Unable to sleep, Nick entered the kitchen with every intention of filling the empty void in his body with the various casseroles in the refrigerator. He would have been much happier with Grace’s phenomenal hand in the kitchen, but she hadn’t the energy nor the time to prepare a good home cooked meal. He felt guilty for only focusing on his needs and when he groped for the lights, he realized that he wasn’t the only soul awake that night. A bottle of wine was opened on the kitchen island, half drained, and Nick knew that Grace was hiding somewhere. Turning, he felt the breeze of the open glass doors leading to the back deck, noting the familiar figure. She was leaning over the railing with the large wine glass cupped in both her hands. Her long honey curls floated in the breeze from the ponytail, fallen curls kissing her face with each change in the breeze. She studied the skyline intensely, seemingly mesmerized by the rolling waves. She always sought solace when she was upset and needed to think, but he knew she longed for company anyways.
“Hey, Gracie…”
“What are you doing up, Nicky?” Grace returned with a sharp intake of breath to stifle the sniffle. It seemed to suck the breath from the deepest recesses of her lungs, making an abnormally strangled sound in the bottom of her throat. Pulling a hand from her wine glass, she used it to furiously wipe away the telltale tears glistening on her face. She didn’t turn to face him until she felt his soft hand on her shoulder, comforting her in ways that he would never understand. Shivering, she turned to meet his gaze.
“I couldn’t sleep,” he explained, tucking away the curls that had fallen from her ponytail before kindly clearing away the remaining tears that she had missed. Smiling softly, he leaned down to press a soft kiss to her forehead in hopes to stir a familiar warmth within her unusually cold emerald eyes. “Guess I knew that you were up.”
“I don’t get much sleep anymore,” she admitted, leaning into his kiss when she felt the slightest flicker of warmth.
“You’d think the wine would knock your ass out. I mean, correct me if I’m wrong, but you’ve never been the type to fuss with wine or beer. You always made the most adorably hideous faces when you tasted it, as if you had just yanked a chunk of sour lemon from the peel. Hell, you were happiest when you were drinking something that had more fruit punch than liquor!” Nick teased, lightly tickling her neck to elicit a smile.
“Not everyone can drink Grey Goose Vodka from the bottle then chase it down with tequila like your sorry ass,” Grace laughed softly, pulling away when she lightly jabbed his stomach.
“Ouch,” Nick hissed as if she had scorched him. “That’s hitting below the belt, Gracie.”
“Had to learn to be ruthless growing up with your family, Nicky,” Grace reminded him, leaning against the banister once more when she drained the last of the wine from her glass in a heavy gulp. During their youth, she had spent most of her days in the Carter household. Her mother had left her father because of infidelities; so she worked most of her days to simply put food on the table. It was a strength that Grace truly revered in her mother. God rest her soul.
“You ain’t fucking kidding…”
“Hell, I had to be ruthless just to fit into Logan’s family. His mother, who you forgot to tell me stopped by, is the shrewdest woman I have ever met in my life…” Grace trailed, setting her wine glass onto the banister to rub her aching temples. The migraines came far more easily since the passing of her husband. She assumed all the stress accumulating in her life was the cause, but she couldn’t exactly deal with it in a healthy way. She had too much to do.
“Shrewd. Sly. Bitchy. She has many adjectives in my book,” Nick muttered, moving to sit on the wooden porch swing. “And she told me not to tell you. Apparently, she thinks because I live in California and work in the music industry that my brain has been permanently warped by drugs and alcohol.”
“She’s not that skeptical of--”
“Gracie…”
“I know,” Grace groaned, pushing away from the banister. “She’s not very fond of you and I’ll be sure to hear exactly that when I go to lunch with her tomorrow.”
“And that’s putting it lightly.”
“I’m sorry, Nicky…”
“It’s not your fault and before you go hurrying into the house, I already checked on the rugrats. Both are asleep,” Nick assured, gesturing for Grace to take the spot next to him on the swing. “So, c’mon, we haven’t had time to ourselves in awhile. We need to talk.”
“Talk about what?” Grace inquired skeptically, though she joined Nick on the swing nonetheless. Tucking her bare feet beneath her body, she leaned against him for support as he started a gentle swinging motion with his feet anchored to the deck. Tucking her arms around him, she smiled softly when his arm wrapped soothingly around her shoulders, allowing her to fit perfectly into the curve of his side.
“Whatever you want to talk about,” Nick suggested, gently rubbing her shoulder as they swayed within the cool night air. Usually, he would consider this the perfect romantic setting. The shoreline a few yards away with the ocean waves gently rolling inward since the fading of the tide offered a romantic lullaby. The full moon shining upon them in a soft glitter gave them a sensual lighting that could never be captured in any other essence. Yet, his love was aching so painfully that all the romance had died. And he had so many questions that he wanted answered. What had happened to Logan to cause his death? Why was Benjamin so angry with him? Why was Benjamin injured as well? How was Grace truly doing with the passing of her husband? What were her plans now? And, most importantly, how could he help?
“Nicky, I honestly don’t care about what we talk about. I just want held,” Grace murmured honestly, bringing his other arm about her in a protective hold.
“…So, I can ask the questions that have been burning in my brain?”
“I’ve been waiting for them all to come blurting out.”
“Gracie, they’re pretty intense…”
“Just give me time to answer and don’t mind the tears. We’ll get through it.”
“That just means you have home field advantage of pushing without consequence when I fuck up and don’t want to talk about it.”
“Damn straight.”
“Good to see we’ve ended up in a give and take situation--”
“Just ask the questions.”
“When you called me, all you told me was that Logan had died. Then I get to the end of the burial service and all I hear is everyone whispering about it… I just… I want to know how it happened… I mean, Jesus, what happened?”
“It was a car accident,” Grace whispered before she could think to save herself the pain of reliving the moment. She could still hear the chimes of her cell phone as she sat in the restaurant with Isabella in her lap. The sound of the officer’s impassionate voice when he revealed the situation followed by the distinct shattering of her drinking glass when it fell from her hand. And then that horrified scream at the hospital echoing in her ears; the agonized banshee cry that she didn’t even recognize as her own. Squeezing her eyes shut, she warded off the memories and forced herself to remain calm. “Benji had been begging his Daddy to take him out shopping. He had done some chores around the house to earn his own money so he could buy me a b-birthday present… He was so proud of that… Made Logan promise that he could buy whatever he wanted… So, they planned to go out and wanted to meet Izzy and me for dinner… Then these… God, Nicky, they were just
kids…”
“Gracie, you don’t have to--”
“I need to,” she whispered, reaching for his hand to thread their fingers. “These kids were goofing off and speeding… Deciding to blow this red light when Logan had green… They plowed straight into Logan’s side of the car going at least sixty miles an hour… The car was completely totaled and they were trapped… My boys were trapped… Benji had to watch Logan pass away while these damn kids just tumbled out of their car with a few scrapes.”
“Jesus Christ, Gracie…” Nick murmured, not knowing what to say. He guessed there wasn’t much to say at that point. The horror of the situation screamed volumes anyway; Benjamin trapped and forced to watch his father die in a painful agony. Instead, he tightened his hold about her, realizing that hot tears were falling from his eyes and mixing with the painful tears that Grace also allowed to rain.
“That’s why Benji is so… He loves you so much, Nicky, honest. Just seeing his Daddy die and… He’s afraid that you might die, too… I tell him that you won’t, but he’s just so scared right now and, as much as I’ve studied pediatrics, I can’t seem to get him to open up. Not that I blame him. All the books on children’s grief say that they need a normal routine as much as possible. They need to stay in the same house. But, I look at this house and all I can see are memories. I hate it so much… I just want to leave… I think they do, too…”
“Where would you go?” Nick murmured, having every intention of getting every signal piece of contact information so he could follow her, knowing she was not strong enough to stand on her own. Not yet.
“I don’t know… Just away… Anywhere…”
“You haven’t seen the new house that I bought in California yet…”
Grace sniffled sharply at the direct shift in the conversation, casting him a bewildered glance. “I know, you complain about that all the time--”
“So, why not stay with me? I live right on the beach, Gracie. The kids can go outside and play all day. I can babysit if you need a break. Or if you need me, then I can just call the other Carters. The house is huge with tons of guest rooms. I have my boats if you feel like taking a trip. Hell, we can go to Disney World with Brian, Tori, and Bay. Anything you want. Just say you’ll stay with me for awhile? Till you can get back on your feet?”
“God, Nicky, that’s just--”
“I know you’re going to say it’s too much, but it’s not. I want you three out there with me. It’ll make me feel better knowing that you’re taken care of. That you’re within an arm’s length. Just think about it.”
“Nicky--”
“Just think about it. That’s all I ask.”
Looking at her mother-in-law over the neatly pressed linen tablecloth, Grace was amazed at the classical regal air that the woman exuded. Not a piece of what she knew to be frequently dyed, dark raven locks were free from the tightly upswept hairstyle of the latest European trend. Her onyx eyes were blazing with a hidden agenda that she would never reveal. Her trim form was dressed in an elegant gray Chanel suit and accessorized to even the minute details. A thick layer of make-up was dabbed to her face in order to make it appear as if she wore only the slightest touch of the most naturalistic material. Among all the social events that Grace had been forced to attend with Logan as a prized trophy for the family, she could recall several occasions when her mother-in-law’s social sphere snickered and suggested that the make-up was to hide the surgical marks of several face-lifts. After all, her husband, chief surgeon of the most prestigious hospital in all of Florida, knew several plastic surgeons that could very well give his wife a significant discount. Her mother-in-law would later tell her that the socialites were jealous, after all, who wouldn’t be envious of such a woman in her position? She didn’t even look as if she was a grieving mother, but perfection personified. It was a hard image to compete with, especially when Grace was beside herself with grief. She had barely managed to wrangle her body into a pair of worn jeans and a pale cream camisole. And she knew that her hair, wrapped into a messy bun, was nothing to be--
“Grace, have you heard a word that I said?”
Blanking at the invasion into her private thoughts, Grace jerked into a rigidly erect position and realized she had been tightly gripping the menu as the waiter stood with a pen poised. His eyes were focused on her with a slight agitation, wanting to just take the order and leave. Hurriedly scanning the menu, she made a quick order and apologized for the wait. Then, shifting uncomfortably, she took the glass of water for a tentative sip. Since the passing of her husband, Grace had been prone to periods of disassociation from the world. She would feel as if she had even left her body for the time being, but Samantha pulled her back with the sharp snort of annoyance. “I’m sorry, Samantha.”
“You should be, Grace,” Samantha Reynolds sighed, obviously already annoyed when she dismissed the waiter with a quick flick of her wrist. When they were left in the privacy of the private dining area, she took the white linen napkin from her silverware and folded it primly into her lap. Looking over to her daughter-in-law, she made a guttural sound in her throat that was tainted with disappointment. “Couldn’t you have dressed better? I know that when you were married to Logan that you dressed shabbily, but you think being in our family would have given you some sense of self respect--”
“Samantha, I haven’t exactly been feeling--”
“Still wallowing in your self-pity,” Samantha suspected quite cruelly, narrowing her onyx eyes toward her daughter-in-law. She had always been quite critical of Logan’s girlfriends and then finally the woman he wanted to be his wife. He had been Samantha’s only child and, therefore, her only attempt to create a legacy of her husband’s name. She had molded him into what one would jokingly refer to as a “Momma’s Boy.” Usually, Logan had listened to her advice, but Grace had been completely unexpected. When first meeting her, Samantha had been appalled, but upon taking her out for a “make-over,” she assumed that if Logan insisted on keeping this fantasy that work could be done to ensure her dreams still remained alive.
“I loved Logan--”
“So did I, but you don’t see me sobbing hysterically like some emotional actress, do you?”
“No…” Grace murmured softly, wanting to make a comment to the thick layer of ice that wrapped around her mother-in-law’s heart that prevented her detachment from her deceased son. But, Logan had always asked that Grace maintain a docile demeanor in front of his mother. He didn’t want her to ruffle the matriarch’s feathers, knowing that it would likely cause Armageddon. So, Grace had swallowed her anger, again, because of Logan.
“But yet you find it appropriate to cry in front of your son?” Samantha immediately questioned, seemingly drawing her expensively finished nails like the sharp claws of a perturbed feline. “Benjamin told me that you were crying. Since when was it appropriate to cry in front of children? You’re supposed to be strong for them. It was terrible enough that you insisted that they attend the funeral--”
“Psychology--”
“Is a profession for buffoons.”
Staring at Samantha for a moment, Grace found herself at a loss for words. The frostiness of her words sent a sharp chill down her spine. Never before had she thought that Samantha was so cold, though she supposed that Logan had done his best to dull the sharp edges of his mother’s attitude toward her during their years together. To suggest that Grace wasn’t doing right by her children was highly offending. She had done her best considering the circumstances. No one had a guide on how to deal with losing a husband and father at the ripe age of twenty-four. And Samantha most certainly didn’t understand the pain that came with losing her other half. So, balling the linen napkin into her fist, she had every intention of telling her just that. “Samantha, I--”
“While I’m on the subject, Grace, Dear, do you really think it’s proper etiquette for a bereaved widow to have a man living in her deceased husband’s house?”
At a loss for words again, Grace managed to sputter, “What?”
“Mr. Carter is still staying at my son’s house, correct?”
“It was our house--”
“Surely you don’t think that your nursing salary paid for such an expensive home built specifically for your family--”
“Samantha--”
“My son had that home built for his family, not for you to abuse as some sort of brothel. My friends and I were just saying how improper it is for you to allow Mr. Carter to stay there. He’s such a poor excuse for a man. I can’t understand why you insist he be around the children. My son always thought you two were having an affair and if I find out that was true, Grace, I swear to God I’ll make sure you don’t inherit a dime--”
Growling, Grace lurched from the table when her anger surpassed its boiling point. To make such filthy, slanderous remarks about her best friend was disgraceful. To suggest that she had only married Logan for the money was reprehensible. But to accuse her of being unfaithful to the man she loved was unspeakable. “I don’t want the money and I don’t give a flying fuck about your social circle gossip, Samantha! Jesus Christ! I’m taking the kids to California for a vacation. Nick offered to let us stay in his home. As a professional nurse and mother, I think it’s in the best interest of my children. I’ll be sure to make sure that the legal matters are all tied up before I leave.”
