Chapter Fifty-Five
AJ
The Domain hums softly when we arrive. It’s early enough we can take our time, window shop and talk and laugh without a press of people all around us. Grace keeps a firm grip on Belle’s mobility harness with her right hand, her left tucked in the crook of my elbow.
My sport coat does its job, hiding the SIG at my waist, but I went out of my way to pull the tie Grace bought me for Christmas five years ago—dark purple shot through with silver so it catches the light, almost like alligator skin—out of the back of the closet.
She spent twenty minutes—twenty long minutes—deciding what to wear. And then she walked out of the closet in that off-the-shoulder peach sweater, those ripped jeans, and soft brown boots. And damn if I didn’t forget how to breathe.
Not because of the clothes, though they’re perfect. But because she chose them. She’s choosing this. Choosing us.
Every damn day she braves something new—something that scares her—to reclaim another piece of her life.
“Maybe on Sunday, you’ll let me take you to Stonewood Coffee?” I ask as we drift toward a shop window filled with glittering jewelry.
Her gaze lands on a ring—three center diamonds, all different shapes, with smaller jewels on the sides that look almost like stepping stones.
“Were diamonds ever my thing?” she asks, a flicker of curiosity in her eyes.
I’m already working out whether I’ll have time at lunch on Monday to get back down here for that ring for our anniversary. And if I should call the store from the restaurant and beg them to hold it for me.
“You wouldn’t let me buy you one when I proposed. Said it was silly to spend all that money on a ring when we were just startin’ out. But I got you a pair of diamond studs for your thirtieth birthday. You wore them almost every day. They’re in your jewelry box.”
Grace reaches up and touches her left ear. “I didn’t even know my ears were pierced.”
She turns from the window, and there’s the barest flicker of a wince.
“What is it?” I ask, tipping her chin up gently.
“Just a little headache. Nothing serious. Come on. I’m getting hungry.”
Her smile’s a little weak, and my gut twists. “You’re sure?”
“Yes, Captain Overprotective. I’m fine.” She tucks her hand back into the crook of my arm and rests her head on my shoulder for a beat. “Food first. Then I want to see the arcade. I think I used to be pretty good at Skee-Ball.”
“You beat my ass every time,” I say and press a kiss to the top of her head. “Okay. We’ll find a place to eat. But if the headache gets worse, you’ll tell me?”
Grace lifts her head, her gaze meeting mine. “I will. I promise.”
Fuck. I’m wound so tight, I’m seein’ danger everywhere. She’s allowed to have a goddamn headache without me sweeping her into my arms and rushing her home.
At a little Italian place, their covered patio strung in golden lights, Grace studies the menu like it’s a test she might fail. “What if…it’s like the eggs?” she says, her voice small and quiet.
“Then we’ll switch plates and you can have my fettuccine. Or we can ask for a to-go box, stop at a taco truck on the way home, and order the spiciest thing on the menu.”
Her eyes soften, and she reaches across the table to take my hand. “How do you always know the right thing to say?”
“I don’t. But there ain’t nothin’ I wouldn’t do for you, Grace. Even burn off all my taste buds—permanently.”
She laughs, her fingers tight on mine. “You are a damn fool, AJ Stone.”
I wink at her. “But I’m your damn fool.”
Over pasta and wine, she starts to relax—even tries a bite of my fettuccine.
“What do you think? That’s got to be the least spicy thing you’ve had since comin’ home. Any good?”
She dips her fork into the bowl a second time with a small smile. “Maybe.”
A drop of Alfredo sauce lingers at the corner of her mouth, and I lean forward to swipe it away with my thumb. Her cheeks flush bright pink, but she doesn’t look away.
For a moment, my world narrows to her laugh, the feel of her skin, and the love reflected in her eyes.
Until someone just behind me gasps, and a woman’s voice cuts through the air. “Oh, my God. You’re her. You’re Greta? Gloria? Grace! Grace Stone!”
Conversations fall silent all around us. Chairs scrape over the tile floor. A guy with greasy hair darts around one of the tables, his phone pointed right at my wife.
Grace’s fork clatters to the plate. All the color fades from her cheeks. “AJ?”
I’m on my feet in an instant, my chair shoved back hard enough to rattle the table behind us. Putting myself squarely between her and half a dozen gawkers, I narrow my eyes at the men and women turning our night of fun into their own personal true crime documentary.
“Back. Off,” I grit out, keeping my voice low but doing nothing to hide the warning in my tone.
“Grace! How are you feeling?” a woman calls out. “Have you remembered—”
“Ma’am, I suggest you walk away. Right now. And if all y’all don’t stop pointin’ your goddamned phones at my wife’s face, I’m gonna forget the manners my mama worked so hard to teach me.”
The woman stumbles, bumping into the next table. “I—I’m sorry. I didn’t mean… I just…” Her cheeks flame, but there’s fear in her eyes as she backs away.
More than one person is still filming though, preserving every second of Grace’s fear for the whole of the fucking internet to see. My fists ache with how hard I’m fighting not to punch someone.
Grace’s hand brushes my arm. She’s pale, her eyes brimming with tears, but she ain’t panicking. She needs me to stay calm. At her side. Not spendin’ a night in lockup for assault and destruction of property.
I drag in a breath, yank my wallet from my back pocket, and dig out one of my business cards. Our server, a young woman who’s probably still in college, is frozen next to our table, her tray tucked against her chest like a shield.
“I’m a captain with the Texas Rangers,” I say, fighting to keep my voice steady as I pass her the card. “I’ll call you once we’re in the car and settle the bill, okay?”
She nods and darts back to the kitchen.
I wrap an arm around Grace’s shoulders, shielding her as best I can while Belle, hackles raised, growls softly.
Every few steps, I glance behind us, and when the last of the gawkers disappears, guide Grace over to a bench. “Sit down for a minute, darlin’. Ain’t no one watchin’ anymore.”
Belle lays her head on Grace’s thigh, an eighty-pound anchor in a storm.
“Well, that was…fun.” Her voice is raspy. Thin. “I was really lookin’ forward to Skee-Ball.”
I lower myself down next to her, gritting my teeth when the bruise on my ass sends pain shooting up my back. “I’ll clear out the whole damn place if you want me to. In the name of public safety.”
Her laugh soothes a fraction of my anger. “You will do no such thing. This…what just happened…” She presses her hand to her chest. “It’s going to happen again. I wasn’t prepared. Next time…maybe I will be.”
“Grace, you ain’t giving yourself near enough credit. You didn’t run. You didn’t hide. Hell, you kept me from losing my shit. That’s what courage looks like. I’m so damn proud of you, darlin’.”
Her lips part on a shaky exhale. I skim my knuckles along her cheek, and she leans into the touch.
“I love you,” I whisper. “More and more every damn day.”
She settles closer to me, with Belle pressed to our shins. Under the warmth of the outdoor heaters, it feels like this moment could go on forever.
“Stone?”
The familiar voice grates along my spine. Marvin hustles across the promenade, his shirt rumpled and that God-awful belt buckle flashing like a beacon in the overhead lights.
Grace tenses, her fingers digging into my thigh.
“Marvin,” I say, unable to keep the ice from my tone. “You remember Grace.”
He offers her his hand with an easy smile. “Ma’am. Good to see you out and about.”
Belle growls, and Marvin takes a quick step back. “Whoa there, girl. Stone, you sure that dog should be out in public?”
“She’s got more manners than you,” I snap and push to my feet. I’ve got a good four inches on Marvin, and I’m gonna use it. “Sendin’ the chief to our house like that? What the fuck were you playin’ at?”
Marvin shoves his hands into his pockets. “I didn’t mean for things to blow up the way they did. You called out with no explanation. I was worried. Thought the chief should check in with you.”
My jaw tightens. “Check in? He barreled through the door screamin’. At my wife.”
His gaze drops, shoulders slumping as his focus slides to Grace. “AJ. Ma’am, I’m truly sorry about that. I hope you can forgive me.”
Grace doesn’t say a word, and I can feel the tension coiling in her limbs.
“Get the fuck out of here, Marvin. We might have to work together, but I ain’t gotta forgive you any time soon.”
Marvin holds up his hands. “You’re right. I’ll…see you at the station on Monday.” He tips his Stetson. “Ma’am. You have a good night now.”
He ambles back across the promenade, and I turn back to Grace. “Darlin’, let’s go home.”