by Jane Henry
Donnie turned his chair around and looked at the window again, letting his mind go blank and the tension bleed from his shoulders for just a minute. He ran his hand through his hair, idly wondering if he should get it cut. It was getting long now, a little longer than he preferred, but it sure as hell seemed like Grace liked it just the way it was.
God. He recognized the direction of his thoughts, and annoyance flared before he shut it down.
Did Grace like his hair? Would she want him to get it cut? Next he’d be asking her if she agreed with the plans for renovating the third floor, or where she thought he should go the next time he took his bike out for the day. Since when had Grace’s opinions factored into his decision-making? But an insistent little voice in the back of his head had the answer to that.
Always.
And that’s why it bugged the hell out of him, if he were being honest. He’d created a life for himself. Hell, he’d had to fucking carve that life out of solid granite with nothing but his own two hands, but he’d done it. He’d had less than nothing when he walked away from Mikey; no money, no home, no friends, no skills except for fighting. It would have been easy, back then, to keep doing what he’d been doing: to find a place in another crew like Mikey’s, to keep breaking legs and shaking people down, to maybe find comfort in the bottle the way his old man had. But Donnie hadn’t even considered it.
Instead, he’d answered an ad in the paper that had led him to Blake. He’d told the man he wasn’t afraid to learn or to work hard, and with Blake’s help, he’d done both. He’d gotten himself to a place where he was content and independent. He had money now, thousands in the bank, thanks in part to the guys letting him live at The Club South for free. He had a place where he belonged, and skills as a dominant and a business manager that were unique and valued. He had friends, good ones, who accepted him as he was and made him want to be an even better man. And this whole time, as he’d carved out this life, he’d thought his underlying purpose had been to become a man that he could be proud of.
But now he realized it hadn’t been his own standards he was trying to live up to, they’d been Grace’s. She’d been only thirteen when he’d left her. A kid for God’s sake. But she’d still been the best person with the purest heart he’d ever encountered.
He’d wanted to be someone she could be proud of.
And now she was back in his life. Not as a ghost or as a memory, but as a flesh and blood woman with needs and desires and… and… fuck. Expectations. Grace deserved a man who would wear a suit and work a nine-to-five, then return to their suburban house each night and cook dinner while she worked on her art or played with their two-point-five children. She deserved a man who liked driving a sedan, and whose idea of kink was taking her to see that silly movie about the billionaire dominant, after she’d pestered and teased him into going. She deserved that life, one that was normal and wholesome.
She deserved better than to be corrupted by a sadist who had only learned to restrain his sexual impulses thanks to the ruthless control and discipline he’d discovered when training as a dominant. She deserved more than a man whose life’s plan involved one day getting on his bike and not stopping until he’d found a place that called to him, and declaring that home.
Grace had been waiting for sex, saving herself, for twenty-five years. She deserved better than the likes of him.
The air was warm for late May, and the smell of the damp earth and the rotting garbage in the nearby cans assaulted his senses, but his makeshift bed on the old picnic table in the Diazes’ backyard was too comfortable for him to bother moving.
He peered up at the dark sky, looking for the North Star, but there was nothing up there but unrelenting black. The fucking thing should be up there somewhere, shouldn’t it? Figured the damn thing showed itself to everyone but him.
He shifted his head for a better look, feeling his stomach lurch in response to the movement.
Okay, so maybe his comfort right now came less from the picnic table and more from the half bottle of Jameson’s he’d guzzled before hopping the chain-link fence into the yard. Either way, he’d take what comfort he could get.
The bright flash of headlights turning down the side street hit him full in the eyes and made him wince, which in turn made pain flare across his injured cheek and down the jaw.
Shit, that hurt.
Carmichael had put up a fight. Didn’t that asshole know things would only go worse for him if he fought back? Donnie himself had learned that lesson at age seven, courtesy of his father, but apparently some people took longer to get the message.
He lifted his right hand into the air slowly, trying to make out its shape in the darkness, before curling his bruised and swollen knuckles into a fist.
Whelp. Motherfucker had learned the lesson real good this time, hadn’t he? Education courtesy of the talented Professor Nolan, who would never have his high school diploma, but had a fucking PhD in assault.
Donnie blew out a tired breath and felt a sickness surge in his belly that had nothing to do with the alcohol or his injuries. He was nineteen, but on nights like this, he felt like he was ninety.
The sound of a car door slamming brought him back to reality. He swung his legs off the table and brought his feet to rest on the attached bench seat, slowly lifting himself up to a seated position.
It was harder than he’d anticipated.
He needed to get himself back to Joe’s house. Maybe Karen would take pity on him and mop up the dents on his face like she sometimes did. He didn’t know why he’d come over here in the first place. Last thing he needed was for Papa Diaz to catch him on the property, especially now that he blamed Donnie for encouraging Pedro to join the Nolan family business.
Like Pedro had needed any encouragement.
A new sound came through the darkness, soft and heartbreaking. Someone was… crying?
“Grace?” He whispered her name instinctively, and the crying immediately cut off.
“D-donnie?”
Shit. It was Grace. He could barely see the outline of her as she rose from the back stoop and stared out into the dark yard, looking for him.
“Over here,” he said, a little louder. “On the picnic table.” His head throbbed, but adrenaline had started churning through him, burning off the worst of the alcohol. Why was Grace upset? Who the fuck had made Grace cry?
“Donnie, what are you doing here?” she asked, pausing maybe a foot away from the table, as though afraid to get too close.
Was she scared of him now? He felt that same sick feeling he’d felt earlier rise up to choke him.
“Honey, why are you crying?” he demanded, ignoring her question. He held out a hand to her, praying she’d see it and step closer, praying that she wouldn’t run away.
She inhaled a shuddering breath and took that step, and then another, until she was close enough to touch. The relief he felt was overwhelmed by something sharper and stronger as she knelt between his spread knees on the bench seat and leaned up to bury her face in his chest and wrap her arms around his waist.
He inhaled sharply. Cinnamon sugar and Grace.
Something shifted inside him, and without conscious thought, his left hand came up to wrap around her back while his injured right hand stroked her pretty hair soothingly.
“Tell me,” he said firmly. “What happened?”
“I was so stupid,” she sobbed. “Tyler Kisk asked me to the eighth grade dance. And I said yes. But I don’t like him.”
“You don’t?” Donnie began to suspect that maybe he’d had too much to drink, since Grace’s logic made his head whirl.
“I mean, I don’t like him in a boyfriend way,” she clarified. “Until tonight I thought he was an okay guy; you know? It’s just, I’ve had a crush on this, um… other boy, for forever. And I know it’s not gonna go anywhere, at least not until I’m older. But I thought if I had more experience and dated other guys, maybe this other boy, would see that I’m not a kid anymore. So I told Tyler
yes, and then… I couldn’t do it.”
“Couldn’t go with him?” Donnie guessed, trying to ignore the way Grace’s eyes darted to him when she spoke of this other boy, and the way it made his heart race, even though he knew it shouldn’t.
“No! I went with him. But then he tried to kiss me.”
“Did he now?” Donnie’s soft voice sounded threatening even to his own ears, and he just didn’t care. “And what happened?”
“I… I wanted to let him,” she told him miserably. “I was going to let him. But then, when he tried, I just couldn’t! He wasn’t the boy I really like.” She swallowed, then continued. “He didn’t like it when I said no.”
If some punk had hurt her… Donnie squeezed his eyes shut and welcomed the pain that flared across his face as he did so, struggling to control his temper.
“Explain,” he snapped.
She sniffed loudly and tried to compose herself. “He called me a tease. He said that normal girls liked kissing and… sex. And that I was messed up if I didn’t.”
Fuck. He squeezed his sore hand shut and remained silent, trying to remind himself why killing thirteen-year-old shitheads was not okay.
Grace lifted her head and looked at him. The night was black and still, but somehow her eyes still shone. “Is he right?” she whispered.
“No. Hell no.” His denial was immediate and instinctive.
She nodded. “I thought so. I mean, sex… making love… it should mean something, right? It should be special.”
Donnie licked his lips. “Yeah. It should.”
“So… have you ever?” she began.
“Ah, hell, Grace…” Of course he fucking had. Mikey had gotten him a girl to celebrate his manhood when he was… Jesus. He’d been Grace’s age. And Lord knew, he hadn’t lived like a monk since, either.
He blew out a breath. “Don’t go by what I’ve done, honey. You set your sights higher, you hear me? You’re so fucking special, Grace. You wait for that special person. Be true to yourself. And don’t ever let anyone convince you to do something you don’t wanna do.”
Grace nodded, and the strands of her smooth hair slipped and slid beneath his hands. She gazed up at him trustingly, the one person who’d always believed in him, the one person he’d always believed in.
He hadn’t realized that he’d leaned down until he felt her breath, warm and sweet against his lips. Later, he’d try to blame it on the Jameson’s… on the dark night… on his fucked up mental state… on her beautiful eyes… but when she leaned up and pressed her mouth chastely against his, he let her.
This, something inside him whispered. This is why you came here tonight.
Somewhere nearby, a dog barked. A light in the neighbor’s yard went on, bathing the yard with a yellow glow, and the moment was shattered. Grace opened her eyes, Donnie shifted his head back like he’d been electrocuted, and they got their first clear look at one another.
Grace wore a pretty dress and sweater, her hair clipped back with a flower barrette. She looked beautiful… and so damn innocent. Suddenly, he realized that his hands were on her, sliding down her hair. Those same broken, battered hands that had committed violence tonight. He moved them away from her as though they were singed.
But Grace didn’t seem to notice. Her attention was focused on his face, which throbbed with each panicked beat of his heart. Her eyes widened and her mouth dropped open.
“Donnie! Oh my God! What happened to you? Who did this?”
She looked horrified, sickened. She reached her hand up to touch his busted cheek, but he turned away and wouldn’t let her.
“Nobody.”
“It wasn’t nobody! Donnie, you need to go to the police! You need to tell someone! You…”
He shut his eyes as if that could block out her words. Never had the divide between them been more clear to him. Grace lived in a world where people called the police when they’d been the victim of assault. Donnie… was the thug who did the assaulting.
He pushed her away roughly and stood.
“Forget this, Grace,” he told her.
She shook her head.
“Yes!” he demanded, grabbing her shoulders and shaking her gently. “I want you to go upstairs right now and forget I was ever here. Forget any of this happened. You hear me?”
He didn’t wait for her to answer. He turned away, vaulting the short fence with an ease that belied the amount of alcohol he’d consumed and the whirl of emotions going through his brain.
But as his feet hit the street, he was almost sure he heard her whisper, “I will never forget you, Donnie.”
Or maybe that was his own wishful thinking.
“Don? Hey, have you had any of these little spinach things? They’re amazing.”
Elena’s hand was a warm weight on his shoulder and Donnie looked up, distracted from his thoughts. Ghosts and memories he’d held back for over a decade were fucking with his mind today, and he’d somehow spent the entire afternoon remembering the way Grace’s lips had felt on his all those years ago… and how his hand had felt on her ass last night.
He glanced at the woman in question, watching as she chatted politely with Tony’s sister-in-law Nora, Dom’s wife Heidi, and Heidi’s business partner Paul, on the other side of the room, near a table set with hors d’oeuvres. Despite his distraction, there hadn’t been a single moment tonight when he hadn’t been viscerally aware of Grace’s position in the room, keeping tabs on her safety as well as her mood.
She’d been nervous as hell when he’d told her the plan for the night, though she’d tried to hide it. She’d peppered him with a million questions about the people she’d be meeting—his bosses and their wives and friends—and he’d reassured her that she looked beautiful, and the jeans and sweater she was wearing were perfectly appropriate for this group. He’d thought she’d calmed down a bit after that. She’d enjoyed the ride over, gripping his waist tight but without fear, just as she had the other night. But he’d felt her growing tension when they’d pulled off the highway and he’d started maneuvering the bike down the narrow streets near the restaurant. When he’d parked the bike, she’d hesitated before swinging her leg over the seat, like she wanted to stay on the bike forever. He didn’t blame her.
But Christ, the woman was strong. She’d dropped his hand the moment he’d helped her dismount, squared her shoulders, and walked bravely by his side into Cara, meeting all of his friends with her smile firmly in place. She’d been eager to hear about everyone’s kids, all but the littlest of whom were safely at home with babysitters tonight, and charmed all of them with her sweetness and genuine interest in getting to know them. It had seemed so important to her to stand on her own two feet and not hide behind him, that although it went against all his protective instincts, he’d let her. He’d bet he was the only one who guessed that she’d felt uncomfortable. Damn, but he was proud of her.
“Donnie?” Elena repeated.
He brought his gaze to Elena’s face, and saw that she was smirking as she placed a small plate of hors d’oeuvres on the enormous rectangular table in front of him. “Eat the spinach things, honey. I swear, she won’t disappear while you’re chewing.”
Donnie rolled his eyes. “Thanks. You’ve got this honorary bossy big sister thing down, huh?”
Elena smiled. “I was sure you were gonna say it was a mom thing, and I am way too young to be your mother.” She sank into the chair next to him and stretched out her legs with a groan.
It was Donnie’s turn to smirk this time. “You sure about that? You’re creaking like an old lady.”
Elena raised an eyebrow at him. “You try being up all night with a teething eight-month-old, chaperoning your toddler’s daycare field trip to the Children’s Museum, then working a full afternoon at the office.”
Donnie nodded. He knew that was just the tip of the iceberg of what Elena did, and that her afternoon at “the office,” meant hours spent at Centered, the women’s health clinic where she did everything from co
unseling patients as a nurse, to fundraising and budget preparation in the back office.
Still, he wouldn’t be her honorary brother if he didn’t give her a ration of shit.
“That’s a lot for a woman of your advanced years,” he deadpanned.
Elena narrowed her eyes and shook her head at him in outrage, just as Blake approached carrying their infant daughter and a glass of seltzer. He handed Elena the glass, and she took it gratefully.
“Thanks, baby. It’s good to know that some men have manners,” she told her husband, before looking pointedly at Donnie’s plate. “Eat your damn spinach thing, ingrate, or I will.”
Donnie rolled his eyes again and grinned as he obediently stuffed one of the spinach things in his mouth.
Damn. They were amazing.
“You teasing my wife again, Don?” Blake asked, rubbing a hand over the sleeping baby’s back.
Donnie smiled and shrugged, but didn’t answer. From the corner of his eye, he saw Grace and the others making their way towards the table.
“Aw! Is Donnie being mean to you, Elena?” Slay teased, scooting into the chair two seats down from Donnie, and pulling his petite, blonde wife Allie to sit on his far side.
Elena rolled her eyes at the muscle-bound giant who actually was her big brother, and smiled at Grace, who had stopped next to Donnie’s chair. Donnie pulled out the chair between him and Slay, gestured for Grace to sit down.
“I think these two tag-team,” Elena told Grace dryly. “My real brother, and my honorary one. Pretty sure they get together and think up ways to drive me insane.”
“To be fair, Elena,” Slay said with a grin. “It’s not a far drive, is it?”
Allie burst into laughter, and Donnie almost choked on his spinach puff. Donnie saw Grace blink in surprise at the teasing before hiding her grin behind her hand, not wanting to offend Elena.
