“It’s just . . .” Her jaw tightens. “My mother never did drugs before; she didn’t even drink. What he did? That’s what turned her into this. He ruined our lives, and she will swear that he’s innocent, right to her last breath, and I can’t stand—” Those full lips press into a tight line. “I hate him so much for it.”
Dammit. I can’t let her believe this. “She didn’t say that he was guilty, Gracie.”
She peers up at me from behind a thick fringe of lashes, the eight-inch-or-so height difference forcing her head back to meet my eyes. “What did she say?”
“Not much, after he died. And then near the end, she was drinking a lot.” I sigh. “But she said that your dad was a good man.”
“Right. Who was also a drug dealer?” A skeptical frown furrows her brow.
“That’s all I know.” I start for my side of the suite, hoping she’s not going to follow. She doesn’t move a muscle, a dazed look filling her face. “The money is yours, Gracie. A decorated police officer and chief of the Austin Police Department, and an old friend of the family, left it for you, to help you through a hard time, and that’s all you need to know.” That sounds like something Silas would tell me to say. “I’m going to shut this door. Knock if you need anything.” I’ve already seen what this girl is capable of when she’s angry. I don’t want to wake up to a blade against my nuts after she’s been stewing in bed for three hours and decides that what I’ve told her isn’t good enough.
My body sinks with relief the moment the latch clicks. Hoping that she doesn’t knock, that she doesn’t want a rehash of the night my mom died in hopes of finding clues. Reasons for the money, and for my mother’s words.
I peel my clothes off and slide under the cool, crisp covers, waiting for that feeling of relief and accomplishment to hit me. I’ve done what my mother asked of me. Gracie has her money, and I’ve told her that Abe was a good man. She’s going to be okay.
And yet a suffocating weight still bears down on my chest.
CHAPTER 14
Grace
I’m woken from a dead sleep by my phone.
“Uh-huh?” My greeting comes out more like a sigh.
“Grace Richards?” a woman asks, low voices buzzing in the background.
“Yeah?”
“Dr. Coppa wanted me to let you know that a bed became available in our rehab facility this morning, so we’ve moved your mother. She’s doing well, and she’d like to see you. Visiting hours will begin shortly.”
I doubt everyone gets personal calls like this from the hospital, but I also doubt everyone has a doctor bending over time and time again for them. I’m aware that I have Dr. Coppa’s full pity. “Okay. Thanks. I’ll be there . . .” I glance at the clock to see that it’s already ten thirty a.m. “. . . soon.”
It’s a good thing I called in sick for this morning’s shift. Dealing with gas station customers is the last thing I can face right now, as I try to pull my life back together and make sense of Noah’s surprise visit.
The low hum of a TV sportscaster’s voice carries through the wall between his room and mine. He’s probably packing up, eager to get on the road for that long drive back to Austin.
Thoughts of him getting dressed make me groan into my pillow. I’m mortified about barging in on him in the shower last night. Granted, he should have locked the door, but that’s no excuse. And then he stood there, not swearing or yelling at me to get the hell out. Instead, trying to calm me down.
My cheeks flush at that awkward moment, firmly emblazoned in my memory.
It’s not like Noah’s the first naked guy I’ve ever seen. I had boyfriends in high school. Plus, living in the Hollow, where drunken disorderliness goes hand in hand with public indecency, I’ve come across more than one asshole who gets a kick out of a midday stroll in the flesh. It’s always the sweaty ones, too, with their bellies permanently swollen from hard liquor and tufts of hair growing in places where tufts of hair shouldn’t be growing.
And then, there’s the time I finished my English exam an hour early and came home to find my mom on her knees in front of some scrawny guy, his pants pooling around his ankles, a ziplock bag of Oxy pills dangling from his fingers like bait.
I’ve seen my fair share of naked men, but none of them have looked anything like Noah. Every inch of him is sculpted in golden muscle, and the tan line that sits low around his hips proves that he has no qualms about showing off that broad chest.
And to top it all off, he was covered in soap suds, water dripping from every—
A soft knock comes from our adjoining door, startling my thoughts. I drag myself out of bed and do a quick mirror check to confirm that my hair is a wild mess. My mom always told me how lucky I am to have inherited her silky, soft texture and Dad’s curls. I wonder when I’ll agree with her on that, because most days it seems more of a nightmare than anything resembling luck. Going to bed with it damp does awful things, but the hotel’s hair dryer didn’t have a diffuser, no surprise. So I was forced to braid it and cross my fingers.
By the halo of frizz around my face, I’m thinking that wasn’t the best move either.
Doing my best to smooth it down with my fingers, I finally give up, throw on the clothes I bought yesterday, and then open the adjoining door.
Noah has his back to me, giving me a brief opportunity to admire the way his soft gray T-shirt clings around his muscular arms and shoulders and his dark jeans sit low on his hips. He’s busy stuffing his toiletries bag into his backpack. “How’d you sleep?”
“Fine.” When he glances over at me, I notice the circles under his eyes.
“Better than you, from the looks of it.”
He chuckles. “Yeah. I need at least a week to catch up on all the sleep I’ve missed lately.” He swallows hard.
I mentally kick myself. His mother just shot herself and here he is, helping me deal with my shit. “I’m sorry about your mom.” Regardless of what my mom believes Jackie did, Noah had no hand in it.
He offers me a sad smile and nods, but it doesn’t mask the flash of pain in his eyes.
“Hey, you should find a safe place to keep that money, like the bank.”
“Right.” But not my bank account. There’d be red flags waving above my head the moment I passed ninety-eight thousand dollars over the counter.
“Checkout here is at eleven, but they’ll take cash payment, if you want to stay a few more nights. You know, until you find a place to live. I’ll let them keep my credit card on file so they don’t give you any hassle.”
Another check in the “nice guy” column.
“I could rack up your bill with room service.”
“They don’t have room service here.”
I struggle to keep my expression smooth. “Fine, then. Porn.”
A deep dimple forms in his cheek. He reaches down to fasten his belt, flashing his taut belly. “I’m sure they have that. But I just drove twelve hours to give you almost a hundred grand that I could have kept for myself. Something tells me you’d feel a bit guilty.”
He’s right, I would.
His forearm cords under the weight of his backpack. With his free hand, he scribbles something on the hotel notepad and tears the sheet off. He holds it out to me. “Here. You should have my number.”
“Why?”
He sighs. “I don’t know why, Gracie. Why not?”
I bite back the urge to correct my name. I don’t mind it so much, coming from him. And he’s right—he could have kept that money. Instead, he drove across two states, saved my mother, tried to save my home, and gave me a place to stay, all in addition to handing over enough money to fix our problems. And what have I done besides wave a knife at him, accuse him of being a heroin dealer, scream at him while he was naked and vulnerable, and generally act like a royal bitch?
Despite all that, I don’t want him to leave. It’s been nice, not being alone to deal with everything.
Setting the paper on the dresser, he peers at the door. “I really should . . .”
He really should get the hell away from me and Tucson, is what he’s thinking.
“Yeah. I have to head over to the hospital.”
His features soften. “Do you need a ride?”
“No, I’m going to sort out this room first.”
“And then what?”