3. Grace

Chapter 3

Grace

Drool caked on my cheek, my mouth tasted like butt, and my throat ached from the drier hospital air. Dazed, I looked around: Bruce's hospital room, 1:42am. He slept, his cheeks rosier and the monitors showing strong vital signs. But if he was sleeping, what woke me?

"Sir, visiting hours are over," Carla's stern voice carried from the hallway.

"You don't understand," came an agitated grumble that sounded oddly familiar in my half-awake state. "I got here as soon as I could."

"No, sir, you don't understand," Carla said in her ready-to-call-security voice. "Visiting hours ended five hours ago."

As a social worker, I've trained in crisis de-escalation. On the other hand, I'd had a heck of a day, and if I hid out here, security would escort him out. But on the other-other hand, Carla was out there alone with this jerk.

Summoning the patience of generations of women dealing with men who didn't think the rules applied to them, I stepped into the hallway, where my gaze landed on the hottest man I'd ever seen.

Maybe I was dreaming next to Bruce's bed, and when I blinked, I'd see a balding septuagenarian with a beer gut and neck goiter. I rubbed my eyes, squinting into the bright hallway light. Nope, with his raven strands pressed away from an angular face, the man looked like a fallen angel caught between realms.

"His name is Bruce Clarke," he said, pressing his fingertip emphatically into the countertop. "I'm his son, and I need to see him right away."

Holy heck, that tall drink of water was Alexander Clarke.

His tiny picture on his company website, sporting that perfect haircut and cocky grin, hadn't done justice to how devastating he looked in the flesh. A charcoal suit jacket stretched over his broad shoulders, crisp white shirt unbuttoned at the collar. He'd run his hands through his hair enough that a disheveled cluster fell over his forehead. A scruffy five o'clock shadow haunted his angular jaw, and his full lips pulled down into a scowl.

My fingers trembled as I ran my sweaty palms over my legs. The movement must have caught Carla's peripheral vision and she broke their staredown. When she turned to face me, his forehead fell into the cradle of his index finger and thumb in exasperation.

No, not quite. When we'd spoken nine hours ago, he'd been in California. That wasn't exasperation on his face, that was exhaustion.

You and me both, Big Guy.

"What are you doing, Grace?" Carla asked.

Alexander's head lifted at my name, his intense gaze trapping me like a butterfly behind glass, challenging me to shrink from his scrutiny.

But this hospital was my workplace, I had home field advantage. So I bit back my nerves to hold his gaze.

"Are you the girl who called me?" His voice was gruff as he stood to his full imposing height. "Why are you here? You said you work for my sister."

"Only part-time." My overtired voice came out hoarse. "This is my day job."

"Looks like your day job ran late," he said, sauntering closer. "Because you waited for me."

I tucked my arms to my torso to disguise the rapid beating of my heart. My lips parted to explain: Not on purpose! I fell asleep! But he'd spoken with such assurance, I questioned my intentions. Had I been waiting for him? Maybe somehow I'd known …

When I closed my mouth, my lack of denial served as confirmation. The left corner of his mouth hitched a fraction, the start of a crooked grin. Oh my god, if he didn't stop being so hot, my knees would buckle like a newborn foal.

He stood closer than necessary in a pose of casual power, legs wide and hand tucked into his pocket, forcing me to look up at him.

It was definitely an intimidation tactic, and it was definitely working … but I wouldn't let him see that. I knew from a childhood arguing with three brothers that if I gave him the upper hand I'd never gain it back .

I unfurled my arms, striking my own hands-on-hip power pose. "I like to believe the best in people."

"That's a bit naive, don't you think?"

"I prefer to think it's optimistic." I raised my chin boldly. "And you're here, aren't you?"

"I am." His mouth lifted into a cocky smirk. "Against all odds."

His messy hair scattered across his forehead, casting a fascinating shadow, and I squeezed my fists to stop myself from brushing it out of his face. Nobody should look this good in a hospital's unforgiving fluorescent lights, especially after a cross-country flight.

He leaned down close enough to smell: leather, peppermint and authority. "Now are you going to let me in, Grace?"

A shiver ran down my spine at that seductive tone. He could have said, ‘Now are you going to bury this body, Grace?' and I would have tripped over myself to find the shovel.

He looked over my shoulder. Right, I'd completely forgotten that I was on the threshold of his father's hospital room, blocking his entrance.

I peered around his impossibly broad shoulder at Carla, standing inside the nurses' station with her chin perched on her fist, looking ready to pull out a bucket of popcorn.

I widened my eyes, asking permission.

She held up two hands, giving me ten minutes.

I dipped my chin in thanks.

Her wrist flicked, fanning herself.

I felt my cheeks redden as I gave a faint eye roll.

She smirked.

I tilted my head half an inch to look up at Alexander, still crowding my space. He wore a smug grin, as if the entire nonverbal conversation had broadcast over my face. The jerk knew he'd won, and he was gloating.

Saving face, I stepped backwards and pivoted to wash my hands. Above the sink, I winced at my reflection: clumped mascara, worn-off lipstick, stringy hair. The perfect look for close contact with the sexiest man alive .

In the mirror's reflection, his gaze started at my boots, paused over my hips, and slid up my spine. I pulled a paper towel and moved out of his way, watching as he stepped to the sink.

He rolled up his sleeves to reveal his short fingernails, the taut muscles of his veined forearms, and the glimmer of an expensive gold watch, the kind that costs more than my annual salary.

And no ring.

I don't know why I noticed that.

After a quick dry, he turned to his father's hospital bed.

His shoulders tightened and nostrils flared.

I should look away. Give him privacy.

His bottom lip retreated slightly behind his teeth.

I shouldn't be here.

I should wait in the hall.

His hand rubbed his neck, tugging at his collar.

I knew I should leave.

But I didn't.

I stepped closer to place a reassuring hand on his shoulder … but at the last second, I followed my gut and slid my hand into his.

His palm flinched, startled fingers contracting. Abort mission!

But when I tried to retreat, his fingertips tightened, realigning my hand to interlace our fingers. His pulse raced where our wrists touched.

I couldn't explain why I reached for him. Maybe it was because Mallory had done it for me. Maybe it was the stillness of the hospital. Maybe it was the impropriety of being alone with him. All I knew was that he needed comfort.

His coarse voice pierced the silence. "Is he …?"

"He'll have scarring and mobility issues, and need cardiac rehab." But this wasn't just any patient; this was his dad, my Bruce. "Already, he's not as pale."

"This is … better?" he blinked, assessing his father's complexion.

"He was making jokes before, flirting with your mom as usual." His lip lifted as his thumb traced a circle on the back of my hand. "He's on morphine to make breathing and sleeping easier, but I bet he'll be back on the slopes outskiing us next year. "

Alexander snickered. "He'll never outski me."

"Just me, I guess."

His neck swiveled.

On the phone, my proximity to his dad had been explained by the ribbon cutting. In the hallway, I'd been a staff member gatekeeping his access. But with this look, it felt like he was seeing me for the first time. The hairs on the back of my neck lifted. "He took you skiing?"

"Yeah, we stayed at the cabin. I slept in your bed up in the attic."

Footsteps echoed behind us. I attempted to pull away my hand, but his grip tightened.

"Alright, lovebirds," Carla said. "Nocturnal visiting hours are over."

As I twisted to peer at Carla between our shoulders, a facade of arrogance snapped over Alexander's features like a welder's mask, shuttering off any vulnerability.

"Thanks for making an exception for us." I smiled at Carla.

"For you," she pointed a scolding finger. "Don't make it a habit."

Alexander looked down in confusion at our interlaced hands, my olive skin against his pale fingers. When he tugged, I stumbled a few steps until I lengthened my stride to match his pace. He retrieved his luggage and briefcase, which he'd left at the nurses' station with the implicit expectation that Carla would hold them like a hotel concierge.

I finally extricated my hand. "You should go home, your mom will want to see you." Knowing Helen's sensitive emotions, she'd probably want to cry into his giant chest, but she'd resist because he'd be too stoic.

His lips pressed into a tight line, opening his phone's ride share app. I should have let him order an Uber, I really should have … "I'll give you a ride. That's what friends do."

What was I doing, offering a ride to a man I'd met twenty minutes ago? The two of us alone in my car in the middle of the night? I knew his family, I didn't know him.

At least I had Carla as a witness. If they found my body in a dumpster, she could give the sketch artist a description: Batman-era Christian Bale meets Chris Pine without the weird lips. All the female detectives would volunteer to work the case.

He glanced up from the screen, brow raised. "You think we're friends."

"I mean, I'm friends with your sister, and —"

"So by the transitive property of inequality, if I'm her brother, and you're her friend, that makes you … mine." Only a lawyer would use words that big this late at night, and his logic made my head spin. He sighed in resignation. "Fine, you can drive me."

I loudly announced to Carla that I'd be back at 8am sharp tomorrow — or later today, I guess — and told Alexander to meet me in the lobby, but instead he followed me to the pediatric ward. Flicking my badge at my office door, I grabbed my coat and purse and wrapped my scarf around my neck, a hand-knit gift from my favorite patient's grandma.

When I re-emerged, I froze.

He glared at the sensory room door, tied with the wilted red ribbon. His nostrils flared as he prowled forward, clenched his fingers around the bow and tugged. The fabric snapped and drifted lazily to the floor.

Guess we didn't need those enormous ceremonial scissors.

"Well, that's done," he said, gesturing for me to walk ahead of him. What a gentleman.

The heat of his fingertips warming my back through my coat. The only sounds in the hallway were the roll of his suitcase, the clip of his polished wingtips, and the click of my heeled boots.

I should have felt scared, walking in the middle of the night with an unknown man … but I didn't. Usually I was on high alert, avoiding staying out too late, texting Mallory every location on the rare occasion I dated.

But this time, none of my usual fight-or-flight kicked in. I was nervous and cold, but not scared. The lack of fear was, in itself, distressing.

When you're used to living in anxiety, its absence can feel alarming.

Our footsteps echoed through the nearly-deserted employee lot, crunching over old snow as fresh flakes swirled in the air. My old truck sat in the glow of a streetlamp, the rust spots looking darker knowing his judgmental eyes were inspecting. I waited at the tailgate as he effortlessly lifted his suitcase into the truck bed.

When his intense gaze locked onto mine again, I couldn't avert my eyes. Truth be told, I didn't want to. In the moonlight, his cobalt eyes reflected the vast expanse of the clear night sky. His gaze held galaxies, the nearby Christmas lights reflected into constellations. Scanning my face, his irises mimicked shooting stars.

His gaze lingered on my mouth, following the path of my hair down my neck, like he could see my racing pulse. I held my breath, willing myself not to swallow so he'd be less likely to notice my Adam's apple as I tucked my chin into the comfort of my scarf.

A chilly wind pushed between us, prompting a shiver down my spine and lifting my long hair across my face. His hand rose out of his pocket, fingertip reaching towards my cheek to brush the hair out of my face. I instinctively shifted my weight onto my back leg. His hand hovered between our bodies before he shoved it into his coat pocket. He climbed into the truck and after a steadying breath, I lifted myself into the driver's seat.

The once-comfortable silence from the hospital room now felt oppressive.

"Your dad's not my patient," I said to fill the chasm. "My shift was done at five, I was only there because —"

"I don't need an explanation, Grace." His words were clipped, but at least he got my name right this time. He bent forward to rustle in his briefcase.

As the engine roared to life — I mean roared, the truck desperately needed a new muffler — Bing Crosby crooned over the engine noise, "Please have snow and mistletoe, and presents under the tree …"

I twisted down the volume and glanced across the cab at Alexander, scribbling in a black leather hardcover notebook with silver-edged paper. "You said six weeks of cardiac rehab?"

I cleared my throat to revert to clinical Grace, but my voice came out raspier than I liked. "The doctors will decide, but it's usually 6-8 weeks." He scratched a note, sliding the ribbon into place and dropping the notebook into his leather briefcase .

Looking around the cab, he barely concealed his disdain at my rusty 15-year old Chevy Silverado with 200,000 miles on it, eyes narrowing at the hula girl Mallory had adhered the dash and named Yolanda.

As I pressed the clutch and left the parking lot, Alex's gaze tracked my hand on the gear shift, reluctantly impressed. "Haven't driven one of those in a while."

His tone sounded dismayed I would keep this old, rusty beast alive instead of trading her in for something newer, smaller, and easier to drive. I questioned that myself sometimes, when I spent more on repairs than I would on a new car payment.

I didn't want to tell him that this truck was my last connection to my twin brother Elijah.

We bought it together to drive to college ten years ago. Eight years ago I'd taken it to drop him at the airport, not knowing it would be the last time we would talk because my entire life would implode four months later.

Now I couldn't release my final connection to him, wherever he was.

Instead, I loving ran my palm along the dash. "They don't make them like they used to."

Alexander grunted in acknowledgment and dropped his forehead against the passenger side window. As we drove past my street, his head tilted to look down the road towards his aunt and uncle's house, not knowing I lived in the apartment above their detached garage.

We turned onto Broadway and the sight took my breath away. The typically bustling thoroughfare was vacant, lit only by the Christmas lights strung up the lamp posts and around hanging wreaths. A flurry of snow drifted aimlessly in the beams of my headlights, giving the impression of driving through a swirling snow globe: The two of us alone in the world, living outside time.

I lifted a finger to point to the second-floor of a brick building, lined with twinkle lights to cast a soft glow. "The one with the arched windows is your sister's yoga studio."

His gaze followed my finger, eyebrows drawn in surprise, then fell to the dirty snow bank in front of it as he muttered against the glass pane, "I forgot how much snow you get here. "

"You should have seen it last week, seven inches in a day, but most of it has already melted," I said, thrilled to have something to talk about, even if it was the weather. "And they're forecasting another 8-10 inches on Friday."

"But I didn't forget how smug New Yorkers are about snow.".

I glanced across the center console at the soft lights reflecting off a subdued smirk. Was he … teasing me? Did he do that?

I shot back a soft barb. "Of the two of us, you think I'm the smug one?"

The left side of his smirk rose, the start of that dangerous grin. I snapped my neck forward to prevent being mesmerized and steering us off the road. "You don't get snow in San Francisco?"

I couldn't tell if his sigh was a wistful ‘I miss the snow' sigh or an annoyed ‘what an idiot' sigh. "Rarely, and it doesn't stick. Mostly rain."

"I can't imagine Christmas without snow."

"You don't have to shovel rain."

I chuckled. "When was your last White Christmas?"

He brought his hand up to his neck, rubbing casually. "I think I flew home with Nick."

His hand stilled, as if he wanted to take back his words about Nick, Mallory's other brother, who was now a famous Emmy-winning actor. Mallory had never flaunted her middle brother's fame — in fact, she didn't mention it until his filming schedule slipped out talking with her parents. Apparently when he got famous, old ‘friends' expected favors and handouts.

Based on his stiff posture, I wondered if Alexander kept a tight lid on the relationship. I had to tread carefully, wanting to show him I knew but didn't care.

I licked my lips. "Before he got The Twelve?"

He stiffened and glanced across the seat, eyes narrowed.

"That would be seven or eight years ago. Since your last Christmas at home."

He stared out the window. "Something like that."

"Well maybe you'll get a White Christmas this year."

"Hopefully I won't be here long enough to find out," he muttered.

We drove in silence for the final half mile to his parents' house, as Bing Crosby finished up with his chilling line, " if only in my dreams . "

I hadn't been home in nearly eight years, either. Since that final Christmas, I'd been a reluctant holiday tag-along: first my college roommate's family, then my ex-girlfriend Shannon's family, now Mallory's family. As I passed new dishes around a different table, I thought about my family's traditions: Did Nanna still bake her famous pies? Did Mama make ham, or had she switched to beef?

I pictured them gathering around our tiny kitchen table, reaching over my empty place setting. The day I left, my oldest brother Isaac had been with his girlfriend's family … was she still around? Had they given my seat to her, the way the Clarkes reassigned Alex's seat to me? Had Levi and Elijah settled down with girlfriends or wives of their own? Was my parents' house filled with nieces and nephews I'd never meet?

My heart longed for their cheerful celebration, indifferent to my absence. Would I ever again feel the sense of belonging that had been torn from me?

I pulled into the Clarkes' driveway as Alexander's eyes swept over his childhood home. A soft exhale passed his lips, the same relief I'd felt every Sunday for three years as I pulled into this driveway for movie night. After our first viewing of The Princess Bride , when Mallory realized how sheltered I'd been, she'd made it her mission to catch me up on pop culture. My apartment was too small and Mallory's was too messy — she waved off her clutter as 'maximalist decor' — so we took up weekly residence on her parents' sectional sofa.

I thought of all the times Helen welcomed my arrival with a warm kiss and request to weigh in on her pasta sauce seasoning. All the times Bruce took a generous slice of a new pie recipe I was testing and Mallory grinned in approval when he called me his favorite daughter.

I thought about my trips here without Mallory for what she christened ‘Hobbit Nerd Nights' to watch The Lord of the Rings with Bruce since she didn't want to bother learning all the characters. Bruce and I watched Frodo bid farewell to his beloved Shire, tears welling in both our eyes as Bilbo stayed home while his nephew embarked on his journey. I'd been thinking of Elijah hugging me goodbye at the airport, not knowing that when he came home, I would be gone. Had Elijah been as displaced as Frodo when he returned, like his world had moved on without him?

How would I feel, returning to my childhood home as a different person ?

Bruce hadn't judged my tears like my father would have, criticizing me for being too sensitive. He simply shifted a tissue box across the couch, saving a few for himself, possibly thinking of his sons leaving to chase their dreams and wondering if they'd ever return to their home. This home.

I cut the engine and turned to the man sitting next to me. I'd spend three years visiting his family's home, three years hearing stories about him in his absence … yet he hadn't recognized my name when I called. When he walked into this house, he'd walk straight up to the room that was still his.

This house felt like my second home, but it was still more his than mine.

I'd been welcomed at Shannon's parents' house, yet that ended when she decided our relationship was over. As Mallory's employee, my connection to the Clarkes was even more tenuous. They would welcome me for as long as Mallory allowed, but if I broke her trust, I'd be cut off from her family too.

The same way my father cast me out of mine.

The Clarkes' house blurred as I blinked back tears, making a silent vow that if by some miracle I ever had the children I wanted, I'd provide a home like this one. They would know deep in their bones they would always have a place that was theirs, an instilled sense of belonging that could never be taken away.

They'd know that they could always come home.

"Thanks for the ride," Alexander said, his face illuminated by the dome lights as he opened the door.

"I'll text you tomorrow morning with an update before visiting hours. I mean, official visiting hours."

His eyes crinkled in a momentary smirk before he stepped out of the car, threw his briefcase strap over his shoulder, and collected his suitcase from the truck bed. He glanced at me through the car window, holding my gaze with an unreadable expression. He shook his head slightly before he strode to the garage, punched in the code and walked inside without turning back.