Give Me Grace

  Lips twitched when Travis tucked his phone back in his pocket at the reminder. He turned to his brother beside him. “Jared, you ring Seth, tell him to do the background checks.”

  Jared shook his head, green eyes amused. “You’re gonna have to speak to him sooner or later, Travis. He works with us now.”

  “Well let’s make it later,” he snapped.

  The door to my hospital room flew open. Mac strode through first, followed by Evie, who was followed by Quinn, the latter two both holding strawberry shakes in their hands. Luke, who’d been mostly quiet throughout our exchange, sucked in a sharp breath. Mac glanced his way and stumbled slightly, her eyes widening.

  Evie veered off, dumping the remains of her shake in the corner bin. Quinn went to the side of Travis, who wrapped one arm around her and yanked her close. He used the other to snatch her shake. Recovering quickly, Mac kept going until she stood between Coby and Mitch. “You wankers finished with your little pow wow? Because Grace is just coming out of surgery, and now that we know she’s going to be fine…” Mac looked at me when she said that, her eyes softening slightly and hardening again real quick. “…we have a bitch to take out, so let’s get on it.”

  “A bitch?” Jared echoed the question for all of us.

  “Morgan.”

  Coby’s eyes shot to his hairline. “How do you know about Morgan?”

  She gave him a look that said bitch, please. “The things I know would chill your blood.”

  “Mac,” I said quietly, my tone warning her to explain.

  She huffed. “Remember in the bar when you and Morgan were having your ‘conversation,’” she air-quoted. “You stepped back and stumbled into someone behind you. Well that someone happened to be me.”

  “Of course it was you,” I mumbled as I swung my legs over the side of the bed, determined to be there when Grace woke up. The effort forced a sweat to break out across my brow.

  “Where’s Henry?” I sucked in a deep breath at the stabbing pain in my ribs.

  “He’s out in the waiting room and Nate is on his way,” Quinn told me.

  “Who’s Nate?” I asked.

  Quinn cocked her head, her lips pressed together in a look of heart-felt sympathy. “Grace’s dad.”

  I closed my eyes and cursed.

  Fucking awesome.

  I breathed in a lungful of sterile antiseptic air and knew where I was before my eyes opened. It was the smell of my past. Not the kind that brought good memories, but the shitty ones. The ones where my mother was so tired and sick it hurt just to look at her. Those memories usually left me cold, but I didn’t feel it this time. Instead, it felt like my body was plugged into a heater. Warmth radiated its heavenly blanket all down my left side. I wanted to cocoon myself in it and not move.

  I turned my head and the smell of antiseptic changed to one of musk and man. I opened my eyes. Casey was lying on his side next to me in a hospital bed, his head resting on the corner of my pillow. His eyes were closed and his long lashes rested softly on his cheeks. My heart beat a little harder. Not only could I feel it, I could hear it. The monitor beside my bed echoed the sound through the room as I stared.

  Brilliant red and purple bruises lined the left side of his face, across his brow, and down to his jawline. Dark smudges circled his eyes.

  “Back off, Casey! I’m taking your Marjorie for a wild ride and you’re not invited!”

  Oh no.

  I pressed my lips together. What had I done?

  “Grace! Look out!”

  I hadn’t seen the car until it was too late. Had I gone through a red light? All I could remember was the blinding glare of headlights; the ear-splitting crunch of metal; and the sharp metallic taste of blood on my tongue. The memory made my stomach roll and my lungs scream for air.

  I drew a deep, shuddering breath and let it out slowly. As though Casey sensed me watching him, his eyes opened, blinking twice before focusing on my face.

  There was silence for a moment as we stared at each other wordlessly. Then I lifted my hand and cupped his face, feeling the soft, scratch of his beard beneath my palm. I liked it. I liked this. Us. Together. No matter if we were on some romantic gondola ride along the Venice canals or here in a hospital bed. Waking up with Casey beside me felt right.

  Huh.

  Was I falling in love?

  If I was, then I was well and truly screwed but I couldn’t seem to care.

  “Hey,” he whispered roughly.

  “Hey,” I whispered back.

  “How are you feeling?”

  “Like an idiot.” I went to shift slightly and realised my right arm was bound tight to my chest. Had I broken it? Two bass guitarists with broken arms? Mac was going to be pissed. I drew my hand from his face, and he took it in his, threading our fingers together.

  “Are you okay?” I asked, taking in the graze on his left brow.

  “I’m fine, just a few scrapes is all,” he replied as I stared at all his bruises. The impact must have been tremendous to cause those. His car had been rammed clear across the intersection.

  Oh God.

  His car.

  His car.

  I closed my eyes and braced for Casey’s anger. I’d destroyed his pride and joy. His baby. Just a bit of scratched leather on the backseat and he’d been ready to put me in the ground, but this was so much worse. “Are you here to finish me off?”

  “Finish you off?” he echoed.

  “I broke your car. No, wait. I stole your car and then I broke it. I don’t know what comes after being dead, but whatever it is, that’s where your car is. And I sent it there,” I breathed, utterly horrified.

  “Open your eyes, Grace.”

  I cleared my throat. “No. I’m good.”

  “Open.”

  “Uh uh.” I squeezed them tighter. “I can’t.”

  “Open.”

  “No.”

  “Yes.”

  “No.”

  “Grace. Open your eyes.”

  His hand loosened on mine and I panicked. Was he going to pry them open himself?

  “Wait!” There was only one way I could fix this. I squeezed his hand so he wouldn’t let go. My grip was feeble but he halted anyway, perhaps out of pity. “I’ll open my eyes.”

  I peeked them open, directing my focus to his neck. It was a nice neck—strong and tanned, his pulse visible in the thick veins. My gaze wandered downwards. There were bruises all along his collarbone too, right where his seat belt would have been. The bruises blurred and I realised it was because my eyes were brimming with tears.

  “Grace.” My name on Casey’s lips was deep and low and rough. He tucked a finger under my chin, tilting my head until I couldn’t look anywhere else but in his eyes.

  “I was thinking …” My voice sounded raspy so I cleared my throat. “Maybe we should start again.”

  “You want another do-over?” A slow, sexy smile overtook his face until his dimples popped. When the beep of my heart monitor increased in time with the flutters in my stomach, his look changed to one of amusement.

  “Yes. I think that would be best.”

  “Okay.” Casey shrugged and then winced, as though the slight movement hurt. “You start.”

  I paused, unprepared. Casey always started our do-overs. “You sure you don’t want to start?”

  “I’m sure.”

  I paused for a moment, buying time as I tried to think about what I wanted to say. Casey watched me, waiting. It made me nervous. “Okay then. I’ll start, shall I?”

  His response was a grin.

  I went back to staring at his neck. “My name’s Grace Paterson,” I began. “I currently play guitar in a band, I have the major hots for the guy who does our security.” I stole a peek at Casey and saw his eyes flash heat. I had to draw a breath before I could continue, “and apparently in my spare time I like to trash cars. Expensive, restored types of the uh, muscled variety. With motherfucker tyres,” I finished. “And I’m really, really sorry.”
/>
  Casey’s brows rose. “Motherfucker tyres?”

  “Tyres so big they could mow down King Kong without losing traction.”

  His body shook with silent laughter.

  “It’s funny I trashed your car?”

  “No, it’s not funny at all, but you don’t need to apologise for it. You didn’t trash my car, Slim. Someone else did that.”

  “They wouldn’t have if I hadn’t stolen it,” I pointed out.

  Casey shrugged and the response surprised me. Where was the anger? The deep burning rage? The threats on my life? Perhaps he was in shock and it hadn’t sunk in yet. I went with that for now because his casual response didn’t make sense.

  “Your turn,” I told him.

  “Okay. My name’s Casey Daniels,” he began in his deep, rumbling voice. He reached up, trailing a finger slowly down my nose and along my brows as he spoke, his eyes following the path of his finger. The touch was sweet and whisper soft. “I do security for a girl in a band who makes me burn hotter than the sun. I’m also an asshole who makes mistakes that hurt the people I care about and for that I’m sorry.” He paused, his eyes sombre as his thumb trailed a path along my bottom lip. “And in my spare time I like restoring trashed cars … with motherfucker tyres,” he emphasised with a twitch of amusement.

  I held my breath when Casey leaned in and brushed his lips softly on mine. The touch was light, but it held just as much impact as the wild and passionate ones we shared earlier that night.

  Casey drew back, running his eyes over my face. “Are you in any pain?” His question was like a catalyst because everywhere suddenly began throbbing like a bass drum. He took a second to press the button on the side of my bed before taking my hand back in his threading our fingers together. “You took most of the impact, Grace. God, you’re lucky to be breathing right now. That car hit us so damn hard.”

  I shivered because I’d never been in a car crash before. It was the oddest sensation. Almost like it was happening to someone else. “How bad off am I?”

  He grimaced. “Lacerations cover pretty much the entire right side of your body. Busted ribs, bruised shoulder, concussion, and a hairline fracture in your right wrist. You broke your arm too, Grace. It was bad enough they had to do surgery to put it back together.”

  I winced. “That sounds bad.”

  “Because it is bad.”

  “There’s no way I’ll be playing a guitar again anytime soon.” Being in the band was like having another family, except you experienced something amazing together that the outside world would never understand. I swallowed the disappointment at losing it. “I loved being up there on stage, being part of something special.”

  “Hey.” Casey gave my hand a squeeze. “You don’t have to leave the band. They can find a place for you.”

  My heart leaped at the possibility before reality intruded with a rude slap, reminding me that sometimes life just wasn’t that easy. For a second my eyes stung with tears. I looked down at our joined hands so Casey wouldn’t see. “You know, I think they really would, but I can’t.”

  “There’s no such thing as can’t. I’m sure I already told you that.”

  “You did.” I peeked up at him from beneath my lashes, a smile forming on my lips. “Right before you defiled me all over the hood of your car.”

  Casey’s lips twitched in response. “That was fun. You should let me defile you again some time.”

  “Well now that playing guitar is out, my schedule is wide open.” I wasn’t sure how well two injured people would go having sex, but there was no way I wasn’t going to try.

  “I’ll miss watching you play,” Casey replied softly, looking into my eyes.

  Casey always stood on the right of the stage wherever we played. I figured it was the side he was most comfortable on. I always found myself gravitating towards him, shooting quick glances his way. His focus would always return to me, his eyes full of heat and something that looked a little like pride. “I’ll miss you watching me play,” I replied equally as softly.

  Mac always stood off to the right side as well, iPad in hand, taking charge while still keeping one eye on the stage watching us. Come to think of it, her eyes always had that streak of pride too. Then I realised something. “I’m going to have to tell Mac I can’t play. She’s going to have a stroke.”

  “She already did.” Casey’s lips twitched again. “You were too busy snoring and missed it.”

  “I don’t snore.” I drew my face back from his, making sure he could see my frown. “Why would you say such a thing?”

  A light rap came at my hospital door, saving Casey from an explanation. It opened and in walked a doctor wearing green scrubs. A surgical mask hung casually around her neck and her tousled black hair was pulled into a knot at her nape. It didn’t detract from the incredible colour—a black so deep it reflected blue in the light as she clicked the door shut and walked to the end of my bed.

  “Miss Paterson. You’re awake.”

  “Grace, please,” I told her.

  “And it appears Mr Daniels is too.” Dancing eyes of sea green turned Casey’s way as she went straight for my chart. Casey started to get up. “You can stay for a few minutes if you like. I was going to come visit you next anyway.”

  “Thanks,” he replied and lay back down with a heavy breath.

  “I’m Doctor Rowan James, Grace. I took care of you when they brought you in.” She flicked through my chart, scribbled something, set it back down and walked to the side of my bed. Flicking on a penlight, she asked how I was feeling while she checked my eyes.

  “Sore,” I mumbled, hissing at the glare of the light. I blinked a couple of times and refocused.

  “That’s to be expected.” She tucked her penlight in her coat pocket and lifted the stethoscope from around her neck. She ran through the list of my injuries while she checked me over, adding that someone would set my arm in a couple of days when the swelling went down.

  “You’re lucky your injuries weren’t life-threatening. With the kind of impact you sustained, the medics rushed you in with suspected internal trauma. The CT scans came back clear. We’ve put a soft cast on your arm for now. When the swelling goes down we’ll put a hard cast on for you but otherwise, you’re going to be fine. Grace …” She paused, casting an assessing gaze between both Casey and myself. “We noticed your recently healed scar in our exam. I think it’s best if I contact your GP to inform them of your injuries. They’ll need to take this into consideration—”

  She broke off when the door opened again. Henry came through, followed by—

  “Dad,” I said loudly, my body tensing with shock when he stepped inside my room.

  My father was usually a handsome man—tanned, shoulders broad and imposing, his eyes the same bright blue my brother inherited. Today he looked like he’d gone through the wringer. His clothes were rumpled, face pale and drawn, his lips tight with fear. My actions put that fear on his face and the knowledge made my insides twist with guilt.

  “Hell,” I heard Casey mumble under his breath.

  With a painful hiss, he turned his body and sat up. Planting his feet on the floor, he stood slowly and faced my family. I liked that he didn’t leave or let go of my hand. Instead, he gave it a squeeze and sent a reassuring smile my way. I got lost in it, somehow forgetting for a second my father was there. Casey had that ability to make me forget everything. I returned his smile.

  Henry cleared his throat pointedly.

  “Dad,” I said, ignoring Henry because I knew he’d have nothing good to say, “this is Casey Daniels.” Dad was busy looking between the both of us and our linked hands. I guess that meant I didn’t need to explain the nature of our relationship. The tightening of Dad’s jaw told me he got it loud and clear. “Casey, this is Nate, my dad.”

  “Son,” Dad replied, holding out his hand.

  I hadn’t mentioned Casey to my father so his response had me sighing with relief. Perhaps it was only in deference to our injuries
and the inquisition would come later. Either way, I was taking it.

  Casey cleared his throat. “Sorry to meet you under these circumstances, sir.” He let go of my hand and took hold of Dad’s, giving it a firm shake. Dad would appreciate that. He was a strong, no-nonsense man and it showed. His brown hair was lightly peppered with grey and closely cropped, and his tall frame displayed his usual weekend attire of jeans and a polo shirt. The clothes were a little worn because it was Dad’s belief that shopping was akin to purgatory. I’d tried sneaking trendier items into his wardrobe a time or two but I’d yet to see him wear any of it.

  “Call me Nate,” Dad barked before letting go. Then he dismissed Casey, his face paling further as he took me in.

  “Oh, love,” he murmured, and I knew what he saw because his face was sad. Mum and I looked so much alike—right down to the exact same shade of eye colour—so seeing me laid out in a hospital bed just brought it all back for him. Tears threatened. I hated seeing him so defeated and alone. Hated it.

  Doctor James stepped away from bed, allowing room for Dad to step in. Telling me she’d be back later, she returned my chart to the end of the bed and gave us privacy.

  Dad leaned over and pressed a kiss on my forehead. When he pulled back I saw his jaw tremble.

  “I’m fine, Dad,” I assured him.

  “She’s not fine,” Henry interjected from beside Dad. Folding his arms, he glared across my hospital bed at Casey.

  “I don’t look that bad,” I insisted, despite having no clue what I looked like.

  There was no purpose to Henry making a big deal over it. It would just upset Dad further. Not to mention I didn’t like the way he glared at Casey as though it was his fault this happened.

  “You do,” Henry contradicted. “You’re a mess. Both your eyes are bruised along with your cheekbone and jaw. You’ve got stitches in your head and dried blood all over you!”

  I believed him. Not only because the tone of his voice rose with each word, but because he looked just as upset as Dad did. I also winced because Casey had lay next to me in bed and seen all that up close. “Well.” I brushed a hand over my forehead and encountered a bandage. “If I’m that hideous, maybe you should leave so you don’t have to keep looking at me.”