Shattered Grace

Cars were parked on both sides of Orchard Street, so Grace didn’t have to mention parking in an area where the Shelby would be less likely to get a scratch. With this many cars, they had no choice but to park a couple of blocks from Latté Da’s. As they got out of the car, their ears were met with rhythmic drumbeats.

“Sounds like we’re late,” Grace said as they hurried down the street.

A few loiterers were gathered around the front door, talking. Grace and Quentin politely pushed their way through. Still a little uncertain, she turned to Quentin, pulling herself up on her toes in order to talk in his ear. “Whenever you’re ready to go, just let me know and we can go.”

He leaned in, shouting loud enough so she could hear. The same smell of water and fresh night air from earlier surrounded her, pulling her toward him. “Don’t worry about me. Just try to have a good time. Alright?” His voice snapped her out of it, and she took a small step back.

Worried he realized what she had done, she jammed her hands into the back pockets of her pants and scanned the dark street. She took a quick peek back at Quentin, and caught a glimpse of a smile and felt a little reassured. “Alright.” He opened the door, ushering her in with a hand at the small of her back.

The place was packed, every table and seat taken. It seemed as though every square inch of the cinderblock shop was filled with loitering youth. Latté Da’s smelled of espresso, burnt milk, and sweat from too many packed-in bodies. The wafting aroma, she imagined, was probably much like that of a nightclub. Minus the espresso and milk, of course. Grace felt Quentin lean into her, the heat of his breath reaching her ear before his words. “If you want to go find your friends, I can get us something to drink. What do you want?”

“I’ll just have a mocha, with two straws. Emily will be toward the stage in back.”

“I’ll find you.”

Taking his wink as her okay to go, she made her way through the crowd toward the stage. Some kids stood talking, others sat singing along to the music, while the braver ones danced. Even though Grace didn’t see any one dancer she thought who could dance particularly well, she still envied how carefree they all were with their movements. She’d always wanted to be able to dance like that, to be able to let loose in a crowded room and allow her body to react to the music. But she never could, not because she was clumsy or ungainly, but because she was different.

Her difference had always kept her on the outside looking in, careful not to touch anyone with her hands. She knew that to everyone else but her grandfather, her lack of getting involved in crowded activities made her seem shy, when in fact, shyness had nothing to do with keeping her distance. She continued to watch the dancers, and tamped down the twinge she felt as she noticed a few of her friends were among them. Emily stood just beyond, watching Tommy get his rock star on.

“He sounds great,” Grace shouted, once she got within earshot of her.

“Doesn’t he?” Emily yelled back, bouncing up and down in time to the music. Her straight dark hair moved as if dancing too. “What took you so long? I thought you were going to be a no-show.”

“Not a no-show, just late.”

Too focused on Tommy, Emily uncharacteristically let her transgression go. Grace wondered if she was eagle-eying Tommy because she was in love, or because there were several girls lining the stage sending obvious groupie messages with their body language. They bounced a lot. And with the little they were wearing, it was a wonder how the members of Distant Echo could concentrate enough to sound so good.

The band finished their song and announced a ten-minute break. Tommy jumped off the stage, wound his way through his little fan club, and headed for Emily. Grace watched as her eyes lit up and her smile widened. The groupies, on the other hand, weren’t smiling at all. Each took turns stabbing Emily with eye daggers. They weren’t worth the notice, so Grace turned back to Emily.

“How’d we sound, babe?”

“You guys were amazing!” Emily gushed, her eyes all wide as she clapped her hands with excitement before throwing her arms around Tommy’s neck.

Grace rolled her eyes. “I think I’m going to puke.”

Emily’s head quickly swiveled in her direction, her eyes narrowed. “Is that why you were late? You getting sick?”

“Watching your PDA is making me sick. I was fine until I got here.”

“Whatever.” Emily dismissed her disgust with a flick of her hand, then turned her fluttering eyes back to Tommy.

It was strange seeing Tommy in his rock star garb. Usually he looked like he belonged somewhere on the beaches of California with nothing but a surfboard in hand. But tonight the only thing that looked like Tommy was his longer sandy-blond hair and brown eyes. However, the black eyeliner penciled around them was a little weird.

A brush from someone’s touch sent heat shooting up Grace’s arm. Not a painful, burning heat. More of a butterflies fluttering in your tummy, heart-palpitating, “oh my gosh, what the heck was that” kind of heat. The flurry of sensations she’d never experienced together before made Grace’s heart race.

When she turned toward the source of the heat, she found Quentin standing next to her, holding the mocha she’d asked for. His knuckles had barely grazed her. Odd, she thought. What the hell is going on?

Afraid he might have felt it too, her cheeks heated to a self-conscious shade of dark red. Grace shook herself mentally, determined to get her blushing issues under control. Her complexion lately was bipolar—white or red. It couldn’t be some nice complementary shade in between.

Successful at avoiding Quentin’s inquisitive gaze yet again, she took the drink and mumbled a thank-you. When she looked up, she noticed that Emily and Tommy were gaping at him. She swung her gaze to Quentin, taking in how the contrast between his gray eyes against his raven hair was startling in this lighting, amplifying his features. That’s right, she thought with an internal snicker, he is quite easy on the eyes.

“Guys, this is Quentin. Quentin,” she said, swiveling back to them, “this is my friend, Emily. And that’s her boyfriend, Tommy.”

Quentin smiled and reached out to shake Tommy’s hand. Emily’s face twisted conspiratorially, and Grace winced inside. Here we go!

“So, this is your grandfather’s friend, huh?” Tommy paused with his hand in midair.

“Uh, yep.”

If Emily mentioned she’d told her that he was insanely hot, she would die on the spot.

Her best friend’s face widened with a sly grin. From somewhere behind Emily’s back, Grace could practically feel a light breeze from the fluttering of Emily’s cupid wings. Her best friend was not only a drama queen, she was an incorrigible matchmaker.

The only sure way to be certain that “hot” wasn’t in Emily’s next sentence was to divert attention elsewhere. “Tommy,” Grace interjected a little too enthusiastically. “Emily was right. You guys are great!”

“You really think so?” Tommy’s eyes lit up and let his breath out in a whoosh.

“Absolutely.”

“Seriously, man,” Quentin said, finally shaking Tommy’s hand. “Your band is really good.”

Quentin eyed Grace and gave her a private wink. Smiling on the outside but giggling on the inside, she was glad her non-promise of awesome music was delivered, and even more thankful she was able to divert Emily’s attention away from matchmaking.

Before long, Tommy’s band was due back onstage. He dropped a quick peck on Emily’s cheek, then made his way back to the stage to rejoin the band. Grace kept a watchful eye on the groupies as she felt her phone buzz. She pulled it from her purse and flinched at the name displayed on Caller ID. After avoiding her mom all day, Grace sighed, knowing she should probably bite the bullet and call her back.

“My mom keeps texting and calling. I’m going to slip outside real quick and call her back,” she said to Quentin and Emily.

Emily’s focus stayed on the stage. “I’ll be right here.”

Like she’d be anywhere else?

“Do you want me to go outside with you? It’s pretty dark out there now.” Quentin leaned in close, concern etched on his features.

“No, I’ll only be a few minutes.”

Grace made her way back through the crowd and ran the gauntlet through the front door loiterers, doing her best not to touch anyone as she passed. She pushed out the front door, thankful for the cool night air that met her overheated face. She turned down the sidewalk and walked briskly. Once she made it to the corner a couple of buildings down, it sounded like she might be far enough away from the throbbing music to be able to hear.

“Grace?”

“Hi, Mom.”

“Are you alright? I’ve been trying to get a hold of you all day. I was starting to really worry about you.”

Worry? That would be a first.

“I’m fine. Just hung out at Grandpa’s for a while. I’m at Latté Da’s listening to Tommy’s band now.”

Laney paused. “What time will you be home?”

“Not sure. Not too late, I have school in the morning.” Grace switched the phone to her other ear as she swept her gaze up and down the dark, deserted street.

“Oh…alright.” Her mother sighed. “I’ll see you when you get home then.”

“Okay. Bye.”

“Bye, honey.”

Honey? Grace pulled the phone from her ear to stare at it, her mouth open in disbelief. Has hell frozen over, she asked herself, and I just didn’t get the memo? She disconnected the call and dropped her phone back in her purse, then pivoted toward the coffee shop. A slight scraping noise caught her attention, and she was startled by someone perched against the building behind her—one foot propped on the brick wall, thumbs leisurely hooked in his belt loops. She gasped and slapped a hand to her chest, quietly trying to find the breath she’d lost.

“Hey, you okay?” He moved out from under the shadow of the building’s awning, letting the moon’s luminosity shine down to unveil his face.

And what a face!

Grace couldn’t tell for sure the color of his hair or of his eyes. The moon cast shadows across the plains of his face, revealing perfectly spaced eyes, high cheekbones, and a square jawline. In black and white, he was gorgeous. She could only imagine how beautiful he was in Technicolor.

“I’m fine. I just didn’t see you there.”

“No, it hasn’t,” he said.

Confused, Grace flipped her head around to see if someone else had crept up on her. No one stood behind her, to the side of her, or anywhere near him. Had he been speaking to her?

She narrowed her eyes and tilted her head in question. “No, what?”

“No, hell hasn’t frozen over.”

Had she said that out loud? No, she thought. Still confused, she didn’t speak. She peered at him questioningly.

“When you got off the phone you asked if hell has frozen over.”

“Huh, I didn’t realize I said anything out loud.” Embarrassed, and so very thankful for the shroud of darkness, she blushed. No surprise there.

“No worries,” he said. “It happens to me all the time.”

“What? Talking to yourself?”

“No, strange men standing in the dark talking to me.” He delivered the line totally straightfaced, which made it hard for Grace to tell if he was joking or not. Or if he was just being a jerk.

“You’re joking, right?”

“Yes, I’m joking.” The corners of his mouth turned up a little, softening his face into a boyish smile. A smile she could easily get lost in.

The sound of distant applause brought her down from Lost In Boyish Smile Boulevard back to Orchard Street. Quentin must be worried by now, she mused. “I have to get back inside. My friends are probably wondering where I am.”

“Yeah, okay. It was nice chattin’ with ya.”

“It was nice talking to you too.”

Grace turned back in the direction of the coffee shop, and strode purposefully down the sidewalk toward the sounds of music and people. Toward safety.

“It’s Darius!” he yelled from behind her.

Grace halted and peeked at him from over her shoulder, pretending not to understand. “What? I know I wasn’t talking to myself out loud this time.”

“No, but I know you were wondering my name.” And there was that charming boyish smile again. Butterflies took flight in her stomach, making her skin heat in more places than just her face. She needed to walk away.

She increased her pace, walking quickly toward Latté Da’s, the day’s events tumbling inside her head. Her mother was acting weird, it was suddenly raining hot men all around her, she was saying things out loud she could swear she’d only thought, and had shamelessly flirted with three separate guys in less than twenty-four hours. Hell had definitely developed permafrost.

“I didn’t catch yours!” Darius shouted from the corner.

“You wouldn’t, because I didn’t give it,” she shouted back. With a new flirtatious bounce in her step, she sashayed the rest of the way back to the lighted storefront of the coffee shop.

Quentin was easy enough to spot with his broad shoulders and raven hair, once she got past the crowd. What she didn’t expect to see was the blond guy standing next to him.

Perfect!

Grace bit her lip, hoping she hadn’t led Zeke to believe she was meeting him back at the coffee shop for a date. She straightened her spine and cautiously made her way to where both men stood.

“Hey,” she said, her voice sounding uncomfortable even to her own ears.

Zeke smiled, revealing a dimple. “Hey.”

Tommy’s band started up with another very loud riff, relieving her from talking duty. Quentin leaned in to her ear. “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah,” she yelled. “Just my mom checkin’ up on me.”

He leaned in to say something else, but she couldn’t hear over the drummer’s strangled cat-screeching into the mic. That’s when the whole atmosphere morphed. Part of the crowd started to move and circle. The rest of the onlookers moved back. Emily moved quickly, grabbing Grace by the elbow, and pulled her to the front of the shop with Quentin right behind them.

Emily’s warning came out loud and rushed. “If you don’t want to get trampled, you’ll stay with me.”

“Why would I get trampled?” Grace asked. Her eyes followed the roiling crowd in front of the stage. Kids were being thrown every which way. Panic washed over her as she watched, certain that it was an all-out brawl. Yet everyone who was thrown out of the crowd immediately pushed themselves back into the fray. This wasn’t fighting, she suddenly realized. This was moshing. And moshing didn’t look fun to her…not at all. She’d only seen it on TV before, never in person, and from where she stood, that was enough. Her body and head hurt just watching the abuse. She didn’t think she could handle much more of the screaming and pushing, and turned to Quentin, hoping he was ready to go.

“You ready? I don’t think I can handle any more.”

“Yes,” he said, sounding relieved.

Grace grabbed Emily’s arm, pulling her attention from the crazy scene in front of them. “Hey, Em, we’re going to go. You alright until Tommy’s done?”

“I’m good. There’s only one more song after this.”

“If you see Zeke, tell him I said bye.”

“Will do. See you at school, sweets,” Emily said, giving her a hug good-bye.

As Quentin led the way, her skin crawled with that eerie someone-is-watching feeling. She scanned the crowd to her left and her eyes locked on to Darius’ eyes, surprisingly an emerald green. Her earlier thought about him was right; he was even more beautiful in color. His unruly hair was a perfect shade of sun-kissed golden brown. Bronzed skin covered his frame, complementing the Chinese throwing star cross necklace that peeked from the V of his T-shirt.

With her attention trained on Darius as they wove through the crowd, she smashed into Quentin’s back when he stopped unexpectedly, knocking them both a little off kilter. Quentin turned and braced the both of them so they didn’t crash to the ground, then laughed softly as he caught her eye.

“Are you okay to walk, or is the mocha going straight to your head?”

The only stable, consistent thing in Grace’s life right now seemed to be her blushing. On cue, her face turned beet red. Certain the capillaries in her face would just give up and rupture from all the constant abuse, she sighed. “Sorry. I wasn’t paying attention.”

“Hmm,” he said. “I didn’t get that. Come on.” He chuckled again. “Let’s get you home.”

As inconspicuously as possible, she tried to sneak a final peek at Darius. Her eyes widened as she spied a flaming redhead leaning over on a single ruffled peep-toe stiletto, whispering in his ear. A glance back to Darius revealed he was still watching her. She willed herself to look away, but her eyes refused to listen.

Darius winked at her and finger-waved good-bye when she reached the door. She tossed back an awkward wave and silently prayed the seductive redhead was somehow an unlikely relative.

“So, it looks like I owe you a pizza,” Quentin said as he steered the Shelby away from Latté Da’s and down Orchard Street.

“And a personal one-on-one with the Jag. Don’t forget.” Grace jabbed a warning finger at him.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” He threw a sideways glance her way before returning his focus to the road. “Shelby here is a very impressive piece of machinery.”

“Yes, she is.” Grace’s voice revealed a touch of pride, matching the fiery sparkle Quentin noticed in her eyes whenever she talked about her car.

He turned on Montgomery, then down Belmont toward Christophe’s. The forced close proximity to Grace in the car made his seneschal band pulse and burn, and he shifted uneasily in his seat. The armband bonded him to each Chosen he guarded, and changed with every one of them. It altered to match the uniqueness of the individual, signifying a brand of sorts of the Chosen’s soul. To the layperson, it looked like an everyday tattoo. But to those who knew its secrets, it was an unmistakable Guardian’s band. For that reason alone, he had to always be mindful of when it showed and around whom.

He parked next to the Jag and got out, watching Grace as she made her way around the car to take over the driver’s seat. Her thoughts seemed elsewhere. It’s probably the house, he thought.

Quentin watched her settle into the seat, then pushed the door closed and leaned over to rest a hand on the open window. “Thanks for inviting me tonight. It was fun.”

“Yeah, up until the part where moshing became dancer’s choice,” she said, scrunching her nose. “No, thank you. I don’t want any part of that.”

“I would have to agree with you.” He noticed her smile. She had a beautiful smile. A smile, he reminded himself, that he shouldn’t be noticing. “Okay…well, I’ll talk to you in a couple of days.”

Grace rested a hand on the gearshift and looked up into his eyes. “Yeah, I’ll let you know when I’m ready to go to the bank.”

“Alright. Sweet dreams, Grace.”

“G’night.” She shifted the Shelby into gear and gave him a little wave.

As he watched her drive into the darkness, he found it curious that his band was already so far along in its transformation with Grace still being three weeks away from becoming entirely Chosen. Maybe she was closer to the change than he thought? His bond with her was already stronger than with any one of his prior charges.

Her burn lingered. He could still feel her, even though she’d traveled half a mile down the road. The feeling was enticing, to say the least. That Grace had just gotten in her car and driven off left him feeling bereft, disappointed. He wasn’t sure exactly what he had expected. He did, however, know he sure as hell shouldn’t want anything more than the impersonal good-night he’d gotten.

Quentin stood in the darkness, watching her taillights flash brightly as she braked before making a turn, then disappeared from sight. He needed a release. Some kind of avenue to get himself under control. Grace was under his guardianship. Nothing more. Nothing less.

He gave himself a mental shake as he made his way into the house, forcing his thoughts back to his duty. What he really needed to do was get her to the bank and back to Christophe’s, where he could protect her better. Maybe having her in close proximity where he knew she was safe would help. At this point, Grace didn’t need to know he had lived in Christophe’s house all this time. It was the way of the Guardian and Chosen. They lived their lives under the same roof, living together with the same purpose.

The fact that Grace was a beautiful female might prove to be a bit of a challenge for him. If he didn’t find a way to control his attraction to her, the necessary living arrangements could very well end up being the death of him.

Grace was somewhere between drifting and dreaming of moonlit faces when a light tap on her bedroom door stirred her.

“Grace? You awake?” her mother asked from the lighted bedroom doorway.

Irritated that the beginning of a Darius dream was interrupted, she opened one eye to a slit. “Barely.” With her luck, it wouldn’t be one of those dreams that picked up exactly where it left off, no matter how many times it was broken up with interruptions. The thought just irritated her more.

“I was just making sure you were home. I couldn’t sleep until I knew you were back.”

“Since when?” Grace cringed inside, realizing the filter from her brain to her mouth wasn’t fully awake yet.

Her mother’s face fell into a frown as her voice cracked. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, nothing really, other than your timing couldn’t be more perfect.” Yep, her filter was apparently broken. Or out cold.

“My timing?” Her mother’s voice rose an octave.

Fully aware the timing issue was about way more than the dream, she decided to rip the Band-Aid off completely. No more picking at it. Grace sat straight up in bed and looked her mother square in the eye.

“Yes, your timing. Other than the obvious reasons, you decide now to worry and act all motherly, just three weeks before I turn eighteen? How convenient.”

Stunned, her mother stood in the doorway gazing painfully back at her. Grace could see a pool of tears forming in her eyes, but was too agitated to care. When her mother spoke again, it was barely above a murmur.

“Convenient? Is that what you really think? That I’ve been waiting around all this time for your inheritance? That I’ve not really cared for you?”

“It’s not what I think, Mom. It’s what I’ve felt.” Surprised by the anger rising within her, Grace focused on her breathing, trying to calm herself down.

“You don’t know anything,” her mother said loud enough for her to hear clearly. “And I don’t care what you think you’ve felt. All I’ve done the last eighteen years is care for and worry about you. I’ve always done what I’ve had to do.” Her mother’s spine straightened.

“I don’t know how it was when you were in school, but Maslow’s hierarchy of needs includes love.” An angry rush of heat tore through Grace’s body with every new word spoken. Her limbs trembled with the need to spring out of the bed, but she stiffened to keep her poised muscles in check.

Before answering, her mother took in a deep breath. “Clearly, you’re home safe. Not so sound, but you’re home, nonetheless. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Laney shut the door, pulling it closed a little harder than necessary.

Grace screwed her eyes shut tight and held back the frustrated yell she wanted so badly to let loose. How could her mother just waltz in and pretend like the last fifteen years didn’t happen? Oh no, it happened. Just not how I remember it, she thought. She threw her covers back with a sharp swipe of her arm and stormed into the bathroom to splash some water on her face, hoping it would calm her down. Once she’d turned the cold tap on full, she leaned over, plunged her cupped hands under the faucet, and threw the cold water on her skin.

“Ahhh!” Grace yelled, as much from the shock as from anger, then picked up a towel to scrub at her face as her mind tallied justification for the resentment bombarding it. It was all too easy to conjure images of the shock that would engulf her mother if she woke to find Grace gone. And even easier to imagine the tears that would follow as the vulture of guilt ate at the carcass of her mother’s Graceless life. Then her mother would see things her way, and feel nothing but remorse.

Who was she kidding? Her mother would probably just be relieved if she ever left, and thank her. Funny how guilt works. One would think it would be symmetrical, everyone feeling it equally. Grace had learned it was usually one-sided, and Laney was too narcissistic to be affected by sensibility. In this respect, Grace wished she was more like her mother. The words she’d thrown at Laney were purposely hurtful. Even though she didn’t regret them at the moment, Grace knew she would soon. The iniquity of her verbal transgression would haunt her until she yielded to it.

Which is when she’d deal with it.

She grabbed her cell off her nightstand, got back into bed, and shot off a text to Quentin.

Grace: Howz ur head frm the awsum tunes?

According to the time on her cell, it was ten after midnight. She stared at the screen, hoping he wasn’t sleeping. Seconds later, it buzzed.

Quentin: Great. How are you?

Grace: My headache isn’t frm the music :(

Since he didn’t text back again right away, she suddenly hoped she wasn’t bothering him—waking him, interrupting him, annoying him.


Quentin: What’s wrong?

Grace: Fighting with the mom is all. Fun times.

Quentin: Sorry. Is it because you were out late?

Grace: No. Long story.

Quentin: I’m all ears.


Quentin was a lot of things, but all ears wasn’t one of them. Tee-hee, she giggled silently.

Damn, she thought. I really am losing it.

Grace: Im 2 angry 2 sleep.

Quentin: Wish there was something I could do to help.

Grace: U answered my txt.

Quentin: Can I call you?



For a moment, she just stared at the phone. His question made her stomach do flip-flops. She was still stewing a little, but at least her heart wasn’t trying to pound out of her chest from mad adrenalin.


Grace: Yes.

It only took three seconds for her cell to ring.

“Hello.”

“Hi there.”

“Were you sleeping?”

“Yeah,” he said. “But sleep is overrated.” She could hear the smile in his voice. “You want to talk about it?”

Did she? She wasn’t sure. Talk? Yes, but about it? She didn’t think so. “That’s not a today conversation.” Grace smiled, wondering if he’d remember his own words.

The lighthearted chuckle in her ear made her smile. “Very good, grasshoppa. You’ve been paying attention.” His retort made her giggle.

“Seriously,” she said, her laughter calming. “Were you really sleeping?”

“Yes, but it’s not a big deal. Do you want to talk about why you and your mom were fighting?”

Grace settled back into her pillow and pulled her covers up under her arms. “Maybe another time. Not tonight. I just want to think about something else so I can sleep.” Absentmindedly, she slid her fingers along the silky edge of her blanket.

“I understand,” he said, and didn’t bring her mom back up again. Instead, he chatted with her about everything and nothing at all, until they were both unable to complete a sentence without yawning.

“You sound tired.” Quentin breathed another yawn. “You should try to sleep. You have a busy day tomorrow.”

She continued tapping each finger on her right hand with her thumb, hoping it would help her stay awake. “Okay, I can probably sleep now.”

“My cell will be next to me if you need to talk again.”

“Thanks, Quentin. Wish me luck.”

“Luck.”

“G’night.”

“Sweet dreams, Grace.”

She set her phone aside, wondering if it was habit for him to sleep with his phone. He probably said that because he was just a nice guy, she decided. As she thought back on the last few days, Grace realized she didn’t know what she would have done without him. And how much she was going to need him in the days and weeks to come.

With a big smile on her face, Grace settled beneath her covers. She slipped her phone under her pillow, prayed her dream would continue, and drifted slowly back to sleep.