Losing Grace (Falling Away #2)

by Allie Little

  “But you can choose your friends,” Stan finishes.

  I lift a shoulder, feeling at a half-beaten loss. The man was beginning to make sense, even if I didn’t want to admit it.

  Stanley shifts closer and lowers his voice, leaning across the bar. “Look around, boss. There are people who care about you. They might not be family, but they’re better than that. More … solid. Dependable.”

  I glance around my fancy-pants restaurant at the sea of strangers. “Not seeing anyone who gives a shit, Stan.”

  Stanley whacks me on the arm. “Not here, you dumb-ass. I’m talking generally. Look around and notice the people you’re close to. The people you give a shit about. You’ll find they give a damn about you, too.”

  I sigh audibly, wanting the whole sordid mess to be behind me. “You’ve had family troubles, Stan?”

  “Have I had family troubles? I am the King of family troubles.”

  “How so, man?”

  He breathes out, as if the memories are painful. “My sexuality wasn’t exactly … embraced. I endured years of rejection from my family. There were times when I desperately craved their acceptance, but never got it. Those days are behind me now, boss. My friends are my family, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  “I see. Not cool, Stan. I’m sorry you experienced that. A lot of the time I don’t understand people. It couldn’t have been easy for you.”

  “It wasn’t, but I always knew I could rely on my friends. The people who truly love you will accept you for who you are. Focus on what’s important, Riley. The people who get you, not the people who don’t.”

  I nod, agreeing wholeheartedly with the sentiment, holding my glass out again expectantly. “One more for the road, kind Sir? And why don’t you join me?”

  Stan transfers the remainder of the scotch from the bottle into two glasses, throwing me a grateful wink.

  ***

  An hour passes before realising the time. It’s dark and cold, the storm infusing the sky with an inky gloom that won’t hold light. Having swilled my final drink, high-fived Stan for his incredible bar management skills, I take the stairs to the rear alley and double beep the car remote. A combination of desperation and desire shoots through me, and without a shadow of a doubt I know I’m craving Grace. I imagine her curled up in the penthouse, snug in front of the fire, a wine in her hand, waiting for me. Hell, what was I doing drowning my sorry ass in alcohol at Swimmer all this time?

  Searching appropriate drive-music for the trip home, I blue-tooth my phone for the playlists. I scroll past the running list, groove list, finally choosing a list of melancholy dirges. I’ve only just fired up the first tune when the phone beeps it’s dead battery warning and turns a hollow sort of black, right across the screen.

  Great. Dead phone. My night is complete.

  I drive in silence, desperate to hold Grace. The entire trip, speeding up the freeway, the only sound is the constant hush of the engine. The entirety of Grace will make me complete, if only she’d have me.

  The Vermuda basement car park is strangely empty. I’d expected Gemma’s car to be here, maybe even Jack’s or Sam’s. But nothing.

  Taking the lift to the penthouse, an uncomfortable feeling of dread disables me like I’m choking on poison. Like doubt has conquered me and seized me whole. Asphyxiated me.

  The lift doors draw back.

  “Where the hell have you been?” Gemma screeches from the balcony. She stands with her back to the water, alarm written boldly over her face.

  “At Swimmer,” I defend innocently, glancing around the penthouse, clearly bereft of Grace.

  Gemma paces over the balcony in the rain. She gazes over the water then swings around, glaring at me. “Why didn’t you answer our calls? It’s been hours.”

  “My phone died. What the hell is the problem? And where’s Grace? Is she upstairs?”

  Gemma raises her hands in my face, shaking with incredulity. The wind whips at her hair. “You didn’t get any of the messages, Riley? For God’s sake, Grace is on Fingal Island. Alone. In this hideous weather. By herself. Get it? Stranded, Riley. Wet and cold. Who knows if she’s found shelter …”

  “Hang on … what? What did you say? Grace is over there?” I point across the blackened bay, wind whipping the surface into frenzied hunks of grey. “On her own? Jesus, Gemma. How did that happen? Have you called Maritime Rescue? There’s got to be someone who can get her off there.”

  Exasperated.

  Helpless.

  Incensed, that Gemma could allow this to occur.

  “And where the hell are Sam and Jack? Why can’t Jack get his boat over there?”

  “It’s too far, Riley. His boat’s at Tea Gardens. It’s an hour’s drive away and then two hours by boat back across. Quicker around the headland, but Jesus, it’s dangerous out there.” She glances over the gale-ridden bay, the sleeting rain and icy winds blustering the glass doors. “And lose the anger, Riley. It doesn’t become you.”

  I cough away poisonous bile, rising like venom in my throat. “Well, what can we do to get her off the island? Fuck, Gemma. Come on.”

  I grab my jacket, pounding at the button to draw up the elevator, several murderous times. “Take me to them.”

  This is my fault. My fucking fault. I’m toxic. Contaminated. If I hadn’t been so hell bent on ending things with my father, Grace would be here.

  With me.

  Right now.

  If I could exterminate myself for stupidity, I’d happily do it now.

  16

  Grace

  The lighthouse ahead is barely distinguishable. After a while the steeply inclined track becomes vaguely visible and I shove aside dense, scrubby plants to find the path. At the very top, a radiance blushes over the grassy slope. From the lowest window of the lighthouse a faint glow shines, illuminating the tip of the storm-ravaged knoll. Having clawed my way up, wringing wet and cold, I shove open the heavy timber door by its weighty, black-ringed handle.

  “What the devil? Who the hell are you?” A startled voice rumbles from inside, and a tall, rather sea-farish man with a beanie covering his head leaps to his feet from the roughly cobbled floor. Standing at least six feet tall, he wears one of those sexy-ass cable-knit sweaters, with the five-day growth across his jaw offsetting his rustic fisherman’s appeal.

  “Gosh … I’m very sorry to disturb you. I didn’t expect to find anyone in here. I assumed the lighthouse would be empty.”

  I fumble with the door latch, but he grabs my arm. “Hey, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be so abrupt. I was just as shocked as you. I didn’t expect to see another living soul out here tonight.” He releases my arm and holds out a weathered hand, extending it as a harmonious gesture. “Stay. You might as well. It’s dark as the night and stormy as the sea out there.”

  My mind goes blank. The man was turning me into a jumbled mess. A jumbled, wet mess.

  “Jeremy North.” He pulls the beanie from a tangle of scruffed-up hair.

  “Grace Carter.” I politely shake his hand.

  “I’ve taken the liberty of lighting a fire, Grace. Would you care to join me? You’re clearly freezing.”

  I edge closer to the cosy flames licking at the hearth. He seems trustworthy enough. And quite friendly. And … fairly attractive. Okay, well … very attractive. I giggle internally at my predicament. Stuck out here, on the bleakest of dark nights, with a sea-faring fisherman in front of a winter-warming fire.

  “Could I tempt you with a brandy? I’ve got a bottle here.” He reaches down and grabs a half-drunk bottle from beside the fire, removing the lid and gesturing it toward me. “It’ll warm you up nicely.”

  I remove the bottle from his hand, tentatively taking a tiny swig.

  “Come on, that was pathetic. You’ll need more than that.” He sends a cheeky grin my way, followed by a rather cheesy wink.

  Chuckling, I take another gulp, the heat radiating down my throat and into my body. The alcohol was beginning to have i
ts desired effect. “Thanks Jeremy, that’s very kind of you.”

  “Yes, it’s all a bit of a bother really, stuck here in the storm. I’ve moored my trawler on the other side of the island. It’s a little more protected over there in the cove. Not much I dare say, but in weather like this, every little bit helps.”

  “I imagine it would.” I glance from the lighthouse windows, the wind buffeting roughly against the glass. The rain is torrential, sheeting from the sky.

  “So how did you come to be out here? You’re not alone, surely? You must have come across with that party I spotted earlier, picnicking on the beach?”

  “That was us. The storm blew in just as we attempted to cross the bay back to the mainland. Unfortunately, I’m not much of a kayaker. Actually, I’m no kayaker at all. And well, to be perfectly honest, I was swamped and capsized. Completely drenched in seawater.”

  Jeremy’s eyes light up in surprise. “Capsized? Good grief. Come closer to the fire. You must be freezing in all those wet clothes.”

  A shiver courses through me as I shift toward the flames. I position myself cross-legged on the carpet beside the fire, relishing its warmth.

  Jeremy sits opposite, running a hand pensively across rough stubble peppering his chin. “But where are your friends? They’re not still out in this weather, are they?”

  “Sending help, hopefully.”

  He shakes a dejected head. “Look, Maritime Rescue will be awfully busy tonight. I don’t think you’ll see them before morning. And anyhow, I can get you back across first thing in the morning when the weather clears.”

  Relief pours through me. “Oh, that would be wonderful. Thank you,” I say, peeling off Gemma’s wet jacket and laying it across the stone cobbles in front of the fire. I remove another few soggy layers until all I have on is a rather wet, clingy t-shirt.

  Jeremy uncomfortably averts his eyes. “I have a blanket here, if you’d like to wrap yourself in it? I’d give you my coat, but it’s soaked through, just like yours.” He reaches across for a blanket heaped in the corner. “Here you go. Wrap yourself in this. It’s not luxury, but it’s better than nothing.”

  The blanket is old and smells musty, the faintest odour of fish curling from the weave. Once I’m thoroughly ensconced, Jeremy nods his approval. For the next few hours we sit, bathed in warmth from the dancing fire, chatting about our lives, sipping on brandy until my head starts to swim.

  Jeremy gestures the bottle at me again but I raise the palms of my hands. “I think I’ve had enough, thanks. It’s certainly done the trick.” The words slur from my mouth, making me giggle.

  Jeremy laughs, tipping the remains of the brandy down his throat. “For a woman who’s left her husband, run away to a sleepy coastal town with her boss and become marooned on an island overnight, I’d say you’re doing pretty well. We’re similar though, Grace – you and me.”

  “Hardly,” I scoff, a little too loudly. “You’re a fisherman with a plummy English accent who spends weeks alone on the ocean, trawling fish for a living. So, we’re similar how?”

  Jeremy’s chuckling voice resonates against the interior stone walls. “I’ve done similar, Grace. Run away. Hidden. Left all that I knew and felt comfortable with.”

  I goggle my eyes, shocked. “What did you leave behind?”

  He shrugs as if it’s unimportant. “Only my entire life. A wife. A job I endured. It was … necessary.” Jeremy glances away, contemplating the fire. He turns again, facing me with sadness in the depth of his sea-green eyes. “But it was for the best. There comes a point in life Grace, where you put yourself first, because without doing that, you’ll lose yourself forever.”

  I exhale slowly, the release of air measured. “So, you know what it means then? To leave everything behind? Hoping for happiness?”

  Jeremy frowns slightly. “Happiness is an elusive emotion, Grace. We all strive for it. Endeavour to feel it. It should be a basic human right though, correct? Because we all want it. Need it. And struggle to achieve it. Perhaps we need to realise that contentment is all we need, knowing that bliss and delight come in waves. To feel content, rather than joyfully exhilarated, is perhaps a far more achievable goal.”

  “But to be content we must feel happiness, right?”

  “Happy in a more measured way, Grace. Without the sparkle. Striving for constant sparkle is a futile exercise. Sure, sparkle graces our lives in moments of bliss. But sparkle doesn’t last. It fizzles and dies, Grace. Contentment comes with a more plodding kind of pleasure. Perhaps in the simplicity of sunshine and the light drizzle of rain. Or with food on the table and clothes on our backs. Waking each day knowing you might face joy, but you might also face hardship - the troubles that weigh on our shoulders. It’s when those troubles turn us to sadness, Grace, a consistent sadness, that action must be taken. When no joy is found in the simple things, that’s when you know.”

  “That happiness is found in the little things,” I nod, seeing his truth. I think suddenly of Riley, his kindness and genuine concern. His ability to make me happy, just by being in his presence. His ability to put others before himself, and that finally, only today, he planned to end things with his father. To put himself first, before he lost himself forever, just as Jeremy had said.

  “You’re very quiet, all of a sudden,” Jeremy says, fracturing my reflection.

  I look across, seeing a man who’d taken a chance on happiness. Happiness for him was the ocean; a solitary existence. Being nowhere and somewhere, all at the same time.

  “Tell me why you left it all, Jeremy. What was it for you?”

  He rakes a hand through his scruffy hair. “My relationship with my wife had ruptured. She’d changed a great deal, and not for the better. It felt like a breach of our agreement. I mean, how much should one endure for the sake of those words of promise made at the altar? Words can break you, Grace, if you let them. Nasty words. Words that hold hatred. Words that seek to cut you down and bury you beneath their slick veneer. Perhaps I’d heard enough words. Empty words; words that mean nothing.”

  “I think you’re right, Jeremy,” I say rather sagely, trying hard to stay awake in what must be the early hours of the morning.

  “About words?”

  I shake my head sleepily, intoxicated by brandy. “Yes. But also that you and I are similar, Jeremy. Strangely enough. Words can break you, if you endure enough of them, over a long enough time. Painful words. Words that once said, can never be taken back.” I yawn, settling myself horizontally onto the carpet.

  “Here, Grace. Take my bag and use it for a pillow. It’s soft enough, and is better than nothing.”

  I accept his offer willingly. “Thank you. You’re very kind.”

  “You should sleep. I can tell you’re completely exhausted. And don’t worry, I’ll keep my distance. I’ll stay right over here and won’t bother you at all.”

  I nod, snuggling under the fishy blanket.

  But when I close my eyes I see Dan, and all that I’d left behind. My home, my life, a man who at one time had been my love.

  But there’d been too many words.

  ***

  In the pre-dawn darkness, I’m woken. Cold, because the fire’s extinguished, the weight of an unfamiliar arm draped across my body. I shift, confused by how I came to be so snuggled up against Jeremy’s warmth.

  Jeremy gives me a gentle shake. “Can you hear something?”

  “Jeremy, no I can’t. And what are you doing? Get your arm off me.” Shuffling away, the lighthouse door swings open, harsh torchlight flooding the ice-cold room.

  “What the ...? What the hell is going on?” Like a flash of lightning, Riley bolts across the floor and grabs Jeremy by his shirt, dragging him roughly to his feet. He shoves him forcefully against the wall. “Get your hands off her, asshole.”

  “Riley!” I cry, jumping to my feet and yanking at his shirtsleeve. “He’s fine, Riley. Let go of him!”

  Keeping a firm hold of Jeremy’s shirt, Riley looks sideways, in
credulously. “He’s fine? Who the hell is he?”

  I cocoon myself further inside the fishy blanket. “He’s just ... Jeremy.”

  Brow furrowed, Riley shakes his head and glares. “And who the hell is Just Jeremy?”

  “Let him go, Riley. Please.”

  Riley releases his vice-like grip and Jeremy slumps, exhaling with relief. “Geez, man. Cool it, will you?” He looks over my way. “This Neanderthal your boyfriend?” he directs gruffly at me, shucking dishevelled clothes back into position.

  Riley’s gaze mingles expectantly with mine, awaiting an answer.

  “I guess so.”

  Riley’s frown turns into a perplexed half-smile. “I’m so pleased to hear it.” He swivels back to Jeremy. “And as for you, stay the hell away. I have no idea who you are, but you need to go away. Permanently.”

  Jeremy surrenders, raising both hands. “Look, man. We burned all the timber we could find, and when the fire burned out, the temperature dropped. She was sound asleep, shivering with cold, and I simply tried to warm her up.”

  Riley’s fists bunch at his sides. “I bet you did. How noble.”

  “I was worried about hypothermia setting in,” Jeremy continues, seemingly unfazed.

  Riley lets out an acerbic laugh. “We’re not exactly in the Siberian Tundra, Jeremy. I think she’d survive a little chill.” He turns to me. “Come on, let’s go. Grab your things.”

  I fumble for the clothes draped across the floor, removing the blanket from my shoulders and shrugging into Gemma’s jacket. I hand the blanket over to Jeremy. “Thanks, Jeremy.”

  “Guess you won’t be needing that lift back to the mainland, then?”

  Riley glares. “I’ve got it covered.” He reaches for my hand, curling his fingers gently through mine, gropes for the door latch and tugs me from the room. I motion an apologetic shoulder on the way out.

  Jeremy signals his acceptance, raising a cheeky eyebrow. “Lovely to meet you, Grace.”

  We reach the sand and Riley hauls me into him, like I’m all he has and he’ll never let me go. “Jesus, Grace. I’ve been out of my mind with worry. I leave you for one day. One day. And you get yourself stranded overnight on an island?”