An Ounce of Hope(44)

It was midnight.

He'd stay for another half hour and then he'd leave.

Max was wrenched from an unexpectedly deep sleep by a bloodcurdling scream. Max shot into a sitting position, dazed and shaken, and wondering where the hell he was and what the fuck was going on. Gaining his bearings, Max looked over to the bed to find Grace fighting with the sheets, crying and calling out gibberish that chilled Max's bones. On sleep-heavy legs, he rushed over to the side of the bed. Sweat speckled her grimacing face.

"Grace. You're okay."

Her voice became hoarse with her screams. "Rick, please! Don't, please!"

Max reached for her flailing arms, before she could hurt herself, and took her hands. "Grace, you're safe."

But still she fought.

It wasn't until Max-in a moment of lunacy, and without another solution-climbed into bed with her, holding her close to his chest, that she started to calm. The fight in her ebbed slowly, leaving her breathless, and clutching Max's T-shirt like a lifeline.

"It's okay," he whispered. "I've got you. I won't let him hurt you."

He stroked her hair and whispered words of safety and sleep until she rested once more, her small body clinging to his like a limpet. But that was all right. If a warm body was what she needed, Max was happy to provide it, despite the echo of her screams resonating around the small, dark room. She mumbled and murmured into his neck and Max held her tighter. She moved and shifted and he stroked her hair some more until he, too, was claimed by exhaustion.





Max awoke alone. From under a furrowed, tired brow, he glanced around Grace's room, looking for signs of her presence. He called out her name, twice, but there was no reply. With a stretch and a groan, hating the feeling of having slept in his clothes, Max stood from the bed, reaching for the jacket he'd wrapped around Grace the night before. He snuck out, glancing down the hallway, and entered his room.

He needed a long, hot shower and a hard think. 

From the moment he and Grace had first met, he'd been in awe of her ability to be so together, so sure and positive. Max had admitted a few weeks ago that he enjoyed spending time with her. Obviously, she was great to look at, but it was more than that. She eased some painful part of him with her stress-free smiles and laughter, and her enthusiasm for almost everything made Max forget the bad shit and focus on the good.

He liked her. He would be happy to call her a friend. And seeing his friend fall apart that way, to see Grace so broken, was hard to take.

Cleaned and dressed, Max headed into the boardinghouse kitchen, where the sounds of Lynyrd Skynyrd and pots clanging alerted Max to his uncle's presence. Vince grinned when he saw Max enter and immediately offered him a freshly buttered piece of toast.

"How's it goin', son?" he asked, throwing a dish towel over his shoulder and stirring a pan of . . . something, which smelled spectacular.

Max spoke around his toast. "Okay. You see Grace this morning?" Vince's face grew concerned. "She left early. I think she's up at the house. Didn't say much. She okay after last night?"

Max shrugged, wiping his crumby hands on his jeans. "She was pretty spooked." He explained how he'd taken her to her room, but didn't speak a word about her nightmare. That shit was personal. He knew Grace wouldn't appreciate folks knowing that about her and it wasn't for him to tell.

Vince leaned a hip against the kitchen countertop. "Buck's tore up. He was rambling last night about sending her roses, kept asking Caleb if he was gonna get arrested or some shit." A wry smile curved his lips. "I talked him down."

"She knows he was just drunk," Max assured him. "I'm gonna go and see if she's all right." He waved a thumb over his shoulder.

Vince's smile stretched. He nodded. "That's good of you. You tell her, she needs anythin' she just has to ask, okay?"

"I will."

Max drove up to Grace's house, stopping on the way for coffee and muffins, and pulled up in front of what was now a beautiful, clean, freshly painted two-story property. There were still some jobs to complete, the upper-level walls needed plastering, some electrical work, and a few more licks of paint here and there, but it looked amazing.

Max knocked on the front door once before walking in. The way he saw it, until his uncle passed those keys over to Grace, it was still a work site and he was a site worker. Manners be damned. The sounds of "I Heard It Through the Grapevine" drifted from the sitting room. He found Grace sitting cross-legged on the hardwood floor, her hair pulled back, draped in a large hoodie, yoga pants, and sneakers, surrounded by bags and boxes, looking through photographs, the music coming from the cell phone at her side.

He lifted the coffee cups and muffin bag. "I come bearing sustenance."