CHAPTER TWELVE

WES

Gravel crunches beneath the truck tires as I park in front of Grace's apartment. My buddy Timber invited me to a get-together at the Reaper's Wolves MC compound, and something prompted me to extend the invitation to Grace, too.

A latent masochist desire? Because surely that's what this is.

Why else would I ask Grace to hang out when I know she's not the one for me? When I've never even wanted a ‘one' in the first place?

All week, I've kept busy with work, reminding myself that I've never had a problem forgetting a woman in the past. Why should this be any different?

But Grace is like a drug, apparently.

Because I can't shake her.

Can't get enough.

The high I feel in her presence is an addiction. Like that one Taylor Swift lyric Kendra kept singing a few months ago: " He jokes that it's heroin but this time with an ‘E .'"

Grace is unlike anyone I've ever met, and the conversations we've had? No one else in my orbit would try to explain Jane Austen to me, and I kind of think I've been missing out because of it.

"Hey, thanks for inviting me," Grace murmurs once she's buckled into my truck.

"No problem. Figured you could use better company after dealing with Kayla." I'll pawn her off on Kendra or one of the MC guys' women.

My good deed done—knowing she's in safe hands with them—maybe I'll be able to relax and not feel this constant ache to be near her.

Twenty minutes later, we follow a cluster of people inside the warehouse converted into a communal home for Reaper's Wolves MC members. Couches and various game tables form a cozy picture, and groups of members and biker bunnies occupy the space. Spying Timber at the back of the building, I guide Grace that way for introductions.

Her steps falter a bit, and instinctively my hand rubs soothing circles over her lower back. "Relax. No one's going to bite."

The reassurance falls on deaf ears. Her face remains a little pale, while a sheen of sweat dots her forehead, and I wonder if this is a mistake. If she's this nervous to meet a couple of bikers—good guys, military veterans—then how the hell is she going to survive the rest of tonight?

"Wes, who's your friend?" Timber's dark brows scrunch together in curiosity. I usually fly solo during parties, so his bewilderment is understandable.

"This is Grace. She recently moved to Suitor's Crossing and works at Casey & Sons."

"Fuck Casey," Austin spits from his place beside Timber. He attended school with Brandon and Andrew, too, so he's well aware of their dickish behavior.

Grace jolts at the automatic rejoinder. At this point, it's instinct for us to react that way to the Casey name, but to a stranger, especially an innocent one like her, it's probably unsettling.

I make a mental note to curb the natural reaction in the future, then stop when I realize what the hell I'm doing.

What happened to never letting a woman dictate my actions?

Yet Grace didn't even say a word, and I'm already trying to change.

What the fuck?

After introductions, the conversation slips into the custom work Timber's handling at the MC-owned garage.

The entire time Grace hardly speaks. She answers questions directed her way from Lindy, the woman beside Timber, or Luna, Austin's girl, but her demeanor is a far cry from the friendly persona she had at the carnival with Max and Kendra. It's closer to the vulnerable one she had after our kiss by her car.

Maybe those oil streaks had her recognizing our differences, too.

Maybe it's finally hitting home in the midst of my friends—complete opposites of Kayla, or even Grace and her group.

"Are you okay?" I ask under my breath, squeezing her elbow as concern tightens my jaw.

"I'm fine." She drains the water bottle in her hand before grabbing another one from the cooler off to the side. She gulps that down, too.

Confused by her sudden thirst, I'm about to ask again if something is wrong when the MC president, Logan Snow, and his wife, Caroline, enter the fray. "Hey, man! Long time, no see. How have you been?"

"Good. Busy. Missing Faith."

Faith is Alaska's girl. She was the part-time receptionist for Dusty's until she went on maternity leave. That's why the waiting room is such a mess right now. She kept everything tidy and organized, but in her absence, it's gone to shit—the way it was prior to her arrival.

Probably should hire a temp until she returns.

If she returns.

It wouldn't surprise me if Faith decided to stay home with her newborn, and I wouldn't blame her. She's perfect mother material, the antithesis of my mom.

Grace taps my shoulder. "Can we leave soon?" She nervously licks her dry lips.

"Of course. Give me a minute to say goodbye." I guess forty-five minutes is her limit in a place like this, and the realization sucks.

Grace nods her head and rocks back on her heels before pausing then rushing out of the room. Worry clenches my gut as my gaze follows her hasty exit.

"I gotta go…"

The murmured farewells fade as I trail her footsteps in time to see Grace disappear into the hallway bathroom.

Debating my choices, I say, "Fuck it," and push the slightly ajar door open wider. Ragged coughing echoes off the walls. Grace is bent over the toilet, her body shuddering with each heave, and I hurry to hold her hair back as wisps of curls cling to her damp skin.

"I've got you, sweetheart. Don't worry, I'm here."

She continues to vomit until dry heaves are all that's left, then unrolls some toilet paper, wipes her mouth, and flushes everything away, leaning heavily against me as I help her stand.

More sweat shines on Grace's forehead even though shivers wrack her body. I strip off my leather jacket and drape it over her trembling frame before settling her on a chair in the kitchen—away from the crowd of people in the living area.

"I'll be right back. I'm going to grab another water bottle for you and let Timber know what's going on. Will you be alright for a few minutes?" I hate leaving her alone, but I plan on being quick.

There's a short groan in response.

When I return two minutes later, a man is kneeling in front of Grace.

"What are you doing?" I bark, marching toward the stranger hanging so close to my girl.

The guy stands and lifts his hands in surrender. "I'm just checking on her. I noticed she looked pale. Thought I could help."

"She's fine."

She's mine.

I glare at the man until he takes the hint and backs off, sparing one more glance toward Grace before leaving. Slipping my arms beneath Grace's thighs and across her back, I carry her out to my truck and carefully buckle her in. Her breathing is labored as I offer the water bottle with the cap off.

"Here, baby, sip this." This may be a twenty-four-hour stomach bug, but that doesn't mean my own belly isn't in knots worried about her.

Because I hate seeing Grace in pain.

She has to be okay.

The street that leads to her place passes on our left as I opt instead to take her to my home where I can look after her. Sure, it's still in the middle of a renovation, but I'm not abandoning my girl.

Thankfully, the drive doesn't take long, and soon, we're through the front door headed straight to my bedroom. My intentions are to get her changed into something dry—not damp with sweat—but her fingers stop me from tugging at her clothes once I set her down.

"I can do it… I need a shower." Each sentence takes longer than usual as she sways on her feet.

"I'm not sure that's a good idea."

"I'll be fine." The words sound painful coming from her raw throat, so I decide not to fight her, which will hopefully speed up the process of getting her to bed.

"Keep the door unlocked. I want to be able to get to you if anything happens."

Nodding, she shuffles into the bathroom after I give her a tee and a pair of sweatpants to wear.

Unsure of what to do while she showers, I search my drawers and cabinets for medicine. There's a purple syrup that says it helps fevers, but everything else is for coughs and sniffling.

If only it was just a cold.

It would've saved Grace a hard time puking her guts out.

I look around trying to figure out what else would be useful. A glass of water. The medicine. They both go on the nightstand, then I change into pajama pants and sit at the edge of my bed, waiting for Grace to come out again.