Grace moved closer, shifting her body so she could reach my face more easily. She ended up practically standing between my legs, brushing up against my injured one whenever she rinsed off the razor.
"Take a breath, Merrick. I haven't cut you. Not yet," she chuckled.
I breathed in her sweet scent, my head swimming with arousal. She had no idea what she was doing to me. All those months shaving with a tiny mirror stuck to the wall in my CHU had been frustrating as hell. I couldn't see shit in that thing. Now I very literally couldn't see shit and she was in front of me smelling like she did, being as gentle as she was, and all those memories didn't seem like such a horrible thing.
Because now I was experiencing something even more torturous.
She positioned the razor under my nose and expertly removed the coarse hair above my lip. What would she do if I just leaned in and devoured her mouth? Would I miss her lips completely or would she meet me halfway?
She gently turned my face and started on the other side. I didn't think having her shave my face would be this intimate. In fact, I was planning on it being annoying as hell since I thought she wouldn't really know what she was doing. Asking my mother had been an option, but I didn't want her leaving Mitch either.
"Almost there. You need a haircut, too." Her voice was rough and sexy, and I had to hold back a groan when it sent blood rushing straight to my groin. "I can style it for you so it stays out of your face, but I'm no good with cutting hair."
"That sounds good," I replied. God, if she didn't finish soon, I was going to do something stupid.
She raised my chin and carefully shaved my neck. When her fingers stroked my skin to check for any areas she missed, I swallowed thickly and lost the battle completely.
My injured and stiff hand found her wrist, slowly pulling the razor away from my skin. Her gasp sent my semi-erection shooting straight up to painfully hard. The skin of her wrist was like silk under my fingers, the tiny bones so fragile. I worried that if I was too insistent, I would hurt her with just a touch.
"Merrick?" she breathed, her sweet breath caressing my chin.
"Grace ..."
I felt her racing pulse under my fingers and pulled her forward until I could feel the heat of her face so close to mine. I raised my other hand to her waist and made a cautious path up, until I gripped the back of her neck. She didn't struggle or protest, and I hoped her accelerated breaths were telling me that she was feeling the same intense pull I was.
My dry throat finally found the strength to speak, even if it was just a whisper. "I would give anything to be able to see you right now." I pulled her face closer, until the tip of her nose touched mine. The sound of the razor falling to the floor, briefly registered in my mind. "I want to–"
"Merrick? We're here, son."
Grace startled at the sound of my mother's voice, quickly pulling back and forcing my hold on her neck to slip away. The sudden awareness of what I had almost done was like a punch to the gut. I wanted her more than I wanted my next breath, but what did she want?
Grace was still standing in front of me, but neither of us spoke.
"Merrick? Grace? Where are you?"
The tension in that bathroom was stifling. I haven't felt my heart thump like that since the first day of basic. It was making me dizzy. If I could just reach out and find her, touch her, I might be able to explain myself. If I could explain myself ... then what?
Grace took a deep breath and stepped around me, picking up the razor and placing it on the sink. "I'll let your mom finish up," she stammered.
I nodded, refusing to turn toward her voice. It was a memorable moment for me; the first that I was actually grateful for my blindness. I didn't want to see the rejection on her face.
"Good luck tonight," she whispered. Then her footsteps faded away and I wanted to punch something.
I heard her and my mother speak to each other before the sound of the front door opening and closing. Moments later, Mom walked in and my heart still clamored wildly. Had I completely destroyed everything? Would Grace come back or had I run her off like I tried to that first day?
"What did you do?" Mom asked, her voice filled with unease. Was her concern for me or for Grace?
I closed my eyes and shook my head. "Nothing. Why?"
"Grace looked like she was about to burst into tears. Did you say something to her? I thought you liked her?"
I turned my chair toward the shower, away from the feel of my mother's prying eyes. "I do. That's the problem."
She must have understood because she didn't push for more. I opened the shower door and pulled myself out of the wheelchair. It bumped against the tiled ledge of the shower and started to roll backward. I would be happy to get rid of the damn thing soon. But then it would be crutches, which were almost just as bad.
"Do you need my help?"
"No, Mom. I got it," I answered a little too harshly. I cringed and encouraged myself to stop being such an asshole. "Thank you for offering."
I sat myself on the shower chair, pulling the door closed. I started to tug my pants off, grunting when my leg smarted. Mom was still in the bathroom and it must have been pure torture to watch me struggle. Once my leg was propped on the other chair, I took a deep breath and tried not to think of Grace.
"You look nice with a clean shaven face, Merrick. Grace did a wonderful job."
I dropped my head and sighed, because it was pointless. I ran my hand over my face, feeling the smooth skin under my fingers. "Yeah, she did."
The sound of the bathroom door shutting was the only sign I had that Mom left the room. I tossed my pants out of the shower and closed the door again.
Captain Bowman was going to arrive soon. I needed to pull myself together.
I had hoped Grace would be around, but it seemed unlikely now. She helped me over all the previous hurdles, but maybe I had to do this on my own. Regardless of whether or not I was ready.
***
The sound of Captain Bowman's loud voice sent a rush of dizziness to my head. The deep breaths I'd been taking since his car pulled into the driveway weren't helping at all. I was hoping to be able to take a moment to compose myself once I was ready, but even with another hand and much less pain, it took me forever to accomplish the act of getting dressed.
Didn't help that I stopped to listen for Grace every few seconds.
I dropped my head into my hands, raking my fingers through my hair for the hundredth time. I never noticed how soft hair could feel, never even thought of it until I couldn't see it. Even my aching hand could feel the texture and length of it.
Grace was right, I needed to cut it soon.
My ears perked when I heard footsteps to my right, the side where Grace's room was. Suddenly, the dizziness disappeared and all that blood in my head went straight down. I could still feel her breath on my lips and knew if I could go back to that moment in the bathroom, I would do the same thing all over again. Only, I wouldn't hesitate.
"You look very handsome, Merrick."
The air in my lungs rushed out with relief and my eyes closed. At least she was still speaking to me. At least she was still keeping her window open. I didn't know what I would have done if it was winter instead of summer.
"Thank you, Grace."
"You aren't going to throw up are you? Because I don't think that would impress your CO very much."
I chuckled and tugged at my hair again. When I opened my eyes, the laugh died. After all this time, I still expected to see something when I opened them. The disappointment was always so powerful.
"Will you come over?" I asked, licking my dry lips and praying to God she said yes.
"For dinner? With the guy who just the thought of is making you look like you could run on a broken leg? Umm, let me think about that."
I heard the smile in her voice and it felt good to be teased about it. Grace was an expert in sarcasm, but she was never impolite.
"He doesn't bite, I promise."
Her laugh se
nt a shiver down my spine. "I'm sure he doesn't, but I still don't understand why you want me there. You're a tough guy. You got this, Merrick."
If she only knew. I wasn't tough anymore. In fact, I felt like a helpless child most of the time. I felt fear every morning I woke and fear every night I fell asleep. But with her, I felt like myself. Like I could move on with my life and look forward to the future. Then she went home each night and the reminder that she probably wouldn't be in that future, haunted me.
"Regardless, I have plans tonight," she added, making my stomach drop.
"Oh, what plans?" I shook my head. I shouldn't have asked but couldn't help myself. If she had a date, it was none of my business.
None. Of. My. Business.
"I'm not supposed to tell anyone, but if you can keep a secret ..."
"Who am I going to tell?"
She didn't laugh, even though I meant it as a joke.
Footsteps sounded in the hallway and I knew it was time to see Bowman. I wouldn't make it through the night if I was picturing Grace on a date with some asshole that didn't deserve her. "Now or never, Grace," I stated, thickly.
"Josh is asking Keara to marry him. I'm helping him look for a ring tonight."
The relief was immense.
It was like that first step on American soil after months in the dust and rubble. Taking that first step off the plane at Dallas Fort Worth for my visit home. Feeling that small sense of peace, knowing I wasn't in danger. That my friends were safe as well. The worry was always there, but there's just something about knowing, feeling the stillness in the air even with a crowd surrounding me. That crowd welcomed soldiers home all the time with a reception as far as the eye could see. Almost like a parade, lined up with smiling faces.
I'll never forget that feeling. That serenity.
"Good."
It was all I could say. Grace stayed silent and the sound of my door opening, cut through the room.
"Captain Bowman is here, son." Dad sounded nervous enough for the both of us. He heard the stories, and if Bowman still looked anything like he did before, I could pretty much guarantee Dad was intimidated.
"Good luck, Merrick," Grace said, quietly.
I wanted her with me, to somehow ground me and remind me to be polite, but she wasn't going to be able to hold my hand through this.
"Is that you, Grace?" Dad said, stepping in front of me.
"Hi, Mr. Thatcher."
"Well, look at you. I haven't seen you since you've been home, but Emma told me you were all grown up. Little Grace Samuelson, you're a beautiful woman, my dear."
"Thank you, Mr. Thatcher."
"You call me Nathan. Thank you for helping my boy out, he seems a whole hell of a lot happier since you started bossing him around."
"I'm glad to hear it," Grace replied with a chuckle. Her shyness spoke volumes even though I couldn't see her.
I smiled, picturing Grace's blush. Would it travel down her neck and arms? Would I be able to feel the heat of it if she was standing next to me?
"We'll see you soon, Grace," Dad called.
"Have a good night. And Merrick?"
"Yeah?"
"You got this."
I sighed. Would the hope of seeing her face, ever go away? I could feel the comfort in her words, but seeing it would be a completely different thing.
I rolled my chair out of the room with Dad following behind me. The captain's booming voice was coming from the kitchen. I guided myself with a hand on the wall and my good foot on the ground. It was getting easier and easier to keep the chair steady. Crutches would come as soon as I finally perfected this shit, I just knew it.
"Dad, will you please hold onto the chair when we get to the kitchen?" I asked, knowing he was itching to help me out somehow.
"Sure, son. But why?"
I didn't respond because I didn't want him to try to talk me out of it.
"There he is," Mom said.
"Merrick, you look good, boy. If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were faking all those injuries of yours," Bowman said.
I grinned because I didn't expect anything else from the man. Most guys didn't have the kind of relationship with their CO that allowed them to poke fun at each other. Most of the time, the only thing you talked about was orders and respect.
"Sir, not faking, just milking it out a bit."
His booming laugh made the wheelchair rattle. "Sounds about right. It's good to see you, Thatcher."
I braced both my hands on the arms of the chair and used my good leg to raise myself up and out of it. Dad was there, holding the chair steady so it wouldn't roll away from me. Once I was standing, my left leg stiff and pulsing when my foot touched the ground, I saluted my captain. I wouldn't see his return, but I knew he would give it.
Respect.
If I had lost everything else, at least I tried to come back with a little bit of that.
"Merrick." My mother's gasp was quickly silenced and I felt my father's movement from behind. He must have given her the not-now gesture. I would have to thank him for that later.
"I would love to shake your hand, son," Bowman said from right in front of me and I raised my right hand to offer it to him. The feel of his warm hand in mine was a surprise and a shock. How long had it been since I'd shook a man's hand? Since I'd touched anyone?
"You'll get through this better than any other man possibly could, Thatcher. I know it. I feel it. I see it in you and so do you. Don't give up on that."
The captain's firm words hit me deep. I did know it. I just needed a reminder here and there.
"Let's eat, shall we?" Dad said, his voice thicker than normal. God, I hoped he wasn't getting emotional. That would ruin all my preparation for the night.
I found my way back into my chair and felt my father's hand on my shoulder, squeezing tightly with support.
I may not be able to see it, but I could feel it.
Hope.
I had hope.
And damn if the only thing I could think about was that I wished Grace would have been there to feel it right along with me.
Chapter Nine
Grace
Merrick seemed different after that dinner with his superior. I hoped it would stick and so far it had. Two weeks went by and his progress was insanely fast. The strength he still had in his muscles helped to counteract the weakness in others. His therapy was smooth, and half the time I didn't even really need to be there.
His hand was doing remarkably well. Once he finally got enough strength back in his grip, he was switched to crutches with mild weight bearing. Some of the grumpiness returned for a day or two, but he still seemed lighter than he'd been in the beginning.
"Fuck!"
Well, most of the time.
"How the hell am I supposed to use these if they keep rubbing my armpits raw?"
I held back the chuckle because I had already discussed this issue with him. He swore he could use them without a 'stupid kitchen towel' wrapped around the top of them. He was beginning to realize that he was wrong. Especially since he would need them for a while.
"Do you need any help?" I called from the kitchen.
He showered and dressed by himself like he'd been doing for weeks already. Every time he finished, I could hear the deep sigh of relief coming from his bedroom. It took a long time, but he could do it. That sigh hadn't come today. Not yet.
"No, I'm good. I just ... ah, shit!"
The sound of his painful hiss made my feet move. I scurried into his bedroom only to find that he hadn't dressed himself, except for his boxer briefs, and he was standing in front of his bed with one crutch, looking like a God. I'd pretty much seen him naked a few times in the beginning, but it was all so clinical that I never truly noticed how ripped the man actually was.
Those abs could seriously cut some glass and his chest was chiseled and hard. Glorious. The scars did absolutely nothing to distract from his beauty. They were there, visible and many, but 'there' is all they ever really were.
"Are you still here?" he asked, his eyes pointed straight ahead at the wall beside me.
I cleared my throat and shifted on my feet. How long was I staring? "Yeah, are you okay?"
His lips tugged into a grin, "Why were you so quiet? I wasn't sure if you left when you saw me naked."
"You aren't n-naked."
"I'm not?"
"No?" Why did it have to come out as a question?
"Are you sure?" he smiled. Those teeth were so straight and added so much to the already panty-dropping smile he was shooting my way.
I took another look, slowly grazing my eyes down his body. Just to be sure.
"Yes."
"So, why were you staring at me? I know it isn't because of the scars. You've told me they don't bother you. Were you lying?" He seemed amused, but the question was certainly serious.
"No, I wasn't lying. They don't bother me."
"So?"
"So, what?"
He sighed and shook his head. "Why were you staring at me?"
"I wasn't."
He laughed.
The man actually laughed. And not the chuckle that he graced all of us with now and then. No, this was a full on slap-your-knee-stomach-clenching laugh. The sound of it speared straight into my chest, swirled around a few times then changed its course downward.
God, it was a sexy laugh. Deep and rough. Sultry enough to send vibrations down into my feet.
He needed to laugh more. For the lives of all available women in the world, he needed to laugh just to keep their hearts thumping.
"Grace. Were you checking me out?"
I blinked several times before I processed what he just asked me. "What? No! I mean, yes. I mean ... damn it, Merrick!"
He kept laughing. I just stood there taking in that incredible sight with my arms folded across my chest. He may not be able to see the annoyance in my stance, but I needed to show it somehow.
And it was annoyance. Not arousal.
Not. Arousal.
"Are you done yet?" I snapped.
He shrugged those massive shoulders and let the laugh die out, that smile still on his handsome, still clean shaven face. A face he had attempted to shave on his own a few times until he was forced to ask for my help again. I knew he thought about that almost kiss two weeks before. I hadn't ever stopped thinking about it.
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