Shattered Grace (Fallen from Grace)

by K Anne Raines

  Quentin blinked hard and groaned as she grabbed the door handle and shouted, “If you don’t stop the car, I’m getting out anyway.”

  He pulled over on the shoulder. “Please, Grace, listen to me. The Fallen know where you are. There could be more coming.”

  “I don’t care,” she hissed. The seatbelt clicked free, and she scrabbled for the door again.

  Desperate, he grabbed her hand. He watched as she sucked in a breath, staring at him with the same wonderment in her eyes as she did every time he touched her. “Don’t. Please,” he begged.

  Grace relaxed and her face softened. “I have to. I can’t leave my friends.” Then she smiled that beautiful smile. “You’re my Guardian. Guard me.”

  After sending up a little prayer, he let go of her hand and followed her back to the accident, the police and ambulance just arriving.

  Luckily, Grace was spared the trouble of giving a statement since she couldn’t remember any of the accident. Quentin gave his more than once, tweaking details here and there so as to not give away too much of the truth. It took a lot of arguing to convince the medics not to take Grace to the hospital in the ambulance. Instead, Quentin called Christophe’s personal physician, who showed up quickly. He guaranteed he’d treat her and promised there was no dire need for her to go with them. After his assessment, the doctor said Grace had a slight concussion and minor whiplash, and gave instructions to Quentin on signs to watch out for and how he was to care for her through the night.

  Unfortunately, the other three did need to go to the hospital. Both Leah and Tommy suffered concussions as well, Leah’s worse than Grace’s or Tommy’s. Emily’s arm was broken. Grace was awash with guilt, but Quentin tried reassuring her they’d be okay.

  By the time the accident was cleared and they were given permission to leave, Grace was weaving with exhaustion. He picked her up and cradled her in his arms. She protested feebly all the way to the car. As soon as they were back on the road, she fell asleep. Quentin glanced at her every few minutes, knowing it could have been a whole lot worse. His heart gave a painful squeeze at the thought.

  Once they were home he didn’t bother trying to wake her just yet; she needed the sleep. Carefully, he pulled her from the Jag, kicking the door softly shut with his foot. He thought for sure once they were inside and Laney saw how late it was, she’d come running. But she didn’t. Once again, the house was empty. With Grace still in his arms, he walked up the stairs toward her room, and wondered where Laney had been going so often and so late at night.

  Somehow he managed to pull the blankets back from Grace’s bed and lay her down without waking her. Her feet dangled off the edge of the bed and he tugged gently, amazing himself that he was able to get her shoes off without so much as a disturbance in her breathing.

  Satisfied, Quentin stared down at his charge sleeping soundlessly and realized he was still in a quandary, wondering how in the world was he going to get Grace out of those dirty jeans without making himself uncomfortable now … and Grace much more so later. Where the hell was Laney, his mind shrieked. He cursed her mother silently and ground his teeth, realizing he needed to get creative, and fast.

  In a flash of genius, he covered her with her bed sheet. He then knelt at her feet and reached underneath it in search of the button and fly of her jeans. The heat that radiated off those long, shapely legs unnerved him so he gave up, peeked under the sheet, and quickly undid her jeans.

  Inch by inch, he pulled them down slowly so he didn’t wake her, which only made him think things he shouldn’t. Baseball. Concentrating on baseball only made him think about how he was already at second base with her. Stop it! Desperate for distraction, he sang inside his head, counted backward, and ran over the list of the most violent movies he’d seen. When her pants were finally free and hanging from his hands, he heaved a sigh of relief and dropped them as if they were on fire.

  He truly was a jerk.

  Gently, he put his hands under her ankles, and moved them only enough so her feet no longer hung over the edge. He walked to the corner of her room where the lounge chair was and moved it next to her bed.

  It was still an hour and a half until he had to wake her to check her vitals, but he wouldn’t leave. Without a sound, Quentin sat watching as she slept peacefully in her bed. He wasn’t Fallen, so he knew better than to fall for her, but he was. His heart wouldn’t listen. And he didn’t know what to do about it, or how to stop it … without his heart ceasing to beat.

  He needed to find a way before it clouded his judgment. Or worse, before he made a mistake that might just get her killed.

  Fragments of dreams mingled with fuzzy images from the night before, making it tricky for Grace to swim through her consciousness to reality. She remembered waking up in Quentin’s car and seeing Tommy’s Blazer on its side, and pretty much everything after that up until when Quentin carried her back to his car. The rest of the night was a blur.

  Stiffly, she turned her head toward the clock on her nightstand, and gasped in surprise. Quentin was sleeping upright in her chair. He didn’t look very comfortable. His neck was kinked awkwardly as his head rested on the back of the chair, his jaw slack as he breathed deeply in his slumber. Her gaze roamed over his crossed arms, and the bare feet that rested on the end of her bed. He must have pulled an all-nighter, she decided.

  More images flashed before her eyes. Soft lips against her forehead. Tender touches of care through the night. The sweet hum of song lulling her back to sleep each time he woke her.

  Grace rolled away from him, carefully pulling her blankets back so she could try to get up without waking him. Her muscles screamed in protest, her entire body as sore as if a Mack truck had driven over her, backed up, and run over her again. Grace wondered how long it would take until she could move without hurting. Carefully, she placed her hands on either side of her legs, when her fingers brushed against bare skin. Looking down, she inhaled sharply, yanked the blankets back over the bottom half of her body, and flopped backward on the bed so Quentin couldn’t see her underwear from behind. Oh God, she groaned mentally, throwing her arm over her eyes.

  There was nothing careful in the way she fell back onto the bed. Quentin woke, startled. Jumping off the chair, he looked frantically around the room. “What’s wrong?”

  “Oh, just about everything,” Grace muttered.

  “Is it your head?” He tugged on her arm. “Let me see your eyes.”

  Mortified beyond belief, she tried keeping her arm in place, but wasn’t strong enough to resist.

  “Oh my gosh, you look like you’re burning up. Here.” With the back of his hand, he felt for a fever, much like her mother had when she was younger.

  Someone kill me now, Grace silently begged. Humiliation burned bright red over every square inch of her face. “Stop it, Quentin!” She batted his hand away and scowled at him. “I’m not running a fever. I’m fine.”

  “You don’t look fine,” he said, staring at her with skepticism. “Just tell me, because you’re not going to be able to keep it away from me anyway.”

  “Fine. I’m embarrassed. Happy now?”

  “Embarrassed.” He rolled the word around like he was trying it on for size. “But why?”

  “I’m not wearing any bottoms, just panties.” Panties that were way too skimpy for him to be seeing her wearing.

  “Oh.” He straightened, took a step back, and said nothing more.

  Raising her eyes, she met his gaze straight on. “Please tell me you didn’t undress me.”

  “Well… uh… I—” Quentin stumbled over his words and looked away, unable to meet her eyes.

  “Quentin!” Grace yelled, as she pulled herself up in her bed, scrambling to get into a sitting position without revealing more of herself.

  He swiped a hand across his face and looked away, his voice uncertain. “I had to.”

  “Uh-huh.” Grace grunted in mortification and crossed both arms over her face as she fell back again, wishing she could be
anywhere else.

  “Your mom wasn’t home and your jeans were filthy from the wreck.”

  Grace dropped her arms to her stomach and frowned. “And so you thought you’d just help me out of them?”

  He paused, and let out a sigh. “Yes.”

  She grunted again and turned her face to the wall.

  “No—” he started again, before she cut in.

  “Which is it, Quentin, yes or no?”

  He sat back down in the chair behind Grace’s head, releasing an exasperated breath. “I tried my best to do it as discreetly as I could. I did it under your sheet. I didn’t see anything, I promise.”

  His promise made her feel a little better. The truth of the matter was that although he was the first man to ever take her pants off, she’d never quite pictured it happening like that. Tilting her head back, she forced her lips to curve up. “Thank you for not being a jerk then.”

  Quentin didn’t reply. Instead, he stood up, asked if she needed anything, and then hurried out of the room, she assumed to give her privacy so she could get out of bed.

  Ten minutes passed and she still hadn’t moved. Suddenly cold, she wrapped her arms around herself. Last night could have ended very differently. Badly. Stunned at the realization of how close she’d come to mortal danger, she pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes, but she couldn’t stop the images. A light tap on the door tore her from her thoughts. “I’m not dressed yet, Quentin.”

  The door opened slowly.

  Annoyed, she sat up and propped herself on her elbow. “Quentin, I said—”

  “It’s me.” Laney peeked her head through the opening of the door. “Can I come in?”

  “Yeah,” Grace said, relieving her elbow of lifting duty as she fell back against the bed.

  Laney shut the door. “How are you feeling?”

  “Like I’ve been run over a couple of times.”

  Laney stood at the foot of her bed. “The doctor told Quentin you’d be sore for a couple of days. He wrote a prescription. I can go and fill it for you.”

  Grace wished for once Laney would act like a parent and make decisions on her own, especially since Christophe was no longer around to make them for her. “Don’t you have to get to work?” she asked, not letting Laney off the hook.

  Her mother’s gaze fell to the dirty jeans on the floor, and Grace watched as she picked them up and tossed them in the hamper inside her bathroom door. “Not today,” she said, walking back to the foot of the bed. “I called in so I can take care of you.”

  Elephants somewhere must be flying, because Laney calling in to work to stay home and take care of Grace was a fluke. Christophe was the one who had always stayed with her, usually because she somehow managed to get hurt. Come to think of it, Grace never stayed home because she was sick. In fact, she couldn’t remember ever being sick. Which was odd, once she thought about it.

  She glanced at her mom, looking so hopeful she took pity. “Okay, if you think the meds will help.”

  “I do. Is there anything else you want me to pick up? I can get you some of your favorite snack foods, a movie?” Laney’s eyes lit with excitement. She seemed all too eager to be given a to-do list. Grace shook her head, still not used to any part of her new life. Everything, and most everyone, had changed with it.

  After agreeing to let her mom get everything she suggested, Grace moved as slowly as an eighty-year-old grandma to her closet before shuffling to the bathroom. She went to the bathroom, changed her clothes, and brushed her teeth, not bothering to brush her hair or wash her face. It took all of her energy just to get dressed and pee. Before heading downstairs, Grace slowly knelt next to her bed, reaching for the backpack that held Pandora, and ran her fingers down the front of the bag. I hope you’re worth all this, she thought.

  It felt like it took an hour just to get down the stairs and to the sofa in the family room. Someone had laid out a blanket and pillow against the armrest of the sofa, and Grace sighed with gratitude at the sight. She slowly eased back against the pillow and tossed the blanket cockeyed across her body.

  “Hey, you need anything?”

  Barely opening her eyes, she saw the glass of lemonade in Quentin’s hand as he stood next to her.

  “Thanks.” She sat up enough to take a drink without spilling it or choking on it. Drinking deeply, she saw Quentin leave from over the lip of the glass. He came back with a brush and a smile. “What?”

  “I’m going to brush your hair.”

  “I don’t need you to,” Grace said stubbornly, putting her half-finished glass of lemonade on the coffee table.

  “Yes, you do. It looks like a couple of rats have nested in your hair.”

  He was right, it did. Upstairs, in front of her bathroom mirror, she couldn’t have cared less. Now that Quentin had noticed and pointed it out, she suddenly did. Thrusting her hand out, she demanded the brush. “I can do it.”

  “Scoot forward and relax.”

  He placed a hand on her shoulder, and urged her forward. She moved grudgingly to make room for him. Sulking on the middle cushion, Grace stretched her legs out the rest of the length of the couch. Quentin sat behind her, one leg stretched out beside her, the other dropped to the floor.

  It didn’t take long until he was able to brush from the crown of her head to the ends of her hair. After each stroke of the brush, he’d follow with a tender hand. Before she knew it, Grace was leaning into his gentle ministrations.

  “There,” he said, putting the brush on the table. “Much better.”

  Quentin patted her shoulder awkwardly, then he slipped back so he could stand up. Beyond comfortable, she fell back against the pillow. Without a word, he picked up the brush and walked out of the room.

  Grace watched him leave and tugged the blanket over her shoulder, wishing she could understand why her relationship with him was so unique. Quentin’s feelings were completely different from anyone else’s she’d ever sensed, making him very, very unusual. He could feel hers because of the band, and she felt his because of her curse. What if when she touched him she was really feeling her own emotions through him? Great! Talk about projecting one’s feelings onto someone.

  Quentin didn’t return. Laney came back just as Grace was dozing off. She eyed the prescription bag in her mother’s hand, uncertain if she wanted to take any meds or not. The bag of chocolate Dove Promises didn’t get by her either. Nor did the rented chick flicks. Oh yeah, sappy romance is exactly what she needed. Not! Laying the items on the coffee table, Laney scrutinized her from head to toe. “Is there anything else you need besides water?”

  “Nope, just the water.” Grace picked up the bag and tossed it aside. If she needed the drugs, they were there at least, but she’d rather not take anything. Her mom returned with a glass of water, then slipped into the DVD player, of all the thousands of movies to choose from, City of Angels. Seriously? Grace thought. Is this some kind of cosmic let’s-mess-with-Grace joke? She couldn’t find the humor in it and didn’t appreciate the irony.

  “Anything else,” her mom asked.

  “No.” Grace sighed inwardly. She knew her answer had come out a little short and gruff, but the helicopter mothering was beginning to freak her out a little.

  Laney’s gaze raked over Grace. “Are you hurting?”

  It wasn’t her mom’s fault she wasn’t feeling in the chick flick mood. “I’m fine. I’ll take my meds and veg on the couch.”

  Not seeming convinced, Laney continued to push. “Have you eaten yet? You really shouldn’t take Ibuprofen on an empty stomach, it could make you nauseous.”

  “Not yet.”

  “I’ll go make you some food. You just relax and watch the movie. Here—” Her mom moved the corner of the coffee table closer to the couch. “This will make it easier for you to reach your stuff.”

  “Thanks.” Grace reached for the chocolates, tore it open, and took four out of the bag. Glancing at the four squares in her palm, she shook her head. Even to Grace, her neu
rotic even-number OCD issue was impossible to understand. She couldn’t even remember now when it started. It felt as if it were always there. Even numbers of things had always made her feel comfortable and right, whereas odd numbers were like fingernails on a chalkboard.

  While Grace ate her candy and the oatmeal her mother brought her, she watched the movie. Her body hurt, her head hurt, and her weary heart hurt.

  Tearing up during every part of the movie she always had in the past, she was glad Quentin was somewhere else other than the family room—with her, watching her, and feeling her cry.

  She thought she was fine until the scene where Seth chose to fall for Maggie, which only reminded her of herself and what she was. If she could fall off a building, shed her massive responsibility, and become normal, she just might take the plunge.

  Instead, a few minutes later she simply fell asleep.

  “Come here often?” he asked. He sat next to her on the bench but Grace didn’t look his way, choosing instead to look at the lake that stretched out before them.

  A memory nudged below the surface of her mind. His voice was familiar. It surprised her that anyone had found her; she’d thought she was alone. She turned her head, intending to acknowledge his presence, and was met with brilliant emerald eyes. It was him. She’d promised herself to stay away from him, but knew she was safe here.

  “I’m Darius,” he said, his hand outstretched. She looked into his eyes and marveled at how they blazed with fire and color.

  Grace took his hand in hers. It was surprisingly cool. “I know.”

  His laughter danced atop the glassy surface of the lake. Even here, his laugh was magical. “Still not going to give me your name?”

  She loved how her subconscious recreated their little banter. A brave smile lifted the edges of her mouth. “I’m hurt you forgot already.” Her gaze went back to roaming the calm waters before her, the sun beginning to set on the horizon.