Losing Grace (Falling Away #2)

by Allie Little

  “So, who’s the he?”

  Gemma raises one eyebrow. “Are you going to tell him, or can I?”

  “You can.” My heart skips a beat, the thought of having to re-hash the whole sordid ordeal all over again rather overwhelming.

  “Well?” Stan demands, raising both hands in expectation. “I’m concerned. You need to tell me.”

  “He is her husband.”

  Stan’s jaw drops. “You’re married? Like, married married? Why didn’t you tell me? And why are you here, living with Gem?”

  I take a moment to re-group, Gemma patting my shoulder reassuringly. “Yes, Stan. I’m married married. But I left, 3 months ago now in the dead of night, while he slept like a baby. It was the only way I could leave. The only way. And so, I’ve been hiding out here, living with Gem. Working my new job, where finally I get to have a job. I get to make my own decisions and be master, or mistress, of my destiny. And I’m never going back.”

  A shiver courses through my body, juddering as I remember. That night. The one when I absolutely, irrevocably felt compelled to get away. The time I knew, just knew, was the life-changing, heart-twisting moment. Distinguished from all others …

  I run a hand across the skin of my neck. Red. Tender. My breath catches, seized in my bruised throat. The air’s jammed in, pressurised, unable to escape. Like me. Clutching for it. Wedged. Trapped. Immovable.

  The mirror glares back. Taunts. Probes. Sneers blatantly at my lack of courage and conviction. Ridicules me.

  Doesn’t it know that I ridicule myself? How much will it take? Will there be more? More of the same? More lies and pretence? Mockery and disdain? More flagrant contempt?

  I abandon the mirror deriding me from the wall.

  Dan sleeps. Now he sleeps. But before…

  I cut the thought, holding a hand to my chest where it hurts. Hurts from the harsh lyrics of our ongoing disputes. But it’s physical, this pain right here above my heart, where my love used to be, cocooned and safe. Chorusing in librettos, it would sing for me.

  I pull the suitcase from beneath the bed. Packed. Secretly packed. Over days, weeks, because I knew. Knew this was coming. The life-changing, heart-twisting moment. This moment. Now.

  I do it quietly so as not to wake him. Not to disturb him. His face, so angelic and soft. Now. But before…

  Only when he’s sleeping do I see it, his inner angel. The one I loved. The one who’s flown away.

  Leaving me with him.

  Leaving me with tears.

  Gem plonks a white wine into my hands and guides me to the sofa. “Here. Sit down and drink. It looks as if you need to.” She plants herself on the squishy sofa next to me and gives me an encouraging smile. “You know what, Grace? This is just the beginning. You will always have a home with me or your Gran. If Douchebag has found you, he’ll have to get past me first. And that’s not going to happen.”

  “And with muscles like these, who wouldn’t feel totally and completely safe?” Stan jokes, flexing his non-existent biceps once more.

  I laugh at his self-effacing humour. “Guys, it’s not like he’s coming after me or anything nearly as serious as that. He probably just wants to talk. That’s what Gran said, anyway. The way I left so suddenly, he’s entitled to answers, isn’t he?” I glance from Gem across to Stan for confirmation, both of whom hold what are you talking about? expressions as plain as day on their faces.

  “Wise up, Grace. Douchebag isn’t entitled to anything. You need to remember that. You don’t behave like that and then get special favours.”

  “Yes, chicken. This is healing time for you. Healing. No need to dredge up the past. Stay away from him, and follow your instincts.”

  I wonder though if I was to see him, perhaps he’d go away. Leave me in peace.

  Forget I ever existed…

  “So, what movie will we rent tonight, Grace?” asks Gem, cracking open a bag of potato chips and upending them into a bowl. “Oh, hang on. Perhaps you’d better let me choose. No gory violence for us tonight, please.” Gem giggles like a teenager, throwing a cushion at my face.

  I catch it and laugh. “And no sappy love stories, either.”

  Because sappy love stories and romance would be the very last things on my mind.

  8

  Riley

  That dark hair. Those aching blue eyes. Since the moment we met, Grace has filled my thoughts. She consumes me. Touches me in ways difficult to define. And yet I’m mad. Feverishly mad for being drawn into Dad’s deceitful world. The united front ploy Dad dredges up? I know it’s not right. And I pray to God this doesn’t come back to bite me, really freakin’ hard.

  For the next hour I run, fast through the Shoal Bay forests in chilly, biting winds. Through gnarled angophora trunks in dappled sunlight toward Wreck Beach. Exacting my way. Fighting this feeling. Grace’s desire for distance and Dad’s duplicitous ways tumble over each other in my head.

  Will I ever emerge the victor? Hell knows, but financial independence has got to be worth something, right? A hundred-fold more than its monetary value. To walk away and finally, once and for all finally, be my own man. I’m still not sure what that’s going to take.

  Nine Inch Nail’s Head Like a Hole pounds through the iPod, over and over. This has been my anthem since the day I turned twenty-one, vowing to make this life my own. It was angry. Dark. Perfect.

  The birds take flight into the canopied green as I run. The earth beneath my feet; the connection to my soul. At least I connect with something.

  Head like a hole.

  Black as your soul.

  I’d rather die

  Than give you control.

  I pass the bay, glistening with hideous torment. Without the drubbing music, it afflicts me with an illusory peace. The tranquillity of silence. Its gentle lapping, an armistice without the war, calling for a truce.

  Never.

  I will not submit. Will not give in. Will not do things his way.

  This one-sided conversation rams painfully through my head, batting me around the ears. Right alongside the airless burn tearing at my lungs. But I persist, because the burn is real.

  An hour later I hit the shower, allowing the scorching water to scald my body before shutting it off. The phone has rung constantly from the bedroom, loudly.

  “Gemma,” I say into the handset, towelling water from my hair, naked.

  “What’s the story, sunshine? Why are you so hard to get a hold of?” She laughs light-heartedly, but there’s an edge running through her voice. An edge I hadn’t heard often, except when she’d been sick a while ago, seriously ill with cancer.

  “What’s up? Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine. It’s not me. Look, I don’t know if it’s my place to say, but there’s something you should know.”

  “Again…what’s up?”

  “Sure. Look, it’s about Grace. I wouldn’t normally poke my nose in…”

  “Right. Really?”

  “Okay, so maybe I do. But I love her, okay? She’s my best friend. And I’m worried about her.”

  “What’s going on? Anything I can do to help?”

  “Possibly. She has a stalker, Riley. I don’t think she’s safe.”

  “What do you mean she has a stalker? Who is he?” I begin pacing the room like a determined madman. “Tell me, Gemma.”

  “Don’t get so hot under the collar, it’s just some guy. He was hanging around the back of Swimmer yesterday. Gave Mia quite a scare when she was taking out the trash. He asked lots of questions and Grace got a little anxious, so Stan dropped her home.”

  “He’s hanging around my restaurant? I’ll work at Swimmer over the next few days to keep an eye on things.”

  “Thanks Riley, I appreciate it. Grace doesn’t need to know I called. Just, you know… be present.”

  “Don’t worry, Gem. I’ll take care of it.”

  I cut the call. Discomfort streams unnervingly through my veins. I clutch for the clothes draped loosely over the
desk chair. Dragging them on, I reach for my jacket, shrugging into it quickly.

  ***

  The drive from Shoal Bay to Manly is eternal. And the whole way, the whole way, a force outside of myself compels me forward. As if there’s no time to lose.

  Sydney Road leading down into Manly is a slow crawl. Curving to where it hits Old Pittwater Road, I follow the line of cars trawling slowly to the beach. Despite being blustery, Sunday tourists are out in abundance. Sunshine, waves, will do it every time.

  After swinging into the narrow parking space in the lane behind Swimmer, I push through the rear entrance and scan the lower level of the restaurant like a goddamn security detail.

  Grace peeks over from the front desk, does a swift double take. A look of concern washes over her features, her eyes gauging me. “Everything okay, Riley? I didn’t know you’d be here today.”

  “Everything’s fine. How about you? Is everything all right here?”

  Without conviction she shrugs, looks away. “I guess. We’re hitting a lull, so hopefully we’ll ease off for a while.” She glances around calmly, checking the customers, then turns back, collecting my gaze.

  I hold it, needing her to know I’m here. “I’ll be here quite a bit over the next few days. I’ve got a few things to take care of.”

  Relief hits her square in the chest, her face relaxing. She smiles, unburdened momentarily, giving away an obvious piece of herself in a rare, unguarded moment. “Oh, good. The rosters need detailing and you need to sign off on the pays. I’m sure there are other things I can drum up for you to attend to,” she jokes flippantly, sounding like she might actually want me around.

  “I’ll be in the office if you need me, so make sure you come and see me before you leave.”

  She starts to walk off, then stops. “Is there a problem?”

  “I really hope not. But you need to let me know if there is.”

  She freezes. Rejects my request with what appears to be a jumble of mixed emotions. She returns to work, that being easier than facing the truth.

  Sunday evening comes to a close, the wash of waves reaching higher over the sand. A winter chill settles over the beach, the warmth of the day fading gradually into night.

  Keen to find Grace, I take the stairs to mezzanine. She notices me, smiles gently. Apprehensively.

  “Do you need me?”

  “Just checking on you,” I say softly, as if expecting her to break.

  Her gaze hardens. “I’m fine, Riley. What’s going on? You’ve been acting weird all day.”

  “Weird? What do you mean weird?” I shrug innocently, helping her set wine glasses on the tables. “Can’t I check on the wellbeing of my staff? Last I heard, it comes under the responsibility of restaurant owner.”

  Our eyes lock. “I suppose so. But there’s clearly something else going on.”

  “Nothing’s going on. Nothing at all. Unless there’s something you’d like to disclose?”

  Grace rolls both eyes dramatically, making for the stairs. She calls over her shoulder, “This is Gemma, right? She told you? I’m going to kill her.”

  I hasten down the stairs behind her. “Yeah, okay, so Gemma called. But only out of concern, Grace. I’m concerned, too. Talk to me.”

  At the base of the stairs she stops, placing both hands firmly on her hips. She swivels around with fire burning in her eyes. “I don’t need your concern, Riley. I’m fine. I have this situation totally under control, and I certainly don’t need any mollycoddling from you.”

  “Mollycoddling? I don’t mollycoddle, Grace. I look after my own.”

  “Your own? I don’t like the sound of that. Really and truly, I’m perfectly capable of looking after myself. I appreciate the concern, but there’s nothing for you to worry about.”

  I step closer, feeling some intense heat radiating off her. All that bluff and bluster, firing from her in waves. “I was talking about my staff. Look chill out, okay? So, I know. Some weirdo has his sights set on you. Whoever he is, I’ll have him taken care of. Have you called the police?”

  “No,” she fires back. “I’m not contacting the police. There’s absolutely no need for that. I’m sure he’s completely harmless.”

  “Harmless? How can you possibly know?”

  “I just know, okay? Leave it alone, would you? I don’t want to think about it anymore. I’m finished for the day, so I’ll see you tomorrow.” She brushes past, her shoulder grazing against my arm.

  I grab for it. “Let me drive you home.”

  “Not necessary,” she bristles, shucking away and pacing toward the office to retrieve her bag.

  “I said I’d like to drive you home. Stop being difficult.”

  She slings the bag across her left shoulder, defeated. “All right, you win. But only because you won’t let up unless I agree. So, let’s go.”

  She scrapes past, the contact of her skin on mine like a dash of adrenaline. I follow her to the back lane, unlock the car and slide into the seat alongside her. She looks across, guarded again, her cheeks laced with rose. Bloody gorgeous, even when she’s mad.

  “Well? Aren’t you going to drive me home? You might need to start the engine.”

  I come to my senses, the cold sense of trepidation hanging over me most of the day lifting away now I was in her company. “Oh, sure. Sorry.”

  Incredulous, she shakes her head, running her hands impatiently through her hair. “Freshwater, Riley. Do you know the way?”

  “I think I’ll manage. And what exactly is your problem? It’s not like I’ve done anything. In fact, I’ve been rather gentlemanly. So, what the hell is your …”

  She butts in over the top of me, her voice cold as ice. “Listen, I appreciate your concern. Really, I do. But the over-protective male thing? We hardly know each other, Riley. We shared some kayak-time and an evening at Jack and Sam’s place one weekend, but that’s it. I don’t need you, Riley. I’m not some prissy, pathetic female who needs looking after.”

  I’m plunged into silence. Following the road toward Queenscliff with the sunset lowering in shades of soft pink across the sky, the huskiness of the engine is the only sound audible between us. Deep. Dependable. Constant.

  She directs me to a street lined with eucalypts lunging across the middle. I pull over, fumbling for the belt release and pushing out of the car.

  “I’ll walk you to your door,” I say, opening the car door for her.

  She reaches into her bag for keys to the apartment, then steps out of the car. “If you must.”

  The strident clang of her heels is brash and assertive. Once at the door, she fits the key in the lock and pushes it open. She indicates with her head. “You want to come in?” she asks nonchalantly, as if pressured to be polite.

  Before I can answer she gasps, takes an awkward, lunging step back. She sinks slowly toward the carpet, her legs failing.

  I run my arm around her waist. “Fuck, what’s happened here?” I scan the apartment from left to right. “Either you guys are super-messy slobs, or …” I trail off.

  She leans into me, her breathing torn. “Oh, no. He can’t have … but he has. Oh my god, he’s found me.”

  9

  Grace

  His arms wrap securely around me, the warmth a blessed comfort. The shudder in my legs gives me obviously away.

  He squeezes me tighter. “I’ve got you.” He runs a hand over my hair before both arms come around me again. “Where’s Gemma? Isn’t she usually home by now?”

  God, Gemma. I hadn’t given her a thought. I ease back to see Riley’s face, so close to my own, and his eyes, so full of fierce concern. I could drown in those eyes, if I allowed myself to.

  I turn to the devastation in the apartment. “I’m not sure. Usually she’s home before me.”

  He guides me to the sofa. “Wait here while I check the apartment, make sure we don’t have any unwanted company.”

  I fall into the sofa, a bundle of nerves.

  “Don’t move till I get ba
ck.” He courses around the apartment checking every door and window, returning only once every inch of the place has been thoroughly examined. “Whoever it was, they’ve gone. And Gem’s not home yet, thank God. We were lucky we didn’t disturb him.” He plonks onto the sofa beside me and we sit in companionable silence for a while.

  “I need to clean all this up, and I need to call Gemma to let her know what’s happened.”

  Riley stops me. “First things first. You need to call the police. Get them over here to check the place for fingerprints or any other signs of a break-in.”

  “No, I don’t want the police involved, Riley. That would be silly. Really, there’s no need.”

  “No need? Grace, not calling the police would be silly. They’ll find out who this is and put a stop to it.” He reaches for my hand, covering it with the comforting warmth of his own.

  I close my eyes hoping this will disappear. All of it. The past and the present. Forever. Just gone. I could move on with my life. Start afresh. Leave all this behind.

  “Grace, if you don’t call them, I will.”

  “I can’t call the police, Riley. You don’t understand. I just can’t.”

  “But why, Grace? I don’t get it. Make me understand. Tell me why you won’t have them involved.”

  I clutch his hand tighter, without realising. “Because I know who this is. I’m certain of it. And calling the police will only make this so much worse.”

  “Let the police handle it, Grace. Honestly, if this guy’s dangerous, I can’t imagine why you’d hesitate. It doesn’t make any sense.” He gazes down, pleading with the depth of his soft amber eyes. After a long drawn out moment he says, “All right. You leave me no choice. If you won’t do it, I will.”

  Riley pulls his phone from the top pocket of his worn jacket, hits the illuminated call button.

  “Wait,” I say, grabbing for his arm. “Please don’t. You can’t.”

  He eases out a sigh, finger poised, waiting impatiently. “Who is he, Grace? Who would have you this on edge?”

  I look away, shamefaced. Appalled at my cowardly, spineless actions. Knowing I should have done better. Done it better – the leaving part. “I didn’t want you to know, Riley. I didn’t want anyone to know.”