17. Alex

Chapter 1 7

Alex

"I'm taking her to the hospital," I insisted gruffly.

"When this happened before, she wanted to be taken home."

"She needs professional help."

"She is professional help, she's a fucking social worker."

"This isn't normal, Mal." I shifted gears, unsure whether to head home or to the hospital. One thought pulsed through my veins: "She's not ok."

"She would be ok if you hadn't grabbed her and thrown her over your shoulder. You scared the shit out of her!" Mallory yelled.

I yelled back. "I didn't know she would —"

A whimper rose from the back seat. In the rearview, she looked asleep.

Panic fluttered wildly around in my chest with the need to fix her.

Mallory hissed, "Last time she said, ‘All they can do at the hospital is check my pulse and send me a bill. I just want to go home and be left alone.'"

‘Feliz Navidad' came on — Christ, how often do they play that fucking song? — but instead of bouncing along, Mallory flicked off the radio before looking out the window.

A few miles passed in tense silence.

"You should learn to drive stick, in case I'm not …"

As she watched me shift. I whispered, "I could teach you. "

"Who would survive the driving Thunder Dome?" she snorted, knowing I would flip my lid when she struggled with the clutch. "I'll ask Dad."

Maybe I'd misjudged my sister. She was impulsive, but that didn't make her unreliable. She knew how to take care of Grace when I was failing.

"How often does this happen?"

"Less than it used to." She pulled down her ponytail and ran her fingers through her hair. "More if she's stressed or not sleeping well. When she's well resourced — meditating, doing yoga, eating right — it's less common, but unexpected things can still be triggers."

"Like what?"

"Obviously being thrown over somebody's shoulder," she said.

I clutched the wheel tighter and felt my teeth grind.

"Sorry, Alex, I shouldn't have … you didn't know she struggles with being upside down. We approach inversion poses carefully at yoga class. She's ok if her feet are on the ground but struggles as soon as her legs go up, so she won't do headstands or forearm balance poses unless I'm there. I've never asked why because it's none of my business, but my guess is her asshole brother Levi dangled her from a tree or something."

My fists clenched the steering wheel tighter at the idea of her brother being rough with her … even though I'd thrown my sister over my shoulder, it hadn't been malicious.

"The memory tonight was from before she transitioned, right? That's why she was confused about her name."

Mallory nodded, then blew out a long exhale. "I've triggered her with much less, and I didn't know …" Her knee started to bounce, voice so quiet I strained to hear.

"I fucked it up the first time. We were watching Home Alone . I didn't realize … I teased her for crying at a kid's movie. Her eyelids were fluttering, but she — she wasn't there, you know? And I panicked. I shook her, screamed her name. I yelled that the family would come back for him, but that only made the crying worse. Mom pulled me off, spoke gently while I paced the hallway. I was a complete mess, I thought I broke my friend, I —" Her breath hitched, and in the lights on her face from highway lights, tear lines reflected on her cheeks .

"How did you know what to say?"

"When she came to work the next day, she explained how even small triggers can make her re-live the most traumatic memories. She coached me on what to say if it happened again. And it did. And it will keep happening, maybe forever. That might have been the hardest part for me to understand. I couldn't fix it for her, but I can be there when she needs me."

She wiped away the tears. "I still fuck it up. One time, I didn't … I didn't get her grounded back into the present well enough, and I asked about her memory, and she started looking around for Elijah. I had to tell her — I had to watch her lose him all over again, Alex." My tough, fierce sister shoved her knuckle into her mouth to hold back a sob.

"Ok, I'll save all my body throwing energy for you, ok, Shrimp?" I reached over to squeeze her nape. "Anything else I should avoid?"

She glared at me skeptically, as if I was looking for Grace's weakness to use in a negotiation and she wanted me to stay away from her entirely.

"Mal … I don't want to hurt her again."

She tucked her leg up onto the bench. "She can usually recognize her triggers and catch herself. If you see her breathing deeply, wiggling her toes, gripping a table or desk, those are some of her coping mechanisms to ground herself."

Oh shit. She'd gripped the chair in the dining room at Carol's house, and when I said her name, she'd looked through me for a minute. Before sharing about her family's kitchen table. Had she been reliving a memory?

"When her body stiffens or her breath hitches, she told me to remind to her breathe, which can be enough to pull her back into the present. But unexpected things send her back, totally out of her control. A scene in a movie, a particular smell. One time it was a hawk."

I paused, thinking through all the ways I could accidentally make her worse. "Sounds like a lot of work, making sure you don't mess up."

"She's my best friend, Lex. She and Kate are the sisters I always wanted. She'd burn down the world for me, and I don't know what I did to deserve that loyalty."

My throat tightened painfully as my sister glanced over her headrest and smiled softly at Grace's restful expression.

I choked out, "She's lucky to have you, Mal. "

"I'm luckier to have her," she said quickly.

"Understatement of the century," I replied dryly.

"Siri, what flowers say, ‘Sorry I was careless and triggered your PTSD?'"

I expected lilies or daisies, but I was wrong. Tulips, apparently. Huh.

I didn't want to give the wrong impression — flowers might seem, ugh, romantic. I went with what I know: Mexican food. Because nothing says, ‘Sorry I made you relive the worst moment of your life' like apology burritos.

Good thing I brought them because when Grace opened the door, wearing an oversized Vermont hoodie and flannel pajamas, with her damp hair loosely braided and the makeup scrubbed off her face, she looked exhausted.

Leaning warily against the door frame, she eyed me cautiously. She shouldn't keep the door open with wet hair, she could catch cold.

"I brought burritos," I said, holding up the paper bag with a cocky smirk.

She didn't budge. Her eyes narrowed on the bag. "Which meat?"

"All of them." I almost ordered two of my regular order, but didn't know if she'd like that, so I asked for one of each. "Plus guac."

"But guac is extra."

"I'm extra," I shrugged. Isn't that something the kids say?

She reluctantly let me in — Thank you, Guac — and set the table for two. When was the last time I ate at an actual table with silverware and napkins, not at my desk while reviewing a contract between calls?

"Did you choose carnitas because your mom made it?" She nodded without looking at me. "Good, then I don't have to share the best choice." I smugly unwrapped the barbacoa. Her eyes crinkled at my fake gloat.

We finished our burritos — well, I finished mine, she ate a third and then wrapped hers up and fidgeted around the kitchen, too polite to kick me out. I could work with that. "What were you doing before I got here? "

"Watching a movie."

"Let's do that, then," I said, moving to her couch with my arm over the backrest. She curled up against the opposite armrest and pressed play.

You seem like a decent fellow, I hate to kill you.

You seem like a decent fellow, I hate to die.

"I love this movie," I whispered. How long had it been since I watched it?

"Mallory and I have watched tons of movies, starting with The Princess Bride ," she yawned. "She's trying to fill in the pop culture I missed."

We watched for a few minutes as a memory surfaced. I couldn't remember the last time I told this story … or any story from my childhood, come to think of it. "One time, Mal, Nick and I all got the flu, and this was the only movie we could agree on. I tried to convince them that Humperdinck did nothing wrong. He was a prince, she was beautiful and single … of course he'd woo her! Why does that make him the villain?"

Grace covered her mouth, but I couldn't tell if it was in laughter or horror. "Mal told me that story years ago. I wondered if you believed that or were trying to get her goat."

Only Grace could look cute saying a ridiculous phrase like ‘get her goat.'

"Now that you've met me, what do you think?"

"I think," she said softly, those gorgeous hazel eyes meeting mine assessingly, little flecks of green glimmering. Her soft lips tilted up into a knowing grin, "There's more to you than meets the eye, Alexander Clarke."

Not sure what to say, I tugged her into the crook of my arm, where she hesitated before relaxing into my chest. I tucked the blanket around her as Westley led Buttercup into the Fire Swamp.

Slowly her head drooped, her weight heavier on my chest as her breathing shallowed. Knowing how exhausting her night had been, I stayed still so long that my arm fell asleep. Once I was sure she was out, I carefully lifted her sleeping body, her head lolling against my shoulder.

I settled her into her bed, watching fondly as she curled up on her side and sighed into her pillow. I would stay to finish the movie while I caught up on my email, which I hadn't checked in hours .

But as I pivoted, she said my name so quietly I almost missed it. Her hand stretched out, fingertips grazing the inside of my wrist.

That was it. Her whole request.

She could be so persuasive — standing up to me for my dad and her patients — but only for somebody else. She wouldn't ask me to stay.

I slid under the sheets on the bed's opposite side. Her body rolled to face me, and I slipped an arm under her neck.

"Come here, baby," I said, surprised as the affectionate term slid out … and even more surprised to feel her twitch away, her reaction so minimal I wouldn't have noticed it if we weren't so close. I wondered if somebody had called her baby before and it hurt her. Would she have told me not to call her that if I hadn't seen her reaction up close?

My mind spun to course correct. At the tree farm, Mallory had called her ‘honey' and ‘sweetheart,' and she was both of those — so damn sweet, always.

But I didn't want to use my sister's terms.

The kids want a show, darling. The word felt right under the mistletoe, and she'd tilted her head back so I could kiss her.

"It's ok, darling," I murmured and felt her tightly held exhale releasing like a balloon deflating.

Her breath caught in her throat. I relaxed my hold, afraid I'd done something wrong. Her fingertips slid down my waist, pressing her cheek into my chest.

My shirt felt wet, because Grace was crying: hands fisted in my shirt and chest shuddering. Restrained. Strong. And yet … fragile.

Grace gives with both hands and never saves anything for herself.

She loves deeper than anyone, even when she's the most likely to get hurt.

She'd burn down the world for me. I don't know what I did to deserve that.

I like to believe the best in people.

She believed in me, even when I responded with cynicism. After all she'd done for me without asking for payback … this was the least I could do. I'd stay a few minutes, then go home and get to work.

So I closed my eyes and held her.

She doesn't press the snooze button. Is she even human?

When her alarm went off at some ungodly hour before sunrise, she muted it and slipped out of bed. It shouldn't have woken me, but after how badly I fucked up last night, I felt closely attuned to her. But it was too early to get up, so I dozed back off.

I'm climbing a winding stone staircase, the sprawling city stretches below. Over the hills, fog hovers on the Golden Gate Bridge, the majestic red towers piercing the mist. Cable cars clang, the salty tang of the sea on my tongue. The steps go on forever.

Huh, that was weird. I never dreamed, my brain was usually too tired from work. Must be what I get for going to bed at 8pm instead of working until I fell asleep at my desk, crumpled over paperwork.

My eyes blinked open to see Grace on a pillow on the floor, legs crossed and eyes closed. Why had she gotten out of bed just to fall back asleep sitting up? Her breathing was slow and measured, fingertips resting on her knees. Wait, was she meditating? I thought yoga teachers only suggested that to make people feel inferior … but here she was, doing it willingly instead of sleeping.

Since her eyes were closed, I examined her. Her forehead looked relaxed instead of furrowed with worry. Her lips were parted and damned if her mouth didn't look more kissable than ever. My gaze lowered down her neck and over her shoulders to her chest, rising and falling. As I peeked out from under her blankets, her nipples stiffened.

"You're being very distracting," she said quietly, not shifting her position.

"How did you even know I was awake?"

She opened one eye. "You stopped snoring."

"I don't snore," I said defensively.

She snorted lightly and closed her eye, chest lifting in a long breath.

"Isn't meditation about tuning out distractions? I'm helping you. "

"So altruistic." After a few more deep breaths, she said, "I have enough internal chatter for a lifetime, I don't need more external distractions."

I took that as my cue to doze back off and tumbled back into the dream.

Finally, I arrive at the top of the staircase to find a charming townhouse adorned with gingerbread trim and vibrant wisteria spilling from window boxes. My legs pump. The house recedes as I draw closer.

I roused again to see Grace on her yoga mat, muscles shifting lithely in sync with her steady breathing. Each pose flowed fluidly, with none of the awkward transitions I felt when my sister dragged me to class. Her back arched elegantly and a peaceful smile hovered on her lips. Flyaway hair escaped her braid in a halo.

She tilted her head to meet my eyes. "Care to join me?"

"Aren't you teaching later today?" Wouldn't that count as her daily yoga?

"That's for them." She bent forward on an exhalation until her palms touched the floor, then straightened her back on an inhale. "This is for me."

I closed my eyes again, dozing once more to the soothing rhythm of her breath.

She stands on the townhouse porch, long brown hair drifting in the wind, hazel eyes tracking my approach. She bends and when she stands —

Her hand brushed my hair. "Huevos rancheros or blueberry muffins?"

She's the perfect woman.

I opened my eyes halfway. She leaned over the bed, a sheen of sweat glistening on her olive skin, yoga shirt clinging to her breasts. Her nail skimmed my scalp, sending a pulse down my spine to my already alert dick. "Do I have to choose?"

"I knew you'd say that, so I'm making both." She turned towards the kitchen, giving me a view of that mouthwatering ass.

Without thinking, I brushed the inside of her wrist, and said, "Come back to bed." When her body stilled, I added, "Please."

It was the ‘please' that caught her attention, like the Dread Pirate Roberts. Maybe I should try that more often.

I slid over, leaving my bottom arm stretched along her pillow. She hesitated, glancing at the timer on the oven as I gently pulled her under the blanket. "How are you feeling today? Meditation and yoga, that helps?"

"Yeah, now I mostly feel embarrassed." She rested her head on my forearm.

"If anybody should feel bad, it's me," I brought my hand to stroke her bicep. How was her skin so soft? "Mallory said your reaction was out of your control. No reason to be embarrassed, ok?"

She nodded but wasn't convinced, averting her eyes. I racked my brain for a subject … but laying here in her warm bed, I didn't want to talk. I wanted to kiss her for real, no more of those shitty little Santa kisses.

Usually, I would make the first move, but she was always so nervous. I didn't want to betray that cautious trust.

Remembering what Dad said about the men who thought they knew her body better than she did, I hesitated, not wanting to move too fast and freak her out. So what was I supposed to do?

Her eyes shifted to the kitchen and her hips tilted away from me.

"I have a confession," I blurted out. Her wary eyes found mine. "I didn't expect to like being Santa, but the kids' reaction was worth it, seeing their eyes light up with joy. I'll do it again, whenever you ask. But Grace …" I let my hand fall from her bicep to rest lightly on her waist, "Your coworkers were right. I only volunteered for the second time to kiss you again."

Her eyes widened and she let out a shaky breath. "Seriously?"

"Seriously," I said, weighing how much to reveal next and deciding to go for it. "I wasn't pretending in the sensory room. You were right to stop me, but I was only thinking about how beautiful you looked."

"After you teased me to my coworkers, I thought …" She lifted her top hand to run over her open mouth in surprise. The flush of her cheeks spurred me on.

"And I wanted to kiss you at the tree farm last night … until Mallory pelted me with that snowball. Aside from my sister's face being an instant boner killer," I complained and her full smile appeared, "I wondered why you two were yelling about dogs."

Her laughter resonated down to my groin. "It's from Elf ."

I ignored all my negotiation training about playing my cards close to my chest. If I was going to strike out, I'd go down swinging.

"I can't tell if you want to kiss, and I don't want to overstep. So the ball's in your court."

Her smile faltered. Her gaze dropped to my mouth, then roamed back to my eyes, testing my sincerity. While she considered, I didn't mind having my hand at the swell of her waist against the soft fabric of her tank top. Her hands tensed to push me away, and I braced for rejection.

Then her hand rose up to my neck, and she leaned forward to skim her lips over mine. Her kiss was sweet and sensitive, cautious but curious, tentative yet tender. Just like her.