His hand started moving towards my hip. My eyes narrowed. “Don’t even.”
He did.
With an insolent grin, Casey splayed his big palm over my hip. Not stopping there, it travelled around to the small of my back. I froze at the audacity, my skin tracking his touch as his hand slid further down, covering my ass. My heart felt ready to thump from my chest at the intimate caress.
“Get your hand off me,” I hissed.
But he didn’t heed my warning. Standing at the front driveway of Henry’s duplex, Casey brazenly squeezed my ass.
“What would you do if I squeezed your ass?”
“You already did,” I ground out, standing stiffly as the warmth of his palm burned right through to my skin.
I held my breath when he leaned in and bit my earlobe before trailing his tongue over it to soothe the sharp sting.
“Oops,” he replied with a throaty whisper in my ear. “My bad.”
Heat throbbed deliciously between my thighs, leaving no doubt it was Casey’s intention to humiliate me by getting me hot for him. It worked, and I hated that it worked. My situation had left me emotionally vulnerable, I reminded myself. Casey could possibly be a sexy distraction, but right now I needed someone who cared, and he was definitely not that person.
When I went stiff and silent, he pulled back, his brows drawn together as he looked at me.
“Slim?” he questioned, his fierce blue eyes softening slightly.
Damn. The sudden concern he showed was too much. It made my eyes burn. Now I’d done the unthinkable in warfare and exposed my weak link.
Retreat, Grace, retreat!
“Oh God,” I mumbled hoarsely, averting my eyes and blinking rapidly. “I need to go. I have to—”
“Grace?” Henry appeared at the front door, a grin lighting up his face.
I shoved Casey away with superhuman strength. You know the kind you got when your adrenaline hit hyperdrive like you were facing down a bear? That was how desperately I wanted Casey out of my space. My eyes must have communicated a trapped wild animal, because he actually backed up a step.
Feeling emboldened, I muttered harshly, “Don’t ever do that again or I’ll … I’ll …” You’ll what? I glanced at Marjorie, Casey’s obvious Achilles heel. “I’ll scratch your car.”
Henry wrapped me in a hug before Casey could reply. I buried my head in his neck as he squeezed me tight.
“Gracie Bean,” he whispered.
My eyes filled at being held by my big brother. “Henry Bear.”
He pulled back, looking me over. Henry hadn’t changed at all. His eyes were still as blue as the sky and his white blond hair was still thick with a slight curl, but more styled now than I remembered. The faint scar on his chin was still there from when we were little. I was seven and Henry nine when we decided that jumping out his two-storey bedroom window and onto the trampoline would increase our bounce ratio. That had been during my aspirations of being a professional trampolinist and competing in the Olympics. Being the eldest, Henry had insisted on going first. Hitting the mat feet first, he bounced up in the air, flailed wildly, and flew off the other side, landing on the gravelled pathway that lined our fence. Dad had been out at the time, and by that stage mum’s health had been on the decline. With blood pouring down Henry’s chin, she bundled me, Henry, and the twins in the car and raced off to Emergency. They simply cleaned it out, glued his chin back together, and sent us home. Dad dismantled the trampoline the next day. I watched on, my dream of Olympic glory crushed.
I brushed my thumb over the pale scar. “It’s still there.”
Henry grinned. “I like it. It reminds me of the fun we used to have. Besides, chicks dig scars.”
“They do, do they? Getting attacked by a trampoline is sexy now?”
“Come on, Grace. I don’t tell them it was from a trampolining incident.” Henry turned his grin on Casey, telling him the story. “I was grounded for two weeks after that,” he added.
Casey laughed, turning amused eyes my way before asking Henry, “Grace get you into lots of trouble when you were little, did she?”
“Loads,” he replied as they started towards the front door. I followed behind as Henry began another story, throwing me under the bus and at the same time bringing on a wave of nostalgia.
We’d been a tight family unit once, but we were all scattered to the four winds now. I wasn’t sure our family would ever be what it used to be, but Henry looked happy. He didn’t need me stampeding like an elephant through all that happiness and ruining it for him. I would simply stay a few weeks, fill in for whatever live commitments the band required during that time, and then leave with hopefully less fanfare than when I arrived.
As we reached the front door, Casey and Henry paused to finish their conversation. While my brother spoke, I peeked a glance at Casey. His lids were lowered as he focused on my mouth. My body responded with an answering wave of heat, and when he noticed my flushed face, he grinned, his dimples popping in a display of pure, male perfection. I pretended not to notice, stepping away as I feigned interest in the shrubbery. Mitsy was only too happy with the sudden change of direction, making a conscious effort to cock his leg over several of the plants lining the front garden.
Sneaking another glance, I realised he was watching with an amused expression until Henry distracted him with a question. He gave me his back as he answered, lifting his arm to rub tiredly at his neck. The movement made his shirt ride up, drawing my eyes to the strip of tanned skin just above his ass—his toned, muscular ass. Realising I was staring, I pulled a face at his back which was more immature than I cared to admit, but it made me feel infinitely better.
When Mitsy finished marking his territory, we returned to Henry’s side in time for Casey to offer a quick goodbye. He had the nerve to wink when my brother wasn’t looking before he disappeared down the drive. No doubt he was in a hurry to leave me behind and get back to his underground lair. I told myself I was relieved to watch him go. There was no doubt that Casey made me tense.
Once inside the duplex, Mitsy introduced himself properly to Henry by baring his teeth. Henry took him in with a wide-eyed caution I thought was wise. “I didn’t know you had a dog, Grace.”
I tugged on the leash, creating a safe distance between the two of them. “He’s a new addition.”
Somewhere along the drive here I’d decided that Dalton wasn’t getting the dog back. Mitsy had proved his worth and didn’t deserve a philanderer taking care of him. The ballsy little animal acted like he could take on Cujo and win. It showed an admirable spirit that someone like Dalton would only crush. The fact that he’d pissed all over Casey’s motherfucker tyres and then gouged a hole in the back seat probably helped in making the decision. Just a couple of dog training classes to curb some of the more offensive behaviour, and Mitsy and I would make a good team.
“Umm … okay. Cool dog. He’s really uh, white.”
“Thanks.”
After setting a bowl of water and doggy treat out on the back deck, we left Mitsy to get acquainted with the backyard so Henry could introduce me to the band.
Returning to the living room, I met the bass guitarist I was temporarily replacing first. Frog had dark silky hair, hazel eyes, and olive skin. A tattoo sleeve covered his right arm, but I couldn’t tell with his left; it appeared bandaged from his hand upwards and rested in a sling.
“Ouch.” I winced sympathetically.
“Dude.” Frog looked from me to Henry. “I finally get to meet your sister.” Henry folded his arms and Frog grinned, looking back at me and holding out his good hand. I took it in mine as he said, “Nice to meet you, Grace. I’d say it was unfortunate circumstances, but frankly, if breaking my arm is what it took to get you here, then I’d have done it a lot sooner.”
I laughed, but when his expression remained serious, I cleared my throat and replied, “Nice to meet you too, Frog. I’m sorry about your arm.”
He shrugged. “Shit happens.”
“Let go,” Henry told him, and Frog smirked, giving my hand a squeeze. Henry gave the small of my back a quick shove, propelling me away from Frog and breaking the connection.
Next was Cooper, the band’s keyboardist. “Brothers?” I asked, looking between him and Frog. Their colouring was similar, but Cooper’s eyes were dark brown, bordering on black.
“No, but we can be if you’re into that kind of—”
“Cooper!” Henry snapped.
He gave Henry a look of wide-eyed innocence and something pinged in my memory. “Have we met before?”
“I don’t think so.” Cooper ran his gaze over me, his brows drawing together as he cocked his head. “I would definitely remember you.” He glanced quickly at Henry and Frog before stepping in close, his chest almost brushing mine. Leaning in, he lowered his voice as he spoke in my ear. “Uh, was that a line? Because if so, that’s fucking awesome. I live just next door you know, but I can give you my number.”
“Oh,” I murmured, biting the insides of my cheeks so I wouldn’t laugh. He stepped back, meeting my eyes with a knowing grin.
“What did he say?” Henry demanded.
“He uh …” Cooper shook his head at me quickly. The action made me realise Cooper was familiar because he looked like a model I’d worked with a long time ago. Clearing my throat, I replied, “Nothing.”
Frog snorted, tucking a lock of dark hair behind his ear. It looked like he was trying to keep it tied back at the nape of his neck, but it wasn’t quite long enough and kept falling in his face.
“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Cooper.”
“Gracie Bean!” A loud feminine squeal and the sound of stomping heels rapidly climbing the basement stairs cut through the chatter. Moments later, I was smothered by Henry’s best friend and the band’s lead singer. “It’s been years!”
“Evie,” I choked out as she squeezed me hard.
She pulled back, her chocolate brown eyes widening as she ran her fingers over the tattoo covering my arm and shoulder. “What’s this? Never mind. We’ve got time to catch up later.” She turned to Mac. “You remember Mac, don’t you? Our band manager?”
I nodded as Mac took her turn giving me a hug. Mac had beautiful green eyes, blond hair, and a take no prisoner’s attitude.
“I owe you big for this, okay?” she informed me as she took a step back, smoothing her gleaming waves of golden hair. “Whatever you want—shoes, a new gun, my firstborn child, it’s yours. Just promise me you’ll stay until Frog’s well enough to play again.”
I agreed, administering my promise to Mac in triplicate. Apparently that was the right thing to say if the smiles and matching expressions of relief were anything to go by.
Henry took my hand and gave me a quick tour of the duplex. Downstairs was an open-plan kitchen, living, and dining room, along with the laundry and study. After leading me upstairs, I realised it only had one bathroom, which didn’t just surprise me, it reminded me that my brother was a shower hog. Years of Henry’s monopolisation had made the bathroom a hot commodity growing up in our house, but I wasn’t worried. I considered myself a veteran of Henry’s antics. I had that particular issue covered.
Henry raised his brows at my smug grin. “What?”
“Nothing,” I murmured.
With a shrug, he showed me Mac’s room and then his. My wide eyes took in the pink coverlet on his bed. “Henry, you have pink sheets, and they’re not just pink, they’re trimmed in lace. And pretty.”
“I know. They were Quinn’s sheets from when she used to live here. I stole them when she moved out.”
“You stole pink sheets?”
“Yep.” He folded his arms, nodding as we both stared at the girly display. “They’re really soft, and when you lie on the bed and close your eyes, you don’t notice the colour.”
The guest room—the room I would be staying in—was next. It was modern and pretty with a decent size walk-in wardrobe. The bed was a vintage-inspired black metal frame with fluffy white bedding. The matching black bedside tables were also vintage in distressed timber with pretty lamps sitting on top. My suitcase sat by the door and someone had rested my guitar case up against the wall.
“Is this okay?” he asked, opening the blinds to slight views of Bondi Beach.
Walking over to Henry, I slid the window open. Breathing in the fresh scent of salty ocean air, my body felt suddenly lighter. My problems were far away in Melbourne, and Italy if I factored in my boyfriend as a problem—which he wasn’t. A simple phone call telling Dalton we were over shouldn’t come as a surprise to him, and I could take care of that tomorrow. Jemima would reschedule all my current commitments, leaving me with nothing to do but play guitar and plan my new future. All I had to do was make sure Henry was kept out of the loop, which wouldn’t be hard. I didn’t bring anything incriminating with me except for my phone, and there was no reason for him to be snooping through any of the messages on there.
I turned, giving Henry a grin. “It’s perfect.”
I flopped down on the bed, scooting over to make room for Henry when he did the same. He tucked his hands behind his head and stared at the ceiling. “It’s good to have you here, Gracie Bean.”
I mimicked his actions. “It’s good to be here.”
He turned his head to look at me, meeting my eyes. “But?” he prompted, sensing my hesitation.
I grimaced. “It’s been a long time since I picked up a guitar.” Henry had always been the musical talent, not me. When mum was sick, he would sit on the floor of his room plucking the strings like it gave him peace. Then his best friend, Evie, came along with her rich voice like melted butter, and the music they created together was more than special, it was fucking incredible. “Back when we were young my fingers could walk the walk, but now I don’t even know if they can talk the talk.”
Tonight I would be standing up in front of thousands, not including the televised audience, and I didn’t want to fail spectacularly and damage Jamieson’s reputation as one of the hottest live Australian acts of the decade.
“You could’ve just hired a professional, Henry. Why me?”
“Because I miss you, Grace.” His eyes skimmed over me sadly, taking in the makeup, tattoos and deep, dark hair that used to be a light golden brown. I knew I looked nothing like I used to, but that was how the industry worked. Changing your look on a regular basis kept you fresh and in demand. “You might be my sister, but I don’t know who you are anymore. I don’t know anything about you. Hell, I didn’t even know you had a dog. It sucks that Frog broke his arm, but what he said was right. If that’s what it took to get you here, then I’d have broken it myself. Well, maybe not, but you get the point. You’re not here just to fill Frog’s place—because as you said, we could’ve hired a professional—you’re here because I want my sister back. Is that okay? I don’t care if you play like a cat on crack. I just care that you’re here.”
I grabbed blindly for his hand and gave it a squeeze. “I miss you too, Henry. This wasn’t how I imagined the two of us would end up, but life just got in the way.”
Henry let go of my hand. Swallowing hard, he averted his face as he sat up. “Fuck that,” he muttered.
“Henry—”
“Don’t.” He got to his feet and walked to the window. After a moment, he spun around and there was anger in his eyes, a hardness that I’d never seen before. “Life doesn’t just get in the way. It plays out based on the choices we make, and you chose to leave us. I’m still so fucking mad at you for that.” I sat up, my heart aching at the pain in his voice. “You know why mum always tolerated your crap when we were little? Because you were so fucking full of life that whenever you got in trouble, the light would literally fade from your eyes and it was like … I don’t know, crushing a butterfly or something. No one could bear to do it. When mum got sick, it was you that held us together. You. You were that shining beacon of li
ght just like she was, and when our family fell apart after losing her you were never there to see it, because somewhere along the way we lost you too.” He paused, taking a deep breath. “I never saw that light in your eyes return, Grace, and when I look at you…” tears filled his eyes “…it’s still not there.”
I swallowed the lump in my throat and stared at the floor. I had no idea the choices I’d made had torn such a huge, gaping hole in our family.
“Say something, Grace,” he whispered hoarsely.
I shook my head, choking on a sob. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry I wasn’t there, Henry.”
“Why?” he cried out. “Why weren’t you there? Was your modelling career that much more important to you than we were?”
“Of course not.” But it was too late for explanations. Far too late to go back to how we used to be, and the thought made hurt well inside me until I ached from it.
“Then what?”
“Let it go, Henry,” I pleaded. “Please? I’m here now. I’m here and I won’t let you down, okay?”
“Jesus, Grace.” Henry rubbed at his eyes. After a brief moment he walked over to me. Crouching so we were eye level, he rested his hands on my knees. “I didn’t mean to get into this. The past is in the past, it’s just … having you here, I didn’t realise I was still so angry. All the hurt just came flooding back like it never left. You know I love you, right? You’re my little sister. I’ll always love you, no matter what.”
I exhaled a shaky breath at the intense sincerity in his pretty blue eyes. “Promise?”
“Of course I promise.” He cocked his head, his brows drawing together. “Why? Has something happened I should know about?”
“No,” I lied, and my heart broke. “Everything’s fine.”
After taking a few minutes to freshen up and compose myself, Henry led me down to the basement so they could start on teaching me the song. Being underground, the whole area was windowless, but the space was large enough not to induce a claustrophobic attack. The soundproofed walls featured big black and white prints of Jamieson playing at live venues, and the room was filled with their equipment: drums, amplifiers, guitars, and microphones on stands. Evie and Cooper fiddled with dials and sound on the keyboard while Frog sat on a nearby amplifier offering suggestions. Cables snaked all over the floor, leading behind a worn, comfortable couch where Mac stood talking to a guy I recognised as Jake Romero, the band’s drummer. His size was intimidating. A fitted tee shirt emphasised wide muscular shoulders and thick biceps covered with tattoos. His golden brown hair was shorn in a simple buzz cut and eyes the colour of single malt scotch were busy glaring at something Mac said.
Give Me Grace Page 7