State of Grace

by Foster, Delia

  A flicker of panic crossed Sean’s face so quickly, he nearly missed it. But he hadn’t. It was there. Before he could say anything else, the bartender returned with two glasses of wine, two mugs of beer, and three shot glasses filled with amber liquid. “We didn’t order any shots,” Sean said, but the pretty blonde shook her head and winked.

  “It’s almost on the house,” she replied.

  She bit into her lower lip and looked at Sean from beneath her lashes. She couldn’t have been more than twenty-one or twenty-two, in short denim shorts and a tight white wife-beater with the bottom slashed off to show off her tight midriff. She looked like Sean’s typical Barbie blonde, and just as Lucas suspected, he wasn’t paying an ounce of attention to the bartender.

  “What does that mean?” Lucas asked.

  “It means your friend here,” she trailed a fake fingertip along the arm of Sean’s shirt, “Does a body shot on me, and you guys get your drinks for free. And maybe something else, too,” she added, moving the trail of her fake fingertip to the trail of her neckline.

  “Not interested,” Sean replied curtly, pulling his wallet out to pay.

  The bartender opened her mouth to say something, but Lucas held up his hand. He leaned down to Sean’s ear. “What the fuck is wrong with you? You would have been all over that like fat kid with a sundae a few months ago. If I didn’t know that you knew better, I’d think something’s going on between you and my sister.”

  Sean pulled back sharply. “Are you crazy?”

  Lucas nodded towards the bartender. “Then do it. You just need to get your head back in the game, man.”

  “I don’t see you doing anything.”

  “I’m married. You’re not. Let me live vicariously through you.”

  Sean looked at him strangely. Lucas epitomized the label of ‘ladies man’ back in his hey-day, but when Sophie came into the picture, all other women faded into the background. The man had eyes for no one else and was disgustingly happy in his marriage. Unease slowly churned in his stomach as he looked at his friend. The hard glint in Lucas’s eye told him this was a test.

  Fuck.

  He turned back toward the bartender, feeling a little sick. Three months ago, he would have taken her up on her offer and demanded more. Now, even through the dull fog of the beer and bourbon from earlier, he couldn’t even appreciate what she was silently offering.

  He shook his head, hoping it would clear his mind.

  Of course, it didn’t, but the blonde leaned closer, giving him an unfettered view of tan skin stretched over plump breasts. “You okay?” she asked, feigning concern.

  He was turned off by how forward she was, but he didn’t let it show. Before he could respond, Lucas spoke.

  “He’s okay. He’s just got a thing for blondes, is all.” He winked at her while she was busy staring at Sean like she was going to gobble him up. “He was just cranky earlier. He definitely wants your body—shot.”

  His heart sank, but he didn’t protest. After the heated discussion he’d had with Grace earlier, Lucas would find out eventually, but it was up to Grace to determine when and how.

  But before that happened, he needed to savor this moment. He looked at his friend again, mustering up the urge to grin at the man who had been a brother.

  A man who was going to kill him with his bare hands once he found out about them.

  The bartender interrupted his thoughts when she hopped up on the bar, planting each of her legs on either side of Sean’s hips. She lifted a shot of what smelled like whiskey, somehow managing to fit the full shot glass into her cleavage.

  “Come and get it,” she purred.

  With a weak smile, he bent his head towards her chest, pulling the glass between his teeth and letting the liquor travel down his throat. When he lifted his head, she smiled encouragingly at him, but he couldn’t wait to get away.

  “Let’s go,” he muttered to Lucas, who was still perched against the bar observing him. He grabbed two of the drinks from the bar and turned to make his way back to the table and ran right into Grace.

  A bright sheen of wet glimmered over big pools of gray. A mixture of fury, hurt, and disappointment stared right back at him. She was biting into her lower lip hard, but he could still see it tremble.

  Even with Lucas standing there, there was no way he could let her walk away after seeing that with no kind of explanation.

  “Grace, I— ”

  Her hand flew over her mouth as a sob escaped. She spun around and began pushing her way through the crowded bar.

  He thrust the drinks he’d been holding into the hands of an onlooker and took off after her, but she managed to keep several feet ahead of him. She was almost at the exit by the time he broke free from the crowd.

  “Grace, wait!” he called, but she didn’t turn around.

  He made to go after her again, when a strong hand curled over his bicep. Exhaling heavily, he turned around to face his friend.

  Lucas’s fist flew into his face. “You bastard!”

  He didn’t open his mouth. There was no point in defending himself.

  “My fucking little sister, you fucking bastard.”

  Punch.

  “You disgusting piece of shit. Don’t just stand there, fight back,” Lucas yelled angrily.

  He shook his head and closed his eyes.

  Punch.

  His head snapped back, and he felt a warm trickle of blood leave his nose. As Lucas pushed him into the wall, he welcomed the force, the violent anger. He was an asshole. He was disgusting. He was never going to be good enough for her, and he’d betrayed his best friend’s trust. He wallowed, feeling like the lowest life form on earth.

  He waited for the next punch.

  It didn’t come.

  Dimly, it registered that Sophie was yelling, and there was another loud male voice.

  “Knock it off or I’m calling the cops. Get the hell out of my bar.”

  He opened his eyes. Tears streaked Sophie’s face as she held onto her husband, pinning his hand against her heart. The other man, he guessed it was the bouncer, had Lucas’s shoulder in his grip. His hands clenched and unclenched as he fought for control.

  The music had stopped. Despite the crowd in the bar, everyone was silent.

  “My fucking baby sister. How could you,” he hoarsely whispered as the fight left his body. He gripped tightly onto his wife as he kept accusing eyes on his former best friend. His former brother.

  “Leave her alone. Don’t go near her. If I find out that you even try, I’ll make you sorry.”

  “Leave!” the bouncer shouted once more.

  Lucas motioned for his wife to walk ahead of him before he left the bar.

  But not before he sank his fist into his former best friend’s face one more time.

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  He wanted to punch his fist through a wall.

  Once outside the bar, he counted a few breaths until he was sure they were out of sight, before determinedly stalking to the parking lot.

  He needed to find her. He needed to make her understand.

  Even if he had to sleep outside of her doorstep for weeks, even if her brother took him apart limb by limb, he needed to find her. He needed to plead his case; she needed to hear him out. It wasn’t possible for her not to feel the same way he did. He should have just been upfront with Lucas from the beginning. He hadn’t realized he was jeopardizing the best thing that had ever happened to him.

  He wanted forever with the woman he’d known forever.

  Relief swept over him as he spotted the back of her. She was slipping her ID to a bouncer for another bar. He moved quicker. He was so close. She would understand, he would make her understand, and then they would figure this thing out. Hopefully, her brother wouldn’t kill him during the process.

  The bartender gave him a funny look, probably because of the dark swelling around his eye, but he let him in anyway. The interior was dim, and there were several rooms connected to each oth
er. By the time he made his way through the third room, she was in sight. Relief swamped him.

  He was maybe three feet behind her when he stopped short as he heard the distinct sound of her laughter. It was the same seductive, husky laugh he’d heard when they were in bed together.

  When she’d turned from him, he was sure he saw her eyes go glassy with unshed tears. He’d wanted to hold her in his arms and wipe them away as they fell.

  Why was she laughing like that?

  In an instant, his confusion turned into blind rage as he saw a tall, muscular blond man poke his head out of the men’s room, wink at Grace that the coast was clear, and yank her back in with him.

  The sound of her laughter burned into his eardrums.

  He sank his head into his hands as he heard the distinct turn of the lock.

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  The bright light shone into the bedroom, and she slowly blinked her eyes open.

  It took her a few blinks, but then everything came rushing back to her. She remembered Sean and that awful bottle blonde bartender. She’d come dangerously close to crying, but she’d steeled herself strong and went in search of hard liquor. She’d been at a nearby bar, downing shots of Jameson all by her lonesome when all of a sudden, a blond, blue-eyed meathead that had been eyeing her from the other end of the bar didn’t look like such a bad option.

  She gave him her best come-hither bedroom eyes that she’d seen in Victoria’s Secret catalogs, and surprise! It worked.

  She’d taken two more shots of liquid courage for good measure. According to Leah, courage came in the form of liquor. Fifteen minutes later, Billy the cop had his tongue stuck down her throat in the men’s bathroom.

  His thin lips rushed over hers, tongue insistently pushing through her lips.

  He doesn’t kiss right.

  Convinced she needed to open up more, Grace literally opened her mouth and let him in.

  As the mix of alcohol roiled uncomfortably in her stomach, she panted.

  “I need a minute,” she whispered.

  “Ohhh, me too sugar. I need a minute, too. You got me so hard. Look at these hot tits.” His eyes stared into hers until she wondered if he was cross-eyed.

  His eyes looked like murky water. Plus his words sounded kinda dumb.

  Somewhere in the recesses of her mind, she knew that Sean had whispered things exactly like that when they were in the middle of having sex, but from Billy the Cop, it just sounded wrong.

  She felt her stomach flip over again and couldn’t figure out if it was from the mix of wine and whiskey or from Billy’s tongue trying to worm its way into her mouth. She pushed at his chest.

  “You like it rough, baby? I can do that,” Billy the Cop growled.

  He tried to shove his hands in her skirt, but she pushed harder until he was off her.

  She started to heave, and Billy’s eyes looked a little wild as he realized what was happening.

  “Oh fuck.”

  She glared at him in response. “Out,” she croaked, between gasps.

  He’d fled.

  She closed her eyes. Her head felt like it had been split wide open, and she fought the overwhelming urge to throw up. She tasted stale alcohol and vomit on her tongue. She definitely needed to brush her teeth, but moving, even just a little, felt like it would take an astronomical amount of energy, so she decided to stay put for a little while longer.

  Her memories the night before filtered in slowly, in fits and spurts. The rage on her brother’s face as he took a swing at Sean. Sean pleading with her to give them a chance. Groaning, she had flashes of kicking the blond giant out of the bathroom.

  She pulled the covers up over her head to shut the light out, awash in self-loathing and shame.

  The buzz of her alarm destroyed any hopes she had of sleeping in and wallowing in self-pity. Glancing at the clock, she realized she had to be at the hospital in two hours. Figuring that she needed a gallon of coffee and time to feel normal, she hauled herself out of bed and padded over to the bathroom.

  The steam from her hot shower made her begin to feel slightly normal again, and inevitably, her mind wandered over to Sean. He'd told her before that he "didn't do the commitment thing," and she hadn't had a problem with it because she didn't want one. The tight fist of longing and sadness that gripped her heart was exactly why she didn't get involved with anyone.

  She wasn't supposed to get involved with Sean, at least not on an emotional level. At one point in the beginning, she'd even laughed him out of her door, telling him to 'take it for what it was.'

  The joke was on her.

  She felt more than a little lost and confused. There was this magnetic hold he had over her, but why? Why him?

  Why would she want the one person she couldn’t ever have? The one person who could never give her what she wanted?

  The hot water all of a sudden felt scalding. Lost in her thoughts, she'd kept scrubbing her skin without paying attention, and she'd been on her way to rubbing herself raw.

  Coffee. She needed coffee. That would make everything feel better. Almost instantly, she thought of Sean’s Mexican coffees. How he would lure her out of bed after making love to her by placing a steaming mug on the nightstand, and then moving it away each time she reached for it, only giving it to her when she’d made it out of the bedroom.

  Tears slipped out of eyes that already felt too raw. She tightly wrapped a towel around her, heading to the kitchen.

  She was in the middle of preparing coffee for the grinder when a loud, very male groan came from the living room.

  She felt her heart race as she wildly wondered who was in her apartment. Had she brought someone home from the night before? Guilt and shame swept through her. She wasn’t a big drinker, but she’d been so distraught last night, she’d gotten plastered. What had she done?

  She tip-toed into the living room, clutching the towel tightly around her.

  Only to gasp at the sight before her.

  Sean lay sprawled out on her couch in his boxers. His jeans and the shirt he'd had on the night before were thrown over her armchair. Her breathing quickened, and she drew closer to him.

  He had eyelashes like a girl, long and curly, and she crazily wondered how she'd never really paid attention to them before. She wanted to drop the towel and bend down and stroke her fingers across the stubble on his jaw. She wanted to press her mouth all over his chest and whisper how much she adored him.

  But she couldn’t do any of those things. She’d lost even the hope of that right the night before.

  He opened his eyes. "Like what you see?"

  She inhaled sharply as his eyes dark blue eyes pierced into hers. Deep and mesmerizing, like how they turned when he was around. He had no right to flirt with her—no right to expect anything from her after he’d had his mouth on that woman’s cleavage. She may have implicitly agreed to whatever it was they had done, but she did not agree to being on a rotation of ready and willing women, especially while she was standing there watching.

  "What are you doing here?" she asked hoarsely.

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  She stood before him, fury blazing from her eyes, and he ached with the need to touch her but he clenched his fists tightly instead. His chest felt funny and tight, but he tried to push it out of his mind.

  He’d stayed at the bar after she’d gone into the bathroom with the big, blond guy, just to torture himself. Her hook-up for the night walked out first from the bathroom.

  As soon as the door opened, he’d been on the bastard, and he didn’t know how he stopped from smashing the bastard's face in. The other guy was bigger, but rage made Sean crazy.

  Sean’s insanity subsided only marginally when the guy lifted his hands up defensively and told him nothing had happened. Not for a lack of trying on his part, he’d joked. She was hot, but she’d started puking, and he’d bounced.

  He did land a swift punch to the asshole’s midsection for leaving Grace sick and by herself in t
he bathroom.

  Minutes later, he’d picked the lock to the bathroom. He found her half on the floor, hair mussed and eyes disoriented. She'd looked like she was about to fall over, and he'd seen red.

  He'd scooped her up, even as she halfheartedly protested, and she passed out in the backseat of the cab he’d hailed to her apartment. He knew it wasn't a good idea, but he'd decided to stay the night to make sure she was okay.

  Now she was standing here, sexy as hell in nothing but a towel for God's sake, and bitching him out.

  "Don't worry, Gracie. I don't want to touch you."

  Her stunned eyes turned furious, but he felt like the world's worst kind of ass when he saw a flash of hurt.

  "Out! You disgust me," she ground out between clenched teeth, blinking furiously to keep her tears at bay. He didn’t deserve her tears.

  He got up and started throwing his clothes on.

  "Happy to oblige," he drawled, strolling to her door. He turned around before he opened it, and looked at her thoughtfully. "You know what, Gracie? I may disgust you, but that’s not your problem any more. I stopped being your problem last night. Hope you enjoy the rest of your cold and lonely life."

  The door slammed behind him hard, and she sank down on the couch he’d just vacated. Tears streamed freely down her face before she broke down in sobs.

  She should have known it was going to hurt like this. That it would feel like someone had taken a knife and cut her heart out. The night before, when she’d told him that they needed to be over, that it was just a fling, she’d been devastated.

  But that was nothing compared to watching him walk away from her and out of her life.

  Chapter Nine

  Six weeks later

  Time had never felt so long as it had during the six weeks since he’d left her apartment, but she sought solace in routine. She woke in the mornings, got in the shower, and put on her makeup before leaving her apartment. She went through the motions at work—clinical, friendly, efficient, and avoiding the questioning glances from her co-workers at the hospital.

  Days off were spent in her apartment. Curled up on her sofa with the TV on and e-reader in hand, switching between the flashes of color on the screen and the black and white in print, trying to focus on something else, anything else until exhaustion claimed her, and she passed out and slept.