Grace
Chase was holding me while Cameron was pounding on the door. While he was shouting. While he was threatening to break it down.
Thanks to my imagination, this hour never happened. Chase was never here, wasn’t holding me in a loving embrace, and I didn’t feel there was nowhere else I would rather be than in his arms. It was only my heart playing cruel tricks on me. Because my mind knows who I belong to.
To Cyrus.
That’s why Cameron didn’t see Chase when I opened the door. Because I hid him.
Cameron looked me up and down, his gaze finally settling on my wrist, where a cut marred the skin.
He was searching for fresh scars. Scenting the air for blood like a hound.
But what had happened here wasn’t what he thought.
Yes, I’d been crying. But it didn’t make me feel any worse.
Mom was right: sometimes we have to cry out all our tears to cleanse our souls. To be able to smile again.
“Hey.” Cyrus leans over the bar and kisses my cheek. A smile tugs at the corner of my mouth—one I can’t quite let reach my face. Wendy’s sad eyes stab straight into my heart. Cyrus turns and waves to her, making the poor girl look away, disappointment written all over her face.
“I’m sorry…” I sigh.
“She’ll get over it. Are you finished?”
“Yeah.”
“Cyrus. A moment.” Cameron calls him over, but before he can leave, I place my hand on his.
“I locked myself in the storeroom for an hour. I was crying, but I didn’t do anything bad. Packing the crates got to me—I’m not doing too well right now.”
“Why didn’t you ask for help?” he asks, a note of disapproval in his voice. I don’t have to answer for him to understand—it’s enough to just look at him.
“Put on your coat.”
“Okay.”
It’s my turn to lean over the bar and kiss his cheek.
Cyrus flashes an overwhelming smile at me, making my heart race.
I run into the storeroom and put on my jacket.
When I reach the doorway, I halt and look back at the desk.
I leave Cyrus’s office happily, because nothing has happened here. No one has been here.
I want to heal. Bo’s death gave me momentum—just like Chase’s arrival. If I hadn’t met him, maybe still nothing serious would have happened between Cyrus and me. And feeling like I’m an equal partner in our relationship is important to me as a woman—and as a person, too.
Cyrus says goodbye to everyone with a fist bump, then slides an arm around my waist before we step out into the night. I inhale the cool evening air deeply.
“I’ve been thinking I should get a motorcycle for our trip to California. We could visit a few cities on it, too.”
“You’d look great on a motorcycle,” I agree. “It sounds dangerous, though.”
“I don’t want a sports bike, but something slow and peaceful. Something sexy. I’m new to this, too, baby… Maybe I should get a chopper. You know, the kind where the seat is lower than the handlebars, and the front fork is long.”
“I think I know what type you mean. The ones the bad guys ride in the movies.”
“I’m a good guy.”
His voice is deep and sexy. When he looks at me, goosebumps rise along my skin—his eyes burn with a heat that makes my skin tingle. Cyrus steps in front of me, cups my face in his hands, and kisses me gently, his eyes closed.
From the corner of my eye, I catch a shadow. Someone in a hoodie who, before disappearing into the darkness, mouths the words into the night:
“You’re mine, Grace!”
I shiver as I watch him turn and walk away, his steps slow and deliberate.
I don’t know how long I can keep lying to myself—and to Cyrus. Maybe I can hold on to the lie a little longer. I can live in denial. I can let myself enjoy our relationship reaching a new level. Then… I can face the horrible truth. I can face the fact that the past is repeating itself.
The only difference is that now I have to decide whether I want to fight my fate or finally accept it.
I am his.
Cyrus pushes a stack of colorful magazines under my nose while I’m sipping my caramel milk.
“What’s this?”
“Motorcycles, baby. Bikes.”
“I can see that. I thought the Pontiac was your sweetheart.”
“It is. But it doesn’t hurt to try something new from time to time.”
I’m turning the pages with a smile on my face, then I almost fall off my chair when I see a price tag. “They’re… expensive.”
“We don’t have to buy a new one,” he says, raking his fingers through his messy dark hair. He turns his chair around and rests his muscular arms on the backrest. “You can buy a used one for a quarter of the price. I’m only showing you these to get you familiar with them.”
“My legs are definitely going to tremble.”
“I like it when your legs tremble.”
The milk almost goes down the wrong pipe. My face burns red, and I smile awkwardly.
“Well… I think we have to get used to this new situation.”
“Meaning?” He takes a donut from the box and wolfs down the sticky dessert in two bites, powdered sugar falling onto his dark beard.
“Meaning that you sometimes make remarks like that.”
I smile softly, brush the sugar off his beard, then slip my finger into my mouth and lick off the sweetness.
“Mom called.”
His mom is a sensitive subject. Although much has changed since we last saw her. Maybe she’ll stop being so mean to me once she sees that things are moving in the right direction.
“When are we going?”
“Only I am going.”
“What?”
“I don’t want you to come.”
“I think I should go, Cyrus. I’ve changed a lot recently, and I think it might have a positive effect on our relationship. Greta…”
“It’s not Mom who doesn’t want you to come.”
My breath stops, my lips part slightly. My eyes narrow, boring into the man sitting in front of me. The ceiling fan stirs the hot air with a menacing sound, and our junk of a fridge fights for its life in the July heat, rattling.
“You’re going to be safe here. I’ll get an officer to guard the house. It’s only for a few days.”
“What are you hiding from me, Cyrus?”
“Mom’s in hospital.”
“What?” I cover my mouth with my hand. “Why?”
“Someone beat her up. Her skull is fractured, but she’s stable, thankfully.”
“Who would do something like that?” I slam my fist down on the table. The sweet milk splashes across the motorcycle magazines. I watch as the liquid soaks page after page, leaving small creases behind.
My suspicion is only reinforced by the look in Cyrus’s eyes, which tells me what’s going on without words. The cruel realization pulses mercilessly through my veins. “They figured out you were a cop, didn’t they?”
“I can’t talk about this, Grace.” He crouches down in front of me and takes my hand in his. “All I’m asking is that you trust me and do nothing stupid while I’m away, okay? Can you promise me you’ll be careful?”
“I can. But wouldn’t it be safer if we were together? What if they come for me too—or for you while you’re there?”
“You couldn’t protect me.”
“I can run fast.”
A faint smile curves across Cyrus’s face. He strokes my cheek with his hand.
“Like last time? You couldn’t run.”
His words hit me like a punch—only this time it lands in my wilting heart instead of my head.
“You’re right.” I pull my hand from his and tuck it beneath my thighs. “But the cop who was here the other day… he wasn’t here every second.”
“Well, he has to eat, drink, and pee, too.”
“Of course. I didn’t mean that…”
“Nothing’s going to happen in those few minutes.”
“Can I go to the bar?”
“You’re a grown woman. You can go wherever you want.”
I gulp and give him a restrained nod. I can’t thank him enough for helping me fit back into a world I once moved through so easily.
“How long are you going to be away?”
“No more than a week.”
“A whole week?”
“Mom’s going to need me when they release her. You can reach me on my phone, and if anything happens…”
“I should go to the police station.”
“Yeah.”
“Or”—I hold up a hand—“put me behind bars. Arrest me for a week.”
Cyrus lets out an amused laugh and kisses my brow. Even though I wasn’t kidding. I was dead serious.
He suddenly stands and pulls a brown cardboard box down from the top of the kitchen shelf. He sweeps the motorcycle magazines off the table and sets the box down.
“What’s this?”
“Open it.”
A wide smile spreads across his face as he runs his fingers through his dark hair, leaning his hips against the counter, arms crossed.
I open the box eagerly and pull out the clothes. I lay them in my lap and take a long look at each piece: the tight jeans, the fitted T-shirt, the black leather jacket, and the red biker bandanna.
“These are…”
“Exactly your size.”
My throat goes dry.
“You know that outdoors, I don’t wear anything that shows my body. I know the way I dress is lame—that I might be the opposite of cool—but…”
“You want to wear oversized clothes forever just to hide yourself?” he asks in a gentle voice. He’s careful because it’s a sensitive subject.
“I never really…”
“You used to dress much prettier. More freely. I…” he runs a hand through his hair, “I don’t want you to flaunt your body.
All I want is for you to be free. Wearing those rags only sends the message that your life is a losing battle.
” He kneels in front of me. “I want you to finally be alive. To finally be brave enough to be happy. To show Chase Baker you’re no longer afraid of him. ”
A huge knot forms in my throat. My heart races, my pupils dilating with pure anxiety.
“I think it would only increase his appetite.”
“Even better.”
My brows furrow in confusion. Cyrus’s face darkens, his mouth twisting into a lopsided, wicked smile. “The court would find you innocent. You wouldn’t go to jail.” He kisses the tips of my fingers, one by one.
“Why are you saying that?”
“Since you learnt he’s out there, you’ve kept a knife under your pillow. It would count as self-defense.”
My heart and stomach clench. “Cyrus, I… I can explain,” I stutter.
“You don’t have to. I’d never blame you.”