Giving Grace (The Gilroy Clan Book 8)

by Megyn Ward

  “Are you?” Went gives me another grin and whirls me around, giving me a full view of the other side of the dance floor and the stretch of grass beyond it. “Then someone should tell GI Joe over there because he’s been staring at me like he’s thinking about slitting my throat since I put my hands on you.”

  Ryan.

  He’s talking about Ryan.

  With the view Went’s given me, I can see him, slouched in one of the wooden chairs that litter the lawn, cane leaning against its arm, glass of what looks like water dangling from his fingertips.

  He’s looking right at me and Went’s right.

  He looks like he wants to kill someone.

  “I’m sure your throat is going to be just fine.” Looking away from Ryan, I say it to Went’s chin because I’m not a very good liar. “Ryan doesn’t care who I dance with.”

  “Care to wager on that?” Went laughs again, his devil black eyes snapping with mischief. “Kiss me and we’ll find out?”

  His challenge jerks my gaze up to his. “Nice try, Fiorella,” I tell him. “But I am not kissing you.”

  Again, instead of being hurt or offended, Went just gives me a haphazard shrug and grins. “Your loss, chicken shit.”

  Before I can even open my mouth to form a response, Cari is suddenly standing next to us. “Hey, Went—” she says, reaching up to pull my hand off his shoulder “mind if I borrow my sister for a second?”

  “I guess not since I stole her from your husband in the first place,” he says, unlatching his arm from around my waist with a sigh so Cari can start to drag me away. “You ever start feelin’ brave, you know where to find me, Faraday.”

  “I sure do,” I answer back with a laugh over my shoulder. “Buried under a pile of women.”

  “I didn’t want to say anything because we were trying to figure it out on our own,” Cari says as soon she has my away from the dance floor and onto the back porch. “But then Mom got involved and things are spinning out of control and I don’t—”

  “Out of control?” I say as she pulls me through the open set of French doors that lead down the hallway that opens into the kitchen, “What are you talking about? What’s hap—” My rambling is cut short when we get to the kitchen and I find my parents, along with Patrick and his aunt and uncle standing around the kitchen island talking quietly. As soon as they see me, everyone shuts up.

  That feeling comes roaring back. That something is going on that no one is telling me about. That I’m the topic of discussion and decisions are being made without me. “What’s going on?” I look at Cari, pulling my hand out of her grip when she doesn’t answer me. I look at my dad. “Dad?”

  “Everything is fine, Grace,” he tells me in that deep, soothing voice he used to use on me when I was little and woke up from a bad dream. “It’s nothing really, it’s just that—” He looks at my mom and sighs. “We’ve been talking and we’ve decided it would be best if when I go home, your mom stay in Boston.”

  “For what?” I finally look at my mom before bouncing a look at Mary because I can’t figure out what any of this has to do with her. When no one answers me, I take a step forward, focusing on my dad again. “I don’t understand—will someone please tell me what the hell is going on?”

  “Paddy surprised me this morning with a trip.” It’s Mary who answers me, her tone soft and apologetic. “To Ireland—with Patrick’s parents—for six weeks.”

  “When?” I clear my throat and ruin my dress by wiping my sweaty palms on its skirt. “When would you leave?” I ask, suddenly understanding her place in all this. Since moving here, Mary has been my main support system when it comes to Molly. She picks her up from school most days and keeps her for me whenever I need her to so I can work and study. Without her help, the entire house of cards I’ve build here in Boston will collapse.

  “The tickets are open-ended.” Mary says it firmly, shooting my mother a look that is less than friendly. “I wanted to sit down with you and the rest of the family to see if we could work out a schedule that would allow us to go, maybe over your winter break from school, but—”

  “But that’s not really necessary.” My mom cuts in, returning Mary’s look with one that’s just as pointed. “Since Cari’s paid off the house, I don’t need to work. There’s no reason I can’t stay in Boston and help you with Molly.”

  Yes, there is. I don’t want you to.

  Ignoring my mother’s declaration, I look at Mary and force myself to smile. “Of course you should go—” Patrick’s parents are Mary’s sister and Paddy’s brother—identical twins married identical twins—and if Gilroy family gossip is to be believed, things have been strained between them for years now. “This is an important trip and I wouldn’t want you to postpone it, just because of me.”

  “Great,” my mother chimes in. “Then it’s settled. Your dad will go on home to Ohio and I’ll stay here. Patrick mentioned that he has some rental properties around town that we can move into—”

  “What?” I look at Patrick and he has the good grace to look a little sick to his stomach. I don’t know why I feel so blindsided—I mean, I knew, didn’t I? I knew better than to let myself settle in. Trust the good guy face he shows everyone. Every instinct I have was screaming at me not to trust him when he said we were family, that Molly and I meant the world to him, and like an idiot, I ignored them. “You want us to leave?”

  “No.” He looks right at me when he says it, his jaw tight with pent-up frustration. “And that is not what I said, Evelyn,” Patrick says, aiming a glare in my mother’s direction. “What I said was that when Grace felt like it was time to get her own place, that I would be more than happy to give her the pick of any of the properties I have available.” Now he looks at me. “But that it would be her choice, when she felt it was time.”

  More charity.

  Another handout.

  I have to press a hand against my stomach and lock my jaw into place to keep myself from throwing up. Or screaming. Maybe if I open my mouth, I’ll just scream. Tell them all to go to hell. That they can’t just stand around and make decisions about my life, Molly’s life, like I don’t have a say. Like my choices can’t be trusted.

  “Well, it’s time,” my mother huffs at him. “You and Cari are married now. You don’t want to come home from your honeymoon to an unwanted houseguest and a—”

  Throw up.

  I’m definitely going to throw up.

  “She’s not unwanted,” Cari pipes up, throwing a look at Patrick before letting it settle on our mother. “Neither of them are—why would you say that?” Now she looks at me. “Gracie—we love having you with us. We love you. We love Molly—we’re family. We would never—” She makes a small, helpless sound in the back of her throat when she reaches for my hand and I pull it away from her. “Please say something. Gracie—”

  “There’s nothing to say,” my mom informs her. “Even she knows this is the only rational solution to be had.”

  “Rational?” Something snaps inside me when she says it and I finally find my voice. “You think it’s rational to abandon your husband and move eight hundred miles away, just so you can prove to everyone that I’m a failure who can’t raise my child without help?”

  “Well, you can’t,” she shoots back, waving her arm to encompass the kitchen and everyone standing in it. “That’s why we’re all standing here—because you can’t do it on your own. You need help.” She drops her arm and sighs like I’m being an unreasonable child. “And I’m in the best position to give it to you.”

  I look around the kitchen. No one looks happy. No one looks like they think this is the best solution but they all look like they agree with her.

  That I can’t do it on my own.

  “It’s settled. Your father will ship my things and we can start to look for a—”

  “No.” I shake my head, sounding much more confident than I feel. “I don’t need you, Mom.”

  “Just like you didn’t need Molly’s father?” she
snaps at me. “Quit being so—”

  “Okay, fine—I don’t want you here.” I yell it at her, her face going stark white like I just slapped her. Taking a deep breath, I let it out slowly, trying to rein in my temper. “I appreciate the offer, and I appreciate everything that all of you have done for us.” I let my gaze wander, letting it fall on each of their faces. “But Molly and I can manage just fine without you upending your lives. Any of you.”

  “How?” My mother demands, hands stacked on her hips because she thinks I’m being stubborn and irrational. She’s right, I am. Because I have no idea. I haven’t a clue on how I’m going to manage the next six weeks without Mary’s help or where Molly and I are going to live now that my mother has made it impossible for me to continue staying with Cari and Patrick. “How are you going to do this on your—”

  “She isn’t.”

  Everyone freezes, an instant before they turn to look at the person standing in the kitchen doorway.

  Ryan.

  Ryan is standing in the kitchen doorway not more than five feet away from me.

  “Excuse me?” This from my father, his heavy dark brows lifting off his weather-beaten forehead before slamming down over his faded blue eyes. “What did you say?”

  “I said, she isn’t.” Ryan looks right at him when he says it, shoulders squared, jaw held firm. “At least she doesn’t have to. If Grace wants help with Molly or a place to live, she’ll get them from me.” The two of them stare at each for a second or two before Ryan shifts his gaze to where I’m standing in the middle of the kitchen, gaping at him like a lunatic. “Do you want to leave?”

  I didn’t drive here with him and we have no plan to drive back to Boston together. He hasn’t so much as waved at me since this morning, but I nod anyway. “Yes.”

  “Good—go get Molly and meet me at the car,” he says before looking at Patrick. “Congratulations,” he says, dividing a quick, grim smile between him and Cari before he turns his back on the lot of us and makes his way out the front door.

  Thirty

  Ryan

  I don’t know what happened. How we got here. Grace slumped into the passenger seat of her bright yellow SUV. Me at the wheel. Molly passed out in her car seat behind us. All I know is that I went inside to find Patrick and Cari so I could make my excuses and leave and somehow I ended up here, with them.

  Not somehow, Ranger. You know exactly what happened. You saw the look on Grace’s face, heard the way her family was bullying her into things she didn’t want and you dove in, head first, like you always do, without thinking of the consequences.

  It’s how I ended up with the choice between the Army and a prison cell. It’s how I ended up standing on top of that IUD and fucking up any chance I had of a normal life. It’s how I ended up destroying any chance I might’ve had with the only woman I’ve ever really wanted.

  And it’s how I ended up here with her now.

  She hasn’t said a word since we left. Didn’t put up a fight when I took her car keys and put her in the passenger seat before hefting Molly into her car seat and strapping her in while her father stood on Declan’s front porch with his thick, tattooed arms cross over his chest and the kind of look that would kill me where I stood if looks were capable. Because the last time he saw me, he told me to stay away from them, that a washed-up soldier with a bum leg and a head full of scrambled eggs was the last thing Grace needed to be saddled with and even though he was right and even though I’ve done my best to do what’s right by her, here I am, diving headfirst into something that I’m pretty sure I’m not ready for.

  Like she can read my mind, Grace sighs. “It’s okay, Ryan,” she whispers, momentarily drawing my attention away from the road in front of me. Her entire body is turned toward the passenger side door, has been since I put her in car, her forehead pressed against the window. “I don’t expect you to—” She stop herself short, a frown pulling her generous mouth into a thin, hard line. “I have some money saved. I’ll google a hotel.” She lifts her head away from the glass and gives it a resolved nod like her mind is made up. “Molly and I can—”

  I look away from her, refocusing my attention on the road in front of me. “No.”

  From the corner of my eye I watch her sit up and turn in her seat, toward me, and wait for me to finish talking. Maybe follow up my refusal with an explanation. When I don’t, she looks over her shoulder to make sure Molly is sleeping.

  “No what?”

  “No, you aren’t going to a hotel.” I give her a shrug. “You can google from here to Boston proper, Jimmy, and I still wouldn’t take you—”

  “I told you to stop calling me that.” Suddenly angry, she hisses it at me like a snake, hands ball up into fists, sitting on her knees like she’s thinking about using them on me.

  “And I told you that if you need help, I’m the one you ask. Me, Grace.” I’m angrier than I have a right to be. I haven’t been there for her, not the way I should’ve been. It’s stupid and irrational because she can’t predict the future. She had no idea her family was going to ambush her the way they did, but I can’t help it. “Not Patrick. Not your parents. Not that giant, tattooed fuck you were dancing with—me. You and Moll are—”

  “We’re nothing to you.” She turns in her seat to face me completely, the glare she’s aiming at me so hot I can feel the side of my face singe “Buying me coffee doesn’t give you the right to just barge back into our lives whenever the mood strikes and pretend to give a shit about us. It doesn’t make you her father and it doesn’t make you my savior.”

  Breathe, Ranger.

  Don’t say a goddamned word because you’re only going to make it worse.

  Just keep your mouth shut and breathe.

  “I thought we settled this,” I say it quietly, hands hooked around the steering wheel, fingers gripped tight, biceps flexed like I’m about to rip it from the steering column, because I never fucking listen. I never do the smart thing. Never do what I should. Certainly not when it comes to her. No, when it comes to Grace Faraday, everywhere I step is a potential landmine. “You said we were good. You said you—”

  “Did I?” She turns in her seat again, pushing her knees against the door like she’d open it and do a tuck and roll down the highway if it didn’t mean leaving Molly behind. “Well, I guess that makes me a liar, doesn’t it?”

  Yeah, I’m not ready for this.

  I’m barely qualified as functional these days. I need a watering schedule to keep a houseplant alive. I can’t even take more than one college class at a time without fear of implosion. What makes me think I’m ready to take on a woman and her kid is totally and completely beyond me.

  All I know for sure is ready or not, whether she wants me or not, Grace needs me. Molly needs me and I’m not flinching away from that. Not this time.

  The rest of the drive is made in silence—Grace turned away from me like she can simply will me away by pretending I’m not here. Me, staring through the windshield while I try to figure out what I’m supposed to do next. By the time I turn into the parking lot of the center, I still haven’t figured it out but I pull into my spot near the back door and kill the engine. And then I do the only thing I know how to do.

  I dive in, head first.

  “Here’s what’s going to happen, Jimmy,” I tell her, pulling her keys from the ignition to drop them into the cup holder. “I’m going to get out of the car and I’m going to take Molly upstairs.” Unbuckling my seatbelt, I turn in my seat to look at her. “I’m going to put her to bed on the futon in my spare room and then I’m going to get out of this suit, take a shower and then I’m going to go to bed because my leg is fucking killing me and I just really need this day to be over,” I tell her while opening my car door and stepping a foot onto the pavement. “So, you can either come upstairs with me and we can figure out the rest of it in the morning or you can start screaming and call the cops to come arrest me for kidnapping—either way, Molly and I are going inside.”

 
; Thirty-one

  Grace

  I watch in the side mirror as Ryan carries Molly to the backdoor of the center, each of his steps slow and methodical, like he has to prepare for each of them so his leg doesn’t buckle. It reminds me of what he told me on Friday. That his leg is usually good in the morning but that by afternoon, he usually needs his cane to help keep himself steady.

  Before I can think things through, I’m pushing my own door open and retrieving my keys from the cup holder and the small duffle I was smart enough to throw clothes into from the trunk area. Reaching over the back of the seat, I grab Ryan’s cane from the backseat before slamming the hatch shut and charging after them.

  Barely sparing me more than a passing glance, Ryan shifts Molly in his arms to dig a set of keys out of his pocket. “Here,” he says, passing the keys off to me. “My alarm code is 0123.”

  Shifting the duffle from one hand to the other, I take the keys he’s offering and unlock the back door, and hold it open for him while he passes through with Molly. All in, I shut the door and lock it before quickly punching in the code to keep the alarm quiet. By the time I’m done, I’m scrambling to catch up to them again.

  By the time I make it to the bank of elevators, Ryan’s already called down one of the cars and the doors slide open with a soft ding. Climbing on, I hit the button for the fifth floor without direction and the doors slide closed with nothing but Molly’s soft snores to fill the silence between us.

  “Ryan,” I say it quietly, nervously shifting my duffle from one hand to the next, because I have no idea what I’m going to say to him but thank you seems to be a good start. Or maybe I’m sorry for being an ungrateful bitch.

  “Hmmm…”

  I look up, to find he’s not even looking at me. Instead, he’s leaning against the back wall of the elevator, eyes closed. Molly’s face buried in his neck while she sleeps. The corners of his mouth are turned down, lines dug deep and heavy with pain. For some dumb reason, it makes me mad all over again. That he’s willing to endure what must be agony just to keep from waking her up.