day, when I close my eyes, I see her as she is now. Fighting demons she can’t name. Bruised and beaten within an inch of her life. A shadow of the woman I married.
I rest my forehead against the glass wall, and let myself cry.
After I run the electric razor over my face and soothe the skin with the balm Grace always loved the scent of, I cinch a towel tight around my waist. Why didn’t I think to grab my bathrobe before I came in here?
The last thing I want to do is make her uncomfortable.
But I can’t get to the closet without going through the bedroom.
She’s sitting up against the headboard, Belle stretched out next to her, when I open the bathroom door.
Her unbruised cheek turns bright red as her gaze snaps to my bare chest.
Fuck.
I’m halfway to the closet when she says my name.
“AJ? Come here. Please?”
If I turn around and she looks away, I’ll break right in front of her. “Let me get dressed, darlin’. I won’t be more than two shakes.”
“No.”
No?
The duvet rustles. Grace hisses out a breath. The sound sends panic’s icy fingers to squeeze my heart, and I rush over to her. “What’s wrong?”
She sits on the edge of the mattress, one hand pressed to her side. “I moved a little too quickly, that’s all. But…sit with me. Please.”
It’s not easy to keep the towel in place as I sink down next to her. Why didn’t I buy those big-ass bath sheets last year?
Grace reaches up to touch my cheek. “This is how you looked in most of the pictures.”
I sit up a little straighter. “There wasn’t a single photo of me half naked in a towel.”
She laughs—truly laughs like I haven’t heard in three years. God, I’ve missed that sound.
“Fair point. But maybe there should have been.” Turning to face me, she rests her hand over my heart.
“I’m terrified of a lot of things right now, AJ.
But not of seeing you. You’re my husband.
I may not remember getting married, going on our honeymoon, buying this house, or…
anything from our lives together, but I know I feel safe with you. ”
I wrap my arms around her, pulling her against my chest and letting her hands smooth down my back.
And when her lips press to the curve of my neck—just for a single breath—a part of me I thought I’d lost forever finds its way home.
Grace
Water splashes into the tub, steam rising in slow, lazy curls, clinging to the mirror and softening the edges of my reflection.
I was so dizzy when AJ helped me to my feet, I didn’t trust myself with the walker. He didn’t judge. Just got the wheelchair so I wouldn’t have to sit—and balance—on the closed toilet while he ran me a bath.
He drops to a knee in front of me, wearing only a pair of Wranglers, his chest still bare.
He’s wiry. Strong, but not bulky. I could trace his six-pack if I were brazen enough.
But while I didn’t lie earlier—I’m not afraid to see him or touch him—I am afraid of anything more.
What if I kiss him and feel nothing? Or what if all I feel… is pain?
“I think I can use one of your hair clips to keep your braid out of the water.” AJ lifts the long twist of hair and sets it on top of my head. But before he grabs the clip off the counter, I reach for his hand.
“Cut it for me.”
He freezes. “What?”
“In all the pictures…it was shorter. And it’s too heavy. It makes the headaches worse. I don’t know why it’s so long. If I wasn’t allowed to cut it or if I didn’t want to, but I want to now. I just don’t trust myself with scissors.”
He frowns. “Grace, I don’t know shit about cutting hair. You always went to a salon downtown. What if I mess it up?”
My heart aches at the worry in his tone, and I give his fingers a quick squeeze. “It’s hair. It’ll grow back.”
Blowing out a long, slow breath, he nods. “Okay. How short do you want it?”
“To my shoulders? Give or take?” In truth, I don’t care. Anything will be better than the braid almost brushing my ass.
After a quick check of the water level in the tub, he drapes a towel over my shoulders and removes the tie holding the braid together.
It takes him almost a full minute to unwind Parker’s handiwork. God, there’s so much hair, I can barely see me once he finishes.
“I can’t promise this is gonna be even,” he says, his voice cracking on the last word.
“You’re stalling.” I meet his gaze in the mirror, hoping my smile will reassure him. It must, because the shears whisper through my locks one section at a time. With each cut, I feel lighter, until there’s a pile of hair on the counter and what’s left falls to just below my shoulders.
The woman staring back at me now is less of a stranger. And in her eyes? There’s a tiny flicker of recognition.
“I look more like me,” I say, my voice so quiet, I don’t know if he can even hear it over the running water.
He gives my shoulder a gentle squeeze. “You always looked like you, darlin’.”
Moving the wheelchair so it’s right next to the tub, he plunges his hand through the bubbles to check the water temperature, then turns off the faucet and shifts from one foot to the other, his gaze pinned to the floor. “Can you…uh…do you need me to stay…?”
As much as I want to be strong enough to do something as simple as bathe on my own, I know I can’t. Not yet.
The dizzying hum behind my eyes hasn’t let up since my panic attack earlier. And I’m so tired of feeling fragile.
“I’m afraid I’ll fall,” I whisper.
“Then I’ll stay.” His tone is soft, but certain. “Whatever you need, I’m here for you, Grace. Always.”
AJ unbuttons my pajama top, his eyes never leaving my face—not even when he eases the fabric from my shoulders. Gently, he guides my arms around his neck and lifts me to my feet. His warm fingers curl around the waistband of my pants, lowering them—and my panties—to the floor.
For the first time in three years, I’m naked in front of my husband.
It lasts for all of half a minute before he guides me into the tub. The water wraps around me like a warm blanket, and I let out a sigh.
AJ crouches down, but doesn’t look at me. “You can reach the grab bar, right?”
“Yes. But…will you stay? Just…talk to me?”
He eases himself onto his ass, elbows resting on his knees, gaze pinned to the floor. “About what? How we met? Our friends?”
Running the washcloth slowly over my left arm, I figure out what I want to know. “Tell me about the last three years. About your life.”
Slowly, he raises his head, his eyes full of grief. “I didn’t have one.”
Shit.
I asked too much of him. I’m searching for something else to grasp onto—a safer subject—when he continues.
“I worked. A lot. Got an apartment in town close to the station. I couldn’t sleep in our bed every night without you. Belle and I…we came here on weekends, but Sunday through Thursday, we lived there.”
My eyes prickle with the threat of tears, but I swallow them down. I need to know him. Really know him.
“You said…yesterday…that you and Jasper had issues. Why?”
His mouth flattens into something not quite a smile. “Six months in, he told me to get my ass back to work. That I had to…move on. I kicked him out of the house and didn’t talk to him for almost two years after that.”
“AJ! He’s your twin!”
His eyes meet mine with such seriousness, I hold my breath until he speaks again.
“And you’re my everything. He had no right. And he knows it.”
Heat flushes over my skin. Not from the water, but from somewhere deep inside me. He loved me enough to choose me over his own brother. To hold out hope for three years that one day, I’d come home.
“You never moved on,” I say softly.
“No.”
A long silence stretches between us. If I had the words, I’d tell him how much I want to remember. How much I need to remember a love strong enough to bring us back together again. But they’re lost somewhere, and I don’t know how to find them.
Eventually, I lean forward and pass him the washcloth. “Do my back?”
AJ hesitates, staring at the cloth like it might burn him.
But then he takes it, his fingers brushing mine.
“I ran the trail every Saturday with Belle,” he says, his voice soft but steady.
“Where you disappeared. I thought maybe… Fuck. I don’t know what I thought—especially the last few weeks.
That I missed something the hundred and forty other times?
That whoever took you would be stupid enough to come back?
That God would drop a clue at my feet if I showed up enough. Prayed enough.”
I blink hard. “AJ…”
He shakes his head, then trails the cloth over my shoulders. “It was all I had.”
“What about friends?” I ask gently. “Connor? Parker?”
“I’ve only known Connor for a couple of months. Parker…I trained her, sure. She helped me track down the few leads we got after APD declared…you…a cold case. But we never got together outside of work.”
He finally glances up, meeting my gaze. “You were the center of my life, Grace. Without you, everything just…stopped. The apartment was for sleep and work. The house was for grief. And so Belle could chase tennis balls—when I could muster the energy to throw them. All your clothes? Your studio? Hell, your hair clips and eye cream. I wouldn’t get rid of anything.
I couldn’t. There was no world for me without you. ”
My voice fails me for too long, but when he dips the cloth into the water and runs it down my spine, I ask, “Why didn’t you give up?”
He doesn’t look away. “I wish I could say it was because I knew you were alive. Because I felt it. But…really…I’m only still here because of Belle.”
Oh, God.
The dog lets out a soft whine from the hall, echoing AJ’s pain. I reach for him, sloshing a little water over the edge of the tub as I wrap an arm around his shoulders.
He doesn’t speak. But with one single sob, he shatters into pieces.
AJ
Fuck.
Fuck!
I try to hold myself together. Grace is still so fragile. I’m supposed to be the strong one. The one who keeps her safe.
But I fail. Again.
Another sob rips through me, jagged and loud, echoing off the tile. Grace pulls me closer, bathwater spilling over the edge of the tub and soaking my Wranglers.
I should care. I should grab a towel. I should do anything but sit here shaking like a rookie in his first firefight.
Her skin is so warm beneath my cheek. Her fingers move through my hair in slow, shaky strokes, and for the first time in three years, I don’t feel like I’m drifting—untethered—through a storm.
“I’m sorry,” I rasp, though I’m not sure which failure I’m apologizing for. Losing her? Not finding her sooner? Almost giving up? Maybe all of it.
She shakes her head softly. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”
“Don’t say that,” I whisper. “You have no idea how many times I—” My throat closes, the words bottling up like they’re scared to see daylight.
I force them out anyway. “How many times I sat in the dirt—right where I found your water bottle—and tried to convince myself you were gone so my heart wouldn’t tear itself in half with every beat. ”
Her breath hitches, but her arms stay locked around me. “You’re here. I’m here. Nothing else matters.”
Grace is crying now too. Her tears fall onto my back, tiny tremors shaking her too-thin frame.
I should comfort her. Pull myself the fuck together and be the man she needs me to be. But I don’t know how.
Or how to stop myself from telling her that every week, I’d stand at the start of the trail, staring at my own shadow and wondering if the world would be better off without it.
“Belle needed me,” I say, my voice cracking on the truth I’ve never admitted to anyone. “Without her—”
“Don’t.” Grace’s hand cups the back of my neck, squeezing lightly. “Don’t tell me you didn’t fight for yourself, AJ. You did. You brought me home.”
The last word escapes as a whisper. Or maybe…as a prayer.
The water on the floor has gone cold, soaking through my jeans. Hell, the water in the tub is cooling where my elbows have broken through the bubbles.
“I’m afraid if I let go, you’ll disappear again.”
“Then don’t let go,” she murmurs, lips curving against my temple. “Not yet.”
We stay locked together long enough for the water on the floor to lose its chill completely. Long enough for my heartbeat to match the steady rhythm of hers. I don’t know if I’m holding her or she’s holding me. And it doesn’t matter, as long as we’re together.