CHAPTER FOURTEEN

WES

Grace is out like a light as soon as she lays down.

Thankful she has a reprieve from feeling so shitty, I grab my comb from the bathroom counter then return to gently untangle her hair while it's still wet, treading lightly so as not to wake her.

The slow motion of dragging thin bristles through damp, starting-to-curl strands is a little hypnotic. And a lot soothing. The tension in my muscles drains away with each downward stroke.

Thank fuck my bedroom and bathroom are fully renovated.

I wasn't thinking clearly about bringing her to my fixer-upper of a house. It's a mess of tools and supplies—not exactly a safe haven for a sick woman—but I couldn't leave her unattended at home.

You're forgetting she has a roommate.

Ignoring the reminder, I reluctantly set the comb aside and snag my laptop to finish the homework due Monday, remaining beside Grace in case she needs anything.

Only a few more credits, and I'll be able to graduate with my bachelor's degree in business. The first Gallagher to achieve such a thing.

A light from under the bathroom door wakes me up a few hours later, retching sounds filtering through the closed door.

Grace.

Rolling to my feet, I hurry to check on her, but by the time I'm halfway through the door, she's done, spitting water into the sink.

"Hey, sweetheart. It must be time for more medicine, huh?" I'm not entirely sure it's doing anything, but even a placebo effect would be beneficial.

The purple liquid sloshes into the cup, and I offer it to Grace, who groans before shooting it back, her head tilted toward the ceiling.

With one task complete, I carefully grasp her hips and lift her onto the bathroom counter. Wetting a cloth with cool water, I wash her flushed face, the mottled skin covered in sweat and tears.

I hate seeing her like this.

There's nothing more I can do for her, and it's damn frustrating.

Grace rests her head against the wall as I continue to wipe away the evidence of her sick episode. Another shiver trembles through her limbs.

Tucking her back under the covers after finishing in the bathroom, I climb in behind her, tenderly sliding the dried curls out of her face and massaging the back of her neck with my fingers.

Eventually, sleep claims her again, and I breathe a sigh of relief.

Tired myself, I secure Grace as close as I can with my arm around her waist. My head rests in the crook of her shoulder, and each time I inhale, her natural scent mixed with my soap calms me until I, too, drift away in an ocean of dreams.

A deep ocean that I fear represents how deeply I've fallen for the woman in my arms. Because despite my best efforts, Grace slipped beneath my defenses.

And I'm clueless as to what this means for the future.