Chapter Sixty-Nine
Grace
Wrapped in blankets on the couch, my sketchpad balanced on my thighs, I try to draw AJ. He’s in the kitchen making my favorite meal—extra spicy enchiladas—and he looks so serious.
I manage his hair. His forehead. His dark brows. His eyes. But then my hand starts to shake. What ends up on the page looks nothing like the man I love.
AJ brings me a cup of tea, presses a kiss to my forehead, and stares down at my half-finished attempt.
“I’m better at this when…” My throat tightens, trapping the words in my chest.
When my brain isn’t breaking in real time. When I’m not hours away from someone cutting into my skull. When I’m not terrified I’m about to lose everything.
He eases himself down, and takes the sketchbook. His big hand dwarfs the pencil. With a frown, his tongue trapped between his teeth, he starts to sketch. Quick, simple lines, his gaze flicking up to my face once. Twice.
In just a couple of minutes, he turns the pad around.
Two stick figures. One with long hair. Both with huge, lopsided grins.
The laugh starts deep in my belly, and before I know it, I can barely breathe with the force of it. “That’s…awful.”
“Everyone’s a critic,” he murmurs. “This is true genius.”
My laugh crumbles into a sob before I can stop it. I cover my face with my hands, my whole body shaking as I finally let go of all the fear I’ve been holding in for so long.
AJ wraps his arms around me, tugging me to his chest, holding on like he’ll never let go. “I’ve got you, darlin’.” His voice is rough and steady, but breaks on the last word. “No matter what happens tomorrow, I’ve got you.”
I want to believe him. God, I want to.
But tomorrow feels like a cliff, and I’m standing at the edge.
Although it’s unusually warm for late March, AJ builds a fire after dinner. He says it’ll help me sleep tonight, but that’s not the reason. He needed something to do with his hands besides hold me.
Curled up on the couch, Belle wedged between us like a furry chaperone, we try to watch a movie. But neither one of us pays much attention to the screen, and finally, he turns it off completely.
“I’m scared,” I whisper to break the oppressive silence filling the space between us. “More than I’ve ever been. Even more than…when I knew I was about to die.”
AJ’s hand finds mine. The calluses I don’t remember getting have finally faded, and his fingers are rough in comparison. Solid. Real.
“Me too.” The words are so raw, so ragged, they hit like knives, stripping away the last of my resolve to stay strong.
I blink against the sting in my eyes. “If I don’t remember…or if I don’t wake up at all—”
“Don’t.” His grip tightens. “Don’t you dare.”
Tears spill anyway, carving hot trails down my cheeks. “I have to say it. I need you to know—Aaron, you’re the reason I’m still here. You’re why I fought when it would’ve been easier to give up. Why I’ve remembered anything at all. Why…I have to do this even though it could be the end of…me.”
His shoulders heave with one deep, shuddering breath.
Hauling me into his lap—right over Belle—he touches his forehead to mine.
“Grace, you listen now. If there’s one thing I know—one thing I’d bet my life on—it’s that you’re gonna wake up.
You’re gonna come back to me. Again. And we’re gonna live the rest of our lives knowin’ that we can survive anything else this world throws at us. ”
I bury my face in AJ’s neck, ugly, rough, loud sobs tearing out of me. He rocks me, whispers reassurances into my hair, and presses his lips to my temple like he can anchor me to this world by sheer will alone.
When I have no more tears to cry, I raise my head. His eyes are wet too. I cup his cheek, and he leans into my touch. “If…shit. I don’t want our last memories of each other to be of fear.”
His gaze churns, the blue depths of his eyes darkening. “Then give me this instead.”
And he kisses me.
Slowly. Achingly. Reverently.
It’s a promise. A reminder of everything we’ve fought for. Everything we can’t lose.
When we finally break apart, I’m breathless. AJ carries me to the bedroom and lays me down, stretching out next to me and flicking open the buttons of my flannel shirt one at a time.
There’s no rush, no desperation. When he’s shed his clothes and I’m left in just my bra and panties, I start to kiss him. His jaw. His neck. His collarbone. The hollow of his throat. Down his chest. Across his abs.
I commit every line, every ridge, every muscle to memory, praying it’s not all for nothing. As I reach his erection, I realize the truth. Even if I don’t wake up tomorrow—or if I do, but everything is somehow…gone again—this night, this day, this love we have…it’s everything.
We are everything.
I press a kiss to his crown, tasting him. Salty. Strong. Mine.
“Grace, I need to be inside you,” he whispers. “Please. Let me make love to you.”
I turn on my side, letting him unhook my bra and slide my panties down my hips. His arm wraps around my waist from behind, and I fit my back against his chest. Why does this position feel so right?
AJ guides his length to my channel, and God, he fills me so completely. “This was always your favorite,” he murmurs and skims his lips over the shell of my ear. “How you liked me best. You always said it made you feel—”
“Cherished,” I whisper.
I remember now. The truth of it clogs my throat, but I don’t cry. I’m so lost in AJ. In this moment that’s only for the two of us.
AJ starts to move his hips, and I meet him thrust for thrust.
Sensations build. He plays with my nipples, pinching and rolling them between his fingers. His teeth score the curve of my neck. I reach back and grab his ass, digging into the firm muscle and pulling him even harder against me.
His hand drifts lower. Over my mound. Down to my clit. He finds his rhythm, swirling his finger around the tight, aching nub as I arch my back and moan.
“Aaron…please…”
“I love you, Grace. Always,” he says.
And with one last thrust, we fly over the edge together.
AJ’s arms are a fortress, holding me long after we’ve come down from our highs and Belle sprawls across our feet. When the nightmares come, his arms tighten, and he whispers the mantra that always brings me back from the edge of panic.
“You’re home. You’re safe. You’re loved.”
At some point in the night, I wake up to find him sitting against the headboard, his eyes open, watching me in the dim light from the hall.
“You’re not sleeping,” I slur, my voice rough.
His thumb brushes over my knuckles. “Didn’t want to miss a second of time with you, darlin’.”
I swallow my tears. He’s carrying so much fear for the both of us, I can’t add to it. Not now. Not this close to…the unknown. Instead, I prop myself up on an elbow, kiss him, and whisper, “Stay with me.”
“I will. Every minute. Every heartbeat. Forever.”
Sleep drags me under again, but this time I dream of him, not the dark shadows that want to swallow me whole.
Morning comes too quickly. My stomach is hollow, but even if I were allowed to eat, I couldn’t. I’m too nauseous.
The hospital is too bright. The antiseptic smell too strong. The gown too rough. AJ never leaves my side. Not even as they wheel me toward pre-op.
At the double doors, he signals for the nurses to wait. We’re on a schedule, and they try to rush him, but he fixes them with his hard, unyielding stare and practically growls, “You can give us two minutes.”
They back off then. But not too far.
“I’m not ready,” I whisper, fighting for each word.
AJ bends down so his lips brush my ear. “You don’t have to be ready, darlin’. You just have to be you. Stubborn, brave, smart, kind, you. That’s enough.”
The nurses try to move in again, saying something about anesthesia, but I don’t care. My whole world is right next to me.
“I’ll be here when you wake up,” he promises. “No matter what. The first thing you’ll see when you open your eyes is me. I love you.”
Tears blur his face, but I blink them back. I want one last clear view of him. One last memory. “I love you, Aaron. Always.”