Giving Grace (The Gilroy Clan Book 8)

by Megyn Ward

  “I’m saying I’m a distraction. A way to forget what happened to you. An excuse to ignore it.”

  “Jesus, Grace.” The clench in my gut loosens, the force of it rolling over me, so fast I feel dizzy. Almost sick with it. Shame. I’m not so fucked up that I don’t know what I’m feeling. It’s shame. “You make it sound like I’m using you.”

  “You are.” She says it quietly, her gaze never wavering from mine. “And it’s not good for either of us, so I think it’s best if whatever… this is stops.”

  It’s what I wanted, right? I’ve been pushing her away from day one. Pushing her away just to drag her back in. Trying to make her hate me, right before I touch her.

  It’s unfair to her.

  That’s what she told me the other night in Molly’s room. That I’m being unfair to her, and she’s right. I’m being selfish, every time I touch her.

  That’s selfish—you know that, right? It’s selfish to expect the rest of us to just stand by and watch you suffer.

  “Okay.” I nod my agreement, forcing my stiff neck to bend. My mouth to form words it doesn’t want to say. “What about Molly?” Saying her name out loud lays a heavy band of panic across my chest. “I don’t want to—”

  Lose her.

  I don’t want to lose her.

  Like saying her name, summoned her, the door behind me flies opens and Molly comes streaking out. “I’m hungry,” she announces, coming to a screeching halt in front of me. “I didn’t eat breakfast.”

  I watch Grace open her mouth. Her chest expands under the weight of her coat. She’s about to make their excuses and leave. She said what she came to say. She ended it and now she’s going to leave. Take Molly with her.

  It’s what I wanted, right?

  So why do I feel like I’m drowning?

  “Pancakes.” I say it to Molly because I can’t look at Grace right now. Not after what she just said to me. Not knowing that she’s right. “We’ll go get pancakes.” I look up to find Grace watching me. “Because we’re friends and that’s what friends do, right? They go get pancakes. Just pancakes.”

  “Mom?” Molly turns to her mom and clasps her hands together. “Can we? Please?”

  “We can’t, Moll.” She tilts her head and gives is a shake. “We’re going to the park with Cari to watch the ball game, remember?”

  “But that’s not for hours…” Molly stacks her hands on her hips and her chin lifts into that stubborn Faraday tilt that signals a challenge. “And anyways, aunt Cari is still sleeping.”

  “Oh, so suddenly, you’re an expert on telling time?” She gives me another look, one that tells me that she blames me for just about everything that’s gone wrong in her life since she stepped foot in Boston and for a second, I think she’s going to say no again. Grab Molly and drag her away from me.

  This time for good.

  Because she’s right.

  I’m to blame for all of it.

  But even though I know it, I can’t let them go. Not yet. Not even knowing that it’s probably the best thing for both of them. Henley is right I am selfish and I don’t care, because I need this. Just one more day with them.

  Just a few more hours.

  Because this is it.

  Grace and I are over and after today I’ll be without them.

  Alone again.

  But then Grace gives me a gift. Her face relaxes and she looks away from me for a second before looks at the both of us and sighs. “Okay. Just pancakes.”

  Seventeen

  Grace

  I’ve been to Benny’s a few times since moving to Boston and it’s always been crowded, but this is next level crowded. Like, people standing in a line that nearly wraps around the outside of the building just to put their names on the waitlist, crowded.

  Even though I know the Gilroy’s have some sort of arrangement with the hostess, when I see the amount of people waiting to get in, I immediately slow my pace. “Molly, I’m not sure we have time for this…” It’s a lie. We have time. I have a car. I can just drive to the park after breakfast if I wanted to. The truth is that even though I agreed to pancakes—just pancakes—the thought of sitting across a table from Ryan for an hour, while pretending that everything is great when it isn’t makes me want to snatch Molly up and run home.

  All the way back to Ohio.

  “I got this,” Ryan says, his hand pressed into the small of my back for just a moment, before he pulls it away with a mumbled sorry. Pulling the door open, he steps aside so Molly and I can pass through it first.

  As soon as we’re in, Ryan takes the lead, grabbing Moll’s hand so she won’t get lost in the crowd, pulling her in his wake, weaving and pushing his way through the tight knot of people crowding the hostess station.

  Like the first few times I’ve been here, Nora the hostess is behind the podium and as soon as she sees me, her eyes narrow. She can barely see over the hostess station but the gaze that focuses on me is razor sharp. “Sorry, Grace,” she barks at me in a tone that tells me she really isn’t all that sorry. “You n’ me ain’t there yet, so unless you got one of my boys in your pocket, you’re gonna—”

  Then she sees Ryan.

  “Where the hell have you been?” Her sharp tone cuts across the lobby of the diner and everyone in it goes quiet, looking around, trying to figure out which one of them was stupid enough to incur Nora’s wrath.

  “Hey, Nora,” Ryan says, giving her one of his odd, flat smiles. “As terrifying as ever.”

  “Flattery ain’t getting you out of this one, and I asked you a question,” she snarls at him while she scrambles down from her perch as fast as her old bones will allow. When her feet are finally on the floor, she stalks her way toward him, the crowd of people parting like she’s Moses in orthopedic shoes. Finally stopping in front of us, she cranes her neck back as far as it will go to glare up at him. “Where the hell have you been?”

  Looking a little uncomfortable about being the sudden center of everyone’s attention, Ryan takes a quick glance around the room before refocusing on the tiny tyrant in front of him. “Nora, I—”

  “Three months.” She lifts a bony finger and jabs it at him. “You’ve been home for three whole months and you just stroll in here and think—”

  Letting go of Molly’s hand, Ryan reaches for Nora’s. “I’m okay,” he tells her, his fingers closing around hers to give them a gentle squeeze. “I’m okay, Nora.”

  Her face softens and her mouth starts to tremble, her accusatory glare going dull with tears as it drifts down to the cane Ryan is using to keep himself upright. When she finally drags her gaze back to his face, her expression is hardened and her eyes are hot and dry. “I know that,” she snaps back, jerking her hand out of Ryan’s grasp. “I got eyes, don’t I? What you should be is sorry for is taking so damn long to drag your sorry ass in here.”

  “I am.” His mouth twitches again as he finds Molly’s hand again with his own without even looking for it. “I’m sorry—I should’ve come sooner. Forgive me?”

  Nora makes an ugly noise in the back of her throat. “Next time you disappear on—”

  “There won’t be a next time,” he tells her with a head shake. “I’m out of commission—” He swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing and scraping inside his throat. “Home for good.”

  “You better be.” She gives him another angry glare but it’s thin enough to show the emotion beneath. Worry and relief. Love and maybe a little bit of desperation. She catches me looking at her and pins me with a narrowed, beady-eyed glare. “You got somethin’ to say to me, Grace?”

  I shake my head, instincts pushing my feet across the floor, moving me closer to Ryan. Before I follow my head shake with an emphatic no, Nora drops her gaze down, letting it settle on Molly.

  “Who are you?”

  “I’m Molly,” she says, totally nonplussed by Nora’s trademark hostility. “Who are you?”

  Molly’s blunt tone cracks the hard granite of Nora’s face. “I’m Nora.”
Her sharp, bird-like gaze finds me again, marking the fact that Molly is practically my clone. “Who’s he to you?” Nora asks, pointing her gnarled finger at Ryan.

  “He’s my friend,” Molly tells her, quick and sure. “We’re here for pancakes and hot chocolate—” She looks up at Ryan again. “I can have hot chocolate, right?” When he gives her the nod, Molly turns back to Nora and gives her a triumphant smile.

  “Well, what’re you waitin’ for, a tickertape parade?” Nora says with an impatient snort, waving her hand at Ryan, dismissing the lot of us. “Nothin’s changed—you know where to go.”

  “Thanks, Nora,” Ryan says, leaning heavily on his cane to bend over to drop a quick kiss on her wrinkled cheek.

  “Glad you’re home,” she tells him, giving him a pat on his cheek that sounds more like a slap. “Now get out of here and let me get back to work.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Ryan says, herding us toward the dining room and to the booth that always sits empty, no matter how busy they are, just waiting for a Gilroy.

  Like the last time, Ryan struggles a bit to get himself into the booth. By the time he manages to get settled, the waitress is standing over us, coffee pot in hand.

  Ryan gives her a nod. “And a hot chocolate, when you get a chance,” he says, turning over our cups for the waitress.

  “With whipped cream, please,” Molly adds, her little face lighting up with a grin when the waitress nods her approval. Eating out is something we never did much before moving here. She must think she’s died and gone to heaven.

  As soon as the waitress scurries away to top off the next table, Ryan clears his throat and frowns, clearly looking for something safe to talk about. Finally he settles on a subject. “I’ve never heard Nora call an outsider by their given name before.” Reaching for the menus he hands me one, his fingertips brushing across the back of my hand when I reach out to take it. Clearing his throat again, he looks away from me, aiming his dark brown gaze over my shoulder. “How’d you manage that one?”

  “Apparently, I got lucky at my re-naming ceremony—” Thinking of my harrowing first encounter with Nora, I somehow manage to laugh, despite the fact that my heart is jammed in my throat. “The general consensus is that it’s for Grace Kelly, not Grace Faraday,” I tell him with a shrug, my cheeks flushed because the idea of me baring any sort of resemblance to a classic beauty like Grace Kelly is laughable, to say the least.

  “I can see it,” Ryan says to his menu before flicking a nervous glance in my direction. “I mean—”

  “Is that old lady your mom?” Molly chirps at Ryan from across the table, the question eliciting a muffled snort from the waitress while she fills our cups.

  “Nora?” Ryan shoots a look into the waiting area, his mouth quirking a bit as he watches her verbally abuse the crowd waiting for a table. “No, she’s not my mom.” He looks back at Molly and the smile holds but I can see hold much it costs him. How much he doesn’t want to talk about his mother. “My mother’s not that nice.”

  Eighteen

  Ryan

  Breakfast was awkward.

  A lot of nervous, sideways glances. A lot of polite smiles and mindless chitchat. So much so, that by the time the check came I was practically crawling around inside my own skin.

  Because I know the only reason Grace agreed to breakfast in the first place was to make Molly happy. That if she’d had her way, she’d been done with me the second she told me that whatever the hell has been happening between us for the past week is over.

  I’m saying I’m a distraction. A way to forget what happened to you. An excuse to ignore it.

  The bitch of it is she’s right.

  Too bad that knowing it doesn’t make any difference—at least to me anyway.

  It’s a good thing one of us is finally thinking clearly.

  “We’re going to go look at wedding dresses with Aunt Cari after the baseball game.” Molly tells me from the backseat. “Do you want to come with us—to the park, not to look at dresses?”

  My failure to immediately refuse the offer earns me another nervous glance from Grace before she flicks her gaze toward the rearview mirror. “Molly, I’m sure Ryan has things to do today.”

  “Sorry, Moll,” I say, turning in my seat to look at her. “You’re mom’s right, I’ve got some stuff to take of.” It’s the same excuse I gave her yesterday morning, only this time it has the added benefit of being true. Turning around again, I look at Grace. “You can just drop me off on the corner here.”

  Now she frowns. “The center is still two blocks away.”

  “Yeah, but Con‘s garage is right across the street.” I tell her, reaching for the release button my seatbelt. “That’s where I’m going.”

  She reluctantly does what I say, pulling over as far as she can. “Do you need me to wait?” She asks me, finally turning to aim that frown of hers in my direction. “I can—”

  “No, you’ve got a ballgame to get to, remember?” Opening the door I step my leg out, grappling with my cane to get it in place before I attempt putting weight on it. Finally out of the car, I lean my head back in and look at Molly. “Are you still going to the Gilroy’s for dinner?”

  She nods her head slowly, mouth quirked to the side like she’s trying to keep from crying.

  “Then I’ll see you there.”

  She brightens considerably and I realize she was expecting me to tell her I wouldn’t be there. “Aunt Mary has card games—do you know how to play Crazy Eights?”

  “Nope.” I give her a shrug. “But you can teach me after dinner.” Looking at Grace, I force myself to smile. “See you later,” I say before shutting the door.

  I give Molly another wave through the window before shuffling my way toward the sidewalk. As soon as I clear the curb, Grace drives away.

  To tell the truth, I’m a little surprised Con’s even here. It’s Sunday. He should be at the ball field, along with everyone else but as I cross the street, I can see that one of the roll-ups on the garage is open halfway. The fact that White Snake isn’t blasting through the speakers loud enough to torture the whole neighborhood tells me it’s Con who’s working at 7AM on a Sunday and not Tess.

  By the time I hobble my ass across the tarmac, my leg is screaming but I keep pushing. Using my cane for support I stoop over and let myself in to find Con’s boots sticking out from the undercarriage of the Mustang he’s been driving since I got here. It’s midnight blue with a white racing stripe and just about the most beautiful car I’ve ever seen. Just looking at it, makes my leg ache.

  “You made your sister cry again,” he calls out from under the car. “Gotta tell you, Ry—” He digs the heels of his work boots into the concrete beneath them and wheels himself into view. “This whole angry, wounded warrior vibe you’ve got going on is really beginning to wear thin.” Standing, he tosses the wrench in his hand into the chest positioned near the front of the car. “I mean, I get it, man. You caught a raw deal but you keep this shit up, I’m gonna lose my patience with you.”

  “She told you?” I barely manage to choke it out because as angry as I am and much as I deserve it, I can’t help but feel betrayed.

  “She told me what?” He barks out a laugh, leaning against the front fender of the car. “That you’re not taking your meds? That you’ve got some fucked up idea that managing your pain makes you the same as your father.” He jerks a shop rag free from the back pocket of his jeans and starts rubbing his hands clean. “Yeah—she told me,” he growls it at me, focusing his attention on his hands rather than on me, probably so he doesn’t launch himself across the garage and try to kill me for upsetting my sister again.

  A nasty retort bubble in my throat. Something ugly, designed to piss him off. Start a fight. Because that’s what I need right now. I need to hit something. I need to hurt. Because if I can’t be with Grace then that’s all I’ve got. The only way I can forget.

  Instead of letting it fly, I swallow it. Force it down until I’m practically choking on
it. Focus on why I’m here. What I came to say. “It happened.”

  “What happened?” he says in an impatient tone that tells me he’s about three seconds away from throwing me out on my ass. He’s usually patient with me. Unruffled by my surly bullshit, probably even amused but it most of the time, but I made Henley cry. Keep making her cry and the only thing keeping him from killing me for it is that fact that I’m family.

  “My…” I trail off because, really—who wants to talk about their broken dick with anyone, much less another dude who’s never had one in his life. “My problem. It isn’t a problem anymore.”

  Conner freezes, mid-rub, his gaze jerking up from his hands to find mine, anger and disappointment blown away but a sudden gust of comprehension. “You became sexually aroused? Achieved an erection?” he asks, suddenly Dr. Gilroy instead of my smartass best friend. “When? Were you alone? What were you doing? How long where you able to sustain it? Did you—”

  “Jesus Christ…” I reach up to pinch the bridge of my nose, squeezing my eyes shut so I don’t have to look at him while he rapid-fires questions at me about my dick. “I was with Grace,” I tell him, trying to take his questions seriously. “Last night and earlier—”

  “It happened twice?” I imagine a father teaching his son to ride a bike wouldn’t sound half as proud as Con does of me right now. “Did you fuck her?”

  “What? No.” I drop my hand away from my face and lift my head to pin him with a hard glare that tells him unequivocally that we aren’t going to talk about her. Not like that. “Look, I just need to know if it’ll work—” I have to force the words out of my mouth. Lift a hand to swipe it over my jaw to loosen it because it’s suddenly gone stiff. “The sensory deprivation tank that Henley is having delivered tomorrow. If I use it, will it help me, or are you guys just grasping at new-age, bullshit straws?”

  Con’s jaw goes slack with surprise and I can’t help but smile because for a guy who sees everything coming, plans for every possible contingency, he never saw this. He never expected me to get in line. “Yeah.” He says it carefully, like he’s afraid to spook me. Like knows what I’m about to say and he’s afraid I’ll change my mind. “It’ll help—if you take it seriously.”