Chapter Seventy-Three
Grace
They wheel me into a new room—smaller, quieter, but with a wide window that lets in a gray wash of Austin sky.
The constant hum of machines has faded, and there are fewer wires to manage and navigate.
A kind nurse comes to help me to the bathroom.
My entire body is heavy, my head wrapped in a dull, constant ache.
If I nod, the entire world wobbles, the vertigo threatening to come back with a vengeance, so I keep the sketchpad close, like a lifeline.
AJ dozes in the hard plastic chair. He’s been right next to my bed—in both rooms—all night. Parker’s curled up in the corner under the window, a blanket tugged up to her waist. They’re both still here. Both still wearing yesterday’s clothes.
The speech therapist comes and works with me for almost an hour.
Simple sounds. Vowels. My name. AJ’s. She says it’s all about waking my brain back up.
Letting it remember how to form words. I try—God, I try.
But the words don’t come. Only broken echoes of them. By the time she leaves, I’m wrung out.
“You did great, darlin’,” AJ says, as if he knows how much I hate this forced silence.
I lift a shaky hand, point to my temple, and wince.
“Do I need to get the nurse?” AJ’s entire body stiffens, his voice laced with panic.
I frown, shaking my head softly. A tiny moan slips out before I can stop it.
He grips the call button anyway, thumb ready. I cover his hand with mine, hold for a beat, then lift it so I can swirl my finger in the air. I’m just dizzy, and my sketchbook is too far away for me to reach easily.
In the corner of the room, Parker sits up straight, her gaze narrowing on my hand. “I’ve got an idea. AJ, Isabel’s coming by with a little something for Grace. Go meet her in the waiting room.” She cracks a smile. “And bring me some coffee when you come back, will ya’?”
AJ doesn’t move. A low rumble in his chest could almost be a growl. I don’t like the idea of him leaving anymore than he does, but I’m safe with Parker. And he won’t be far. I squeeze his hand, trying to let him know it’s okay.
As soon as the door clicks shut behind him, Parker takes a seat in the chair.
“You need another way to communicate if you don’t feel like writing.
” She slides the table stretching across the foot of the bed closer so my sketchbook and pencil are within my reach.
“Or if this somehow ends up too far away again.”
I reach for the sketchbook, but the pencil rolls off the table and lands somewhere in the tangle of blankets.
Shit.
For three years, no one heard me. No one talked to me—at least with any kindness—but I still had a voice, even if I chose not to use it. Now…this is so much harder.
Parker holds up her right hand, fingers curled into a loose fist, thumb pointed up. “This is A.” Then she straightens her fingers and angles her thumb across her palm. “And this is B.”
It takes a couple of seconds for the fog swirling around in my brain to clear, but once it does, I copy her first letter.
A.
Her fierce grin holds so much pride, my cheeks flush with heat. “There you go. Okay. We’re gonna go through the whole alphabet, but also a couple of important words. Like yes…and no.”
A flicker of hope stirs in my chest. I grab the pencil, and scratch out, “Need to tell AJ—”
“You want to skip to the good stuff first?”
I nod, and she laughs. “That’s the Grace I know. All right.” She points to herself. “I.”
Once I’ve copied her, she closes both hands into loose approximations of the letter A, and crosses them over her chest. “Love.”
This is a little harder with the IV still taped to my hand, but I manage.
“You.” She points to me, I point to her, and for a moment, I feel like I’ve just climbed a mountain.
“You need one more. Remember A?” she asks.
I show her, and she nods. “Good. Now stick out your pinky finger, hold your thumb across your other fingers, and draw a J.”
After I struggle through the gesture, her eyes light up, glassy with emotion, but her grin doesn’t falter. “That’s his name. You just said AJ.”
Tears spill, hot against my cheeks. Parker leans closer, carefully wraps one arm around me, and gives me a gentle squeeze.
“You’re still here, Grace. You’re still you. In a couple of days, all this silence will fade into a memory. But until it does, we’ve got you. Always.”
She’s only just pulled back when AJ returns, two cups of coffee in hand, and a small paper bag dangling from his wrist.
Parker practically sashays around the bed, takes one of the cups, and heads for the door. “I’ll be back in a few minutes. I’m betting AJ forgot that I like sugar in my coffee.”
AJ starts to protest, but Parker cuts him off. “Grace has something to tell you.”
She leaves, and I point to myself, cross my arms over my chest, and point to him. Then…I sign his name.
“I love you, AJ.”
The bag hits the floor. He barely manages to set his coffee down before folding me into his embrace. “I love you too, darlin’. Always and forever.”
AJ
I tried to send Parker home for a couple of hours. As expected, she refused. Isabel dropped off a change of clothes for her—along with a tin of decaf instant Cafe Vienna for Grace—and she’s making use of a shower in one of the empty rooms on this floor.
When she’s done, I’ll do the same. Hardison is patrolling the halls, doing laps around the neuro floor like he’s training for the world’s slowest, scariest marathon. One with a strict “arrest anyone who even blinks suspiciously” rule.
Grace fell asleep less than twenty minutes after we shared a cup of her decaf.
The normalcy of that single act almost did me in.
Nothing about where we are is normal. Especially not this overwhelming, almost oppressive silence.
But knowing she’s still in there—that she’s still her—lets me relax a degree or two.
Until a soft knock at the door puts me on high alert.
Parker would quietly slip back inside like she’d been there the whole time.
Hardison would barge in with a running commentary about how the vending machine coffee is a crime against humanity.
And the rest of our little family is either at our house, preparing for Armageddon, or holed up at Isabel’s under lockdown.
Before I can check to see who it is, Marvin ambles into the room.
He’s dressed head to toe in black, from his jeans to his long-sleeved button down to his sport coat.
No star clipped to his shirt. No double belt.
He’s still wearing that goddamn ugly-as-sin rodeo buckle though, and he grabs it like it’s connected right to his dick.
“Afternoon,” he says, a little too loudly.
Grace stirs in her sleep, her legs restless under the blankets, and I push to my feet, shielding her from his view.
“What the fuck are you doin’ here?” I demand.
His brows lift, creasing deep lines in his forehead. “Harris sent me. He figured you could use a little extra backup.”
Goddammit. I knew telling Harris about our attempt to draw out the cartel was a mistake. But he called last night, warning me APD was pushing hard to talk to Grace. I told him the story was a smokescreen, that she wasn’t going anywhere for days. Figured he’d keep that to himself. Fucker.
I narrow my eyes at Marvin. “The chief didn’t say anything to me about ‘backup.’”
Marvin shrugs and flashes me an easy smile. “He probably didn’t want to bother you.”
I straighten my shoulders, hiding the wince at the pain in my back from too many hours in the hard plastic visitor’s chair. “Yet you did?”
“Better to intrude for a minute than have Hardison tackle me in the hall.”
Grace stirs again, a soft sigh slipping from her lips. Marvin takes a step to the side, his eyes flicking to her, then back to me.
I force myself to relax. I might hate the man, but another set of eyes on Grace—or on the hallways and stairwells, at least—won’t hurt.
“Appreciate it. But keep a low profile. No need to draw attention to this room—or the neuro floor.”
Marvin nods. “Understood. I just thought…if you needed to step out for food, coffee, a shower…I’ll be around.”
A small bit of tension eases from my shoulders. Better Marvin than someone Grace doesn’t know.
“Around. But not in here. She needs rest, and visitors ain’t gonna help that.”
Marvin’s mouth ticks at the corner, like he wants to argue, but then he nods. “Fair enough. I’ll stay close. You just call me if you need anything.”
He backs toward the door, giving Grace one last glance before slipping out into the hall.
I sink back into the chair beside her bed, dragging a hand down my face. It’s been more than eighteen hours since Emi’s news story. The full moon is tomorrow. And yet no one’s made a move on our house. Zephyr’s monitoring for any online chatter, but hasn’t heard a thing.
Maybe I should call Harris and ask him to send anyone he has—hell, everyone he has—down here. Build a fucking wall of Rangers so strong around my wife that no one and nothing can ever get through.
Leaning forward, I brush my knuckles over Grace’s hand. She doesn’t stir, and I focus on the steady rise and fall of her chest.
“I got you, darlin’,” I murmur, the words rough and low enough I won’t wake her. “Don’t care who tries to get close, don’t care what it costs me—there’s nothin’ I won’t do to keep you safe. Not now. Not ever.”