Shattered Grace (Fallen from Grace) (9 page)

Her burn lingered. He could still feel her, even though she’d traveled half a mile down the road. The feeling was enticing, to say the least. That Grace had just gotten in her car and driven off left him feeling bereft, disappointed. He wasn’t sure exactly what he had expected. He did, however, know he sure as hell shouldn’t want anything more than the impersonal good-night he’d gotten.

Quentin stood in the darkness, watching her taillights flash brightly as she braked before making a turn, then disappeared from sight. He needed a release. Some kind of avenue to get himself under control. Grace was under his guardianship. Nothing more. Nothing less.

He gave himself a mental shake as he made his way into the house, forcing his thoughts back to his duty. What he really needed to do was get her to the bank and back to Christophe’s, where he could protect her better. Maybe having her in close proximity where he knew she was safe would help. At this point, Grace didn’t need to know he had lived in Christophe’s house all this time. It was the way of the Guardian and Chosen. They lived their lives under the same roof, living together with the same purpose.

The fact that Grace was a beautiful female might prove to be a bit of a challenge for him. If he didn’t find a way to control his attraction to her, the necessary living arrangements could very well end up being the death of him.

Grace was somewhere between drifting and dreaming of moonlit faces when a light tap on her bedroom door stirred her.

“
Grace? You awake?” her mother asked from the lighted bedroom doorway.

Irritated that the beginning of a Darius dream was interrupted, she opened one eye to a slit. “Barely.” With her luck, it wouldn’t be one of those dreams that picked up exactly where it left off, no matter how many times it was broken up with interruptions. The thought just irritated her more.

“
I was just making sure you were home. I couldn’t sleep until I knew you were back.”

“
Since when?” Grace cringed inside, realizing the filter from her brain to her mouth wasn’t fully awake yet.

Her mother’s face fell into a frown as her voice cracked. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“
Oh, nothing really, other than your timing couldn’t be more perfect.” Yep, her filter was apparently broken. Or out cold.

“
My timing?” Her mother’s voice rose an octave.

Fully aware the timing issue was about way more than the dream, she decided to rip the Band-Aid off completely. No more picking at it. Grace sat straight up in bed and looked her mother square in the eye.

“
Yes, your timing. Other than the obvious reasons, you decide now to worry and act all motherly, just three weeks before I turn eighteen? How convenient.”

Stunned, her mother stood in the doorway gazing painfully back at her. Grace could see a pool of tears forming in her eyes, but was too agitated to care. When her mother spoke again, it was barely above a murmur.

“
Convenient? Is that what you really think? That I’ve been waiting around all this time for your inheritance? That I’ve not really cared for you?”

“
It’s not what I think, Mom. It’s what I’ve felt.” Surprised by the anger rising within her, Grace focused on her breathing, trying to calm herself down.

“
You don’t know anything,” her mother said loud enough for her to hear clearly. “And I don’t care what you think you’ve felt. All I’ve done the last eighteen years is care for and worry about you. I’ve always done what I’ve had to do.” Her mother’s spine straightened.

“
I don’t know how it was when you were in school, but Maslow’s hierarchy of needs includes love.” An angry rush of heat tore through Grace’s body with every new word spoken. Her limbs trembled with the need to spring out of the bed, but she stiffened to keep her poised muscles in check.

Before answering, her mother took in a deep breath. “Clearly, you’re home safe. Not so sound, but you’re home, nonetheless. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Laney shut the door, pulling it closed a little harder than necessary.

Grace screwed her eyes shut tight and held back the frustrated yell she wanted so badly to let loose. How could her mother just waltz in and pretend like the last fifteen years didn’t happen? Oh no, it happened. Just not how I remember it, she thought. She threw her covers back with a sharp swipe of her arm and stormed into the bathroom to splash some water on her face, hoping it would calm her down. Once she’d turned the cold tap on full, she leaned over, plunged her cupped hands under the faucet, and threw the cold water on her skin.

“
Ahhh!” Grace yelled, as much from the shock as from anger, then picked up a towel to scrub at her face as her mind tallied justification for the resentment bombarding it. It was all too easy to conjure images of the shock that would engulf her mother if she woke to find Grace gone. And even easier to imagine the tears that would follow as the vulture of guilt ate at the carcass of her mother’s Graceless life. Then her mother would see things her way, and feel nothing but remorse.

Who was she kidding? Her mother would probably just be relieved if she ever left, and thank her. Funny how guilt works. One would think it would be symmetrical, everyone feeling it equally. Grace had learned it was usually one-sided, and Laney was too narcissistic to be affected by sensibility. In this respect, Grace wished she was more like her mother. The words she’d thrown at Laney were purposely hurtful. Even though she didn’t regret them at the moment, Grace knew she would soon. The iniquity of her verbal transgression would haunt her until she yielded to it.

Which is when she’d deal with it.

She grabbed her cell off her nightstand, got back into bed, and shot off a text to Quentin.

Grace:
Howz ur head frm the awsum tunes?

According to the time on her cell, it was ten after midnight. She stared at the screen, hoping he wasn’t sleeping. Seconds later, it buzzed.

Quentin:
Great. How are you?

Grace:
My headache isn’t frm the music :(

Since he didn’t text back again right away, she suddenly hoped she wasn’t bothering him—waking him, interrupting him, annoying him.

Quentin:
What’s wrong?

Grace:
Fighting with the mom is all. Fun times.

Quentin:
Sorry. Is it because you were out late?

Grace:
No. Long story.

Quentin:
I’m all ears.

Quentin was a lot of things, but all ears wasn’t one of them. Tee-hee, she giggled silently.

Damn, she thought. I really am losing it.

Grace:
Im 2 angry 2 sleep.

Quentin:
Wish there was something I could do to help.

Grace:
U answered my txt.

Quentin:
Can I call you?

For a moment, she just stared at the phone. His question made her stomach do flip-flops. She was still stewing a little, but at least her heart wasn’t trying to pound out of her chest from mad adrenalin.

Grace:
Yes.

It only took three seconds for her cell to ring.

“
Hello.”

“
Hi there.”

“
Were you sleeping?”

“
Yeah,” he said. “But sleep is overrated.” She could hear the smile in his voice. “You want to talk about it?”

Did she? She wasn’t sure. Talk? Yes, but about it? She didn’t think so. “That’s not a today conversation.” Grace smiled, wondering if he’d remember his own words.

The lighthearted chuckle in her ear made her smile. “Very good, grasshoppa. You’ve been paying attention.” His retort made her giggle.

“
Seriously,” she said, her laughter calming. “Were you really sleeping?”

“
Yes, but it’s not a big deal. Do you want to talk about why you and your mom were fighting?”

Grace settled back into her pillow and pulled her covers up under her arms. “Maybe another time. Not tonight. I just want to think about something else so I can sleep.” Absentmindedly, she slid her fingers along the silky edge of her blanket.

“
I understand,” he said, and didn’t bring her mom back up again. Instead, he chatted with her about everything and nothing at all, until they were both unable to complete a sentence without yawning.

“
You sound tired.” Quentin breathed another yawn. “You should try to sleep. You have a busy day tomorrow.”

She continued tapping each finger on her right hand with her thumb, hoping it would help her stay awake. “Okay, I can probably sleep now.”

“
My cell will be next to me if you need to talk again.”

“
Thanks, Quentin. Wish me luck.”

“
Luck.”

“
G’night.”

“
Sweet dreams, Grace.”

She set her phone aside, wondering if it was habit for him to sleep with his phone. He probably said that because he was just a nice guy, she decided. As she thought back on the last few days, Grace realized she didn’t know what she would have done without him. And how much she was going to need him in the days and weeks to come.

With a big smile on her face, Grace settled beneath her covers. She slipped her phone under her pillow, prayed her dream would continue, and drifted slowly back to sleep.

As soon as her alarm clock blared, Grace knew two things. One, she was definitely suffering from a “sorry” hangover. And two, before the day’s end she would regret returning to school.

Later as she stood outside her third period class, Grace was pretty sure about the latter with clarity. So far, she’d been late to first, second, and now third period.