Give Me Grace(171)

“Why?” I locked my legs around his waist.

As though hearing him, the song kicked over to “Welcome to the jungle” and the walls began to thump.

“Because I’m about to pound the woman I love into this mattress and make her scream louder than a low-flying fighter jet.”

I grinned, slightly breathless. “How romantic.”





I woke to Coby rapping on the bedroom door, and I rubbed my face sleepily, not sure how long we were both out for. Casey was spooning me and I felt hot and sweaty under the heat of his naked skin.

“Grace,” he called out softly. “Your family’s here.”

My stomach dropped to my toes. The sheets rustled when Casey stirred, as though sensing my tension rather than waking from Coby’s intrusion.

“Crap,” I muttered. Casey stretched and rolled quickly from the bed.

“I put them off for as long as I could,” he reminded me, slapping me on the ass to get me up.

He had. They’d been at the duplex, waiting for news on my disappearance. I knew they knew about the cancer, so Casey rang them to let them know I was okay because I wasn’t up for talking. Not right then. He explained to them everything that happened, going into great detail when I heard Dad peppering him with questions. He also told them we would finish with the police, he would take me home to his loft for a shower, and then they could meet us there. Dad had yelled. I heard it. And still Casey stayed calm and forceful, willing to incur the wrath of my father so I could have the time I needed before I spoke to them.

Now my time was up.

I found Casey’s old football jersey in his dresser and tugged it on. I added my own pair of sweats to the casual ensemble, and when we walked out of Casey’s room, Coby was busy playing host and offering drinks.

I shook my head when he asked what I wanted. How could I think about drinking when I was about to tell my dad I was moving to Sydney? The way he was with Mum and her cancer, he wasn’t going to let me out of his sight.

Before I could take a breath, Dad rushed me. My face mashed into his chest as he smothered me. “Dad,” I squeezed out.

“Shush,” he muttered. “Let an old man fuss over his little girl.”

I tried to tell him there was a line between fussing and suffocation, but I couldn’t get the words out. I wasn’t sure how it happened, but suddenly he was gone and then Henry was there taking his place.

“Gracie Bean.” His voice cracked and my arms tightened around him.

“I’m sorry,” I told him because I was. I hated seeing him hurting. When it was Mum who was sick, sometimes I would climb in his bed and burrow into his side, like it was us against the world. Now it was me who was sick, and Henry didn’t have anyone to climb into his bed and comfort the pain like we used to do for each other. That made me sad.

He buried his head in my neck, and I felt a tear plop on my shoulder. “Life is so fucking unfair.”

“It is,” I replied because it was true. I pulled back. Henry looked terrible—his shoulders were slumped and I could feel the heaviness in his heart. It made me realise that I didn’t need to be here in Sydney just for me and Casey, but for my brother. I just didn’t know where that left my dad.

“I’ll be okay,” I tried assuring the both of them.

Dad nodded stoically but Henry gave me nothing.

Coby returned from the kitchen with a round of whiskey for each of them. We all sat down in the living room, Casey beside me. He brought the glass to his lips, about to tip his head back when I realised that a little bit of liquid courage was exactly what I needed right now.

Snatching the glass from his hand, I gulped it down in one hit, hissed audibly at the burn, and braced. “I’m moving to Sydney.”

Dad reared back as though I’d just told him I was moving to Botswana to become one with the meerkats. Then his lips pressed into a thin line, indicating the famous Paterson stubbornness was making an appearance. “No.”

I held my glass out to Coby, indicating a refill with pleading eyes. He must have understood the gravity of my situation because he took it without saying a word and disappeared back to the kitchen.

“Dad,” I began.

Casey took over, threading our fingers together. “Sir—”

“Nate,” my dad boomed back at him.

“Nate.” Casey squeezed my hand. “I can understand the next few months are going to be difficult for Grace but—”

“Difficult?” Dad paled and I knew he was thinking of Mum. Of the months and the years spent prolonging her life and then watching her fade from our lives eventually anyway. “You have no idea what months and years of chemotherapy can do to a family.”