Chapter Five Mercy #2
My circumstances included some college friends who loved me but lived multiple states over.
The friendships with fellow teachers I’d formed at school (trauma-bonded, one might call it, from having to deal with the politics involved in teaching) and with Rae (who’d called me daily and only sobbed through our first phone call as I assured her that yes, I was fine, and yes, I remembered her).
They’d also landed me a husband, who was my emergency contact and roommate, and I had no idea what to do with the latter part of that descriptor.
No matter how confusing this all was, I could begrudgingly admit the Grant I knew—imperious, untouchable, aloof—was the version of him locked in the past.
Whether he was that same man remained to be seen.
“Thank you for the pajamas,” I told him.
My gratitude seemed to take him by surprise, just a flash of it in his eyes, there and gone again in less than a heartbeat. “Of course.” He paused. “They’re your favorite.”
The easy reply sank quick and heavy in my gut. The reminders would be endless, and if I were to gird my loins for anything as I faced the end of my time in the hospital, I’d need to gird the shit out of them for this.
Not Grant’s eyes or the tailoring of his very expensive-looking pants, even though both of those things garnered their own distinct internal reaction.
It was the fact that he’d need to do this with everything, would need to remind me of my preferences.
Every day. Until, hopefully, my brain decided it was done with the Sleeping Beauty act.
Without the buffer of Nell, the room went quiet, and I stared down at my pajamas, praying they’d become sentient and throw me a lifeline in the form of a well-timed distraction.
I found myself smiling instead.
“What is it?”
I glanced up. “Oh, just wishing I had these yesterday.”
He tucked his hands into his pockets—the picture of easy wealth—and moved farther into the room. “Why’s that?”
“While on my post-lunch walk with the physical therapist, I flashed my ass to the entire hallway.”
“Did you, now? How unfortunate.”
I gave him a dry look.
Grant glanced down, his facial expression hidden completely.
“A sweet old lady wheeled up behind me and said, ‘Honey, if mine looked that good, I’d walk around naked, too, but I think you’re giving the dirty old men a few too many ideas.’”
He exhaled softly, too quietly for me to know whether he was hiding a laugh, and the look in his eye when he raised his head was lethal. “Undoubtedly.”
Was he . . . was he flirting with me?
No. There was no way.
The idea of Grant flirting with anything except the bottom line on his trust fund was almost laughable.
Long stretches of silence made me really twitchy, and even though I tried to wait him out to see what he might say next, the impulse to speak won. “What have you been doing the last week? When you’re not here.”
Grant’s eyebrows rose slowly as he seated himself in the chair tucked into the corner of the room, leveling his gaze on me as he crossed one long leg over the other. “Doing some work. Trying not to make things worse, as it were.”
Oh. Well. If he was going to be earnest and straightforward and do it while making intense eye contact . . .
“Thank you. For giving me space.”
He nodded, dropping his gaze down to the floor while he seemed to consider something. “I didn’t stay away entirely,” he added softly.
“Yeah, the non-lurking in the hallway—I heard.” I gave a pointed look to his tailored pants. “The nurses were all aflutter over those pants.”
“These trousers,” he amended haughtily, “are my favorite cut.”
“Of course they are. Everyone that passes can tell that you were the envy of the boys’ locker room.”
He lowered his voice. “Paying close attention, are you?”
“I can’t help it.” I kept my attention on his face, instead of where his big, veiny man hands rested just above the expensive leather belt holding up his even more expensive pants. “You know exactly what you’re doing wearing those.”
Grant hummed, and the sound wasn’t entirely unpleasant. “Why would one want anything that doesn’t fit perfectly? Not that you understand. Your loungewear is egregiously large.”
The smooth way he said it sent my belly into a riotous flip. I’d never flipped anything around this man, but knowing he was something to me, something mysterious and undefined, forced me to look at him differently. Define him differently.
Grant tilted his head. “What is it?”
I thought about brushing it off, but to be honest, I was so fucking tired of being trapped in this room with only my thoughts as company.
“Cognitive dissonance.”
His eyes were steady. “How so?”
“I don’t know what to do with you,” I admitted. “First, because the only role I’ve ever placed you in was ‘obnoxious prat.’”
“I’m still that. I annoy you on the daily, have no fear.” His eyes warmed slightly. “Shall I stop flirting?”
“So you were. Wasn’t sure you had it in you, Hastings.”
“Oh, I’ve learned all sorts of new skills, darling.”
My chest felt tight, the stirrings of cold anxiety kick-starting before I had a chance to talk myself out of it. “See, now you’re trying to throw me off.”
He paused, probably sensing the timidity that had crept into my voice without my permission.
The last week, more than anything, had come with a horrific sense of weakness, and I hated it.
Hated that someone had to help me shower.
Help me change. Make sure I wasn’t walking too far, too fast. Help my body build enough strength so that sending me home wouldn’t fuck something up further.
I was almost there, I could feel it. But leaving the relative safety net of Nell and the other nurses and the wonderful doctors and the bland artwork came with a different sort of fragility.
I’d have to rely on him. I didn’t even know if I could trust him yet.
I’d only trusted one man in my entire life. And he was gone.
Grant’s face was resolute as he sat back in his chair and regarded me steadily with those stormy gray eyes. “You have my word that I’m not. For a moment . . .” He paused, seeming to choose his words carefully. “For a moment you were like yourself again.”
I drew myself up, allowing my chin a challenging tilt. “I’m still myself. I’m just short a few memories.”
The words didn’t land the way I wanted, though. They rang hollow. If I said it enough, if I infused my voice with enough strength, maybe . . . maybe I’d believe it.
“I know,” he said softly. “The more you terrorize me, the more I’m realizing that.”
“Well, that’s good to know.” I crossed my arms. “I’d hate to think I went easy on you just because you put a pretty rock on my finger. I’m assuming it’s pretty, at least.”
Grant leaned his head back and closed his eyes, the faintest curve to his lips. “Never easy. I can promise you that.”
Just as a snarky response danced on the tip of my tongue, the door opened and Dr. Washington came in, a wide smile on her face.
“How are we doing tonight?”
“Fine.” I knew the drill by now. The things she’d check. The questions she’d ask.
She took a seat on the stool, adjusting the computer screen to a comfortable height as she scrolled through the nurses’ notes. “Heard I missed quite the show yesterday.”
“It’s like no one’s seen a bare ass before.”
Dr. Washington laughed. “Fred in the room next door said it was the best part of his week. Wanted to send you flowers, but I told him it might make your husband jealous.”
“Not at all,” Grant interjected. “Rather a sign of good taste, don’t you think?”
I narrowed my eyes, and Grant did nothing but meet my look with an unflinching one of his own.
“How would you like to go home, Mercy?”
My head snapped toward Dr. Washington. “Really? It’s not . . . it’s not too soon?”
“No,” she answered. “You’re regaining your strength. PT is very happy with your progress. Vitals are good. I think the best thing for you is to get back to as normal of a routine as you can manage and do the rest at home.”
Home.
Another thing I didn’t remember.
My gaze darted to Grant, who was staring at the ground, his hands clenched tightly in his lap.
I inhaled slowly, then let it out in a great, big rush. “Okay. When do I leave?”
“Tomorrow, if that works for the two of you.”
Grant’s eyes locked on mine, and I noticed the slightest hint of pink along the edge of his high cheekbones. He gave me a slight nod, and I pressed a hand to my fluttery belly.
“Tomorrow, then,” I said in a wobbly voice. “Great.”