Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 128307 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 642(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128307 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 642(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
Grayson’s lips twitch, but just as he’s about to speak, a loud knock echoes through the apartment’s front door.
The groove between Grayson’s blond brows deepens when he checks the time. Either Detective Montrose is super early, or more time has passed than he realized. I highly doubt it is the latter. On the precise minute of each hour, Grayson hands me a glass of water and hits me with a stern look. He didn’t take my comment about the color of my pee as playful as I intended. He’s ensuring I stay hydrated, while also unknowingly permitting me to leave the couch at least every thirty minutes to relieve my bladder of the excessive amount of liquid he’s forcing through my kidneys.
“Wow. That was fast.” When Grayson’s high-pitched squawk rumbles further than the living room, I pretend I can’t use the bathroom without veering past the entryway.
I gasp a sharp breath when I learn Samuel’s court transcript isn’t big enough to require a delivery van. A crib, stroller, car seat, bassinet, and changing table, though. They would need a van to deliver them to their owner, and the knowledge leaves me breathless.
After signing for the multiple packages, Grayson waves his hand at the boxed crib. “That’s the correct one, right?” he asks, assuming my watering eyes are because he purchased the wrong crib. “I couldn’t ask Jordan your preference since I refused to let her get a single penny in commission, but I’m reasonably sure that’s the one you wanted.” The longer I remain quiet, the more panicked he becomes. “Mace—”
“It’s perfect.” My eyes burn as my nose tingles. “It is all perfect.”
Gratitude is there, but I can’t embrace it since guilt swallows me whole. With a howl, I collapse to the ground as pain shreds through my chest.
When pots crash and bang from the kitchen, I slowly rouse. My body feels heavier, and it takes me a second to realize why. I’m on the couch. Still. But instead of being surrounded by files and forensic reports, I’m covered with snot-filled tissues and bump-caressing pillows.
The events of the past day come rushing back in—my near fall, the hospital visit, the doctor’s warnings. Grayson’s face in the moments before I collapsed makes me feel the most guilt.
I don’t recall what I said while blubbering like a brainless idiot, but it was something along the lines of not deserving the things he had purchased for me, and that he wouldn’t be so eager to help me if he knew the doubts I was having about Cameron’s kidnapping, before his generosity overwhelmed me.
Although Grayson repeatedly reminded me of my worth, overcoming years of self-doubt will take time. Not even the short nap all sob-fests inspire has helped me feel better about living a life my sister missed out on. She didn’t even have a serious boyfriend before she was taken.
I only slightly adjust my position, yet Grayson still notices. He exits the kitchen, his expression a mix of concern and relief when he spots my open eyes. “Hey, how are you feeling?”
Though guilt still gnaws at me, I look past it. “I’m okay.” Needing to be honest, I add, “A little embarrassed, but still okay.”
His smile mimics mine as he gestures his head toward the kitchen. “Are you hungry? I can’t cook for shit, but something is better than nothing, right?”
The blanket I hadn’t realized was keeping me warm slips away from my body as I nod and stand. The guilt attempting to bury me whole deepens when I enter the kitchen. Files from my sister’s case cover the counter, and Grayson has marked additional notes in the margins.
He has dedicated hours to Kendall’s kidnapping, while I have only cast doubt on Cameron’s case.
Grayson closes the files I’m staring at and stores them in a box before he serves up a creamy pasta dish. Although his worried expression conveys everything he wants me to know, he still uses words to express himself. “You need to stop being so hard on yourself. It isn’t good for you or the baby.”
Unable to maintain eye contact, I look away. “I know, but I can’t help it. I feel so guilty, like I’m not doing enough.”
He forces eye contact before he says matter-of-factly, “I’ve spent the last several hours elbow-deep in your files. You’ve given enough. There’s no more to give, Mace.”
The honesty in his words hits me hard, and tears well up in my eyes. “It is easier to suggest stepping back than to do it. I don’t want to let anyone down.” I continue to take the honest route, speaking freely and from the heart. “I don’t want to let you down.”
After placing the pan on the counter, he leans over and brushes away a tear from my cheek, his touch tender. “You could never let me down. You’ve kept this investigation afloat by yourself for months. Your intel took down the main transport entity of this operative, and you gave victims a voice. You’ve done an amazing job, but now you need to give yourself some grace.”