Grace for Drowning Read online

  Grace followed me out back and into the alley.

  "What is it, Logan? I thought we cleared everything up the other day." She sounded tired, defeated, like even the simple act of talking required more energy than her body could muster.

  "The situation's changed," I replied. "Charlie knows you're drinking."

  That brought some life to her face. Her mouth twisted into a scowl. "I knew it," she spat, jabbing a finger at me. "I knew I couldn't trust you to just let this be!"

  "I didn't tell him. He worked it out himself. I caught him just before he was about to come out and fire your ass."

  She didn't seem to believe me at first, studying my face for signs of deception, but eventually the anger melted away. She closed her eyes and drew a long, shuddering breath, then turned away from me, her hand darting down toward the pocket of her jeans.

  "Don't," I said.

  "Why does it matter? You said it yourself, he's going to fire me."

  "He was going to fire you. I convinced him to hold that thought."

  "How?"

  "By telling him I'd offer one more time to help you."

  She let out the most bitter laugh I'd ever heard. It was an awful sound. A person so young shouldn't have been capable of that sort of emotion. "Is there an echo out here? Because I swear, we just keep having the same conversation over and over again."

  "Maybe we do, but this is the end of the line. After this we're done, one way or another. Either you agree right now to try working with me, or Charlie is going to fire you, and there won't be anything I can do. You'll walk out that door and be alone with this shit."

  She stared up at me with wide, glistening eyes. The fear in that look wrenched at my heart like nothing I'd ever experienced before. You know the saying "a deer caught in the headlights?" Well that's how she looked, only magnified a thousand times. I could almost see the last dominoes of her life tumbling over in her mind. It took every ounce of my willpower not to reach out and pull her against me.

  "I know it's embarrassing," I continued, "and I know it hurts like hell and all you want to do is get through the day so you can knock yourself out and forget, but this right here, this is your chance to take a step forward. That's the way to beat this thing. One step at a time. I can't promise miracles. You're not going to wake up in a week and feel like a million bucks. But doing something is better than doing nothing."

  She didn't speak for a long time. "You keep saying you know what I'm going through," she said eventually, her voice barely more than a whisper. "What do you mean?"

  I closed my eyes momentarily. It was easy enough to tell someone else what they needed, but opening up myself was a whole different kettle of fish. I had my own triggers to worry about, and this was diving right into the center of them. But she had to hear it. She had to understand that we were on the same page.

  "A lot of us veterans wind up with substance abuse problems once we're back on home soil," I said. "You know how if you go on vacation for a while, then come back home and try to do something like drive a car, it takes time to adjust?" She nodded. "Well, imagine that sensation, except you haven't been in The Hamptons for three weeks. You've been in a combat zone for years, with bullets and IEDs and death all around you."

  I leaned back against the wall as images flashed unbidden through my mind. I hated that sensation, not being in control of my thoughts, like someone was playing a horror movie in the back of my head that I couldn't pause or stop. "That shit leaves scars. And then you come back here to a place with supermarkets and traffic jams and street performers, and none of it makes any fucking sense. I felt like a goddamn alien. Some days I still do. You try to explain it to someone, and they nod like they get it, but they don't. How could they?"

  I drew a deep breath, feeling myself getting choked up. I hadn't talked about this in detail with anyone, not even Charlie. He was a vet too, so words weren't necessary. He understood. Saying it out loud was painful. It made me feel weak, like I couldn't handle my shit.

  "I drank like an Irishman for the better part of a year, just trying to wash all that away. Looking back now, it's pretty obvious I was in self-destruct mode. A bomb with the timer ticking steadily down to zero."

  Her face was pulled tight, although I couldn't tell if it was with grief for me or fear for herself. "And Charlie really helped you get that under control?" she asked.

  "Yep. I have no doubt I'd be six feet under now if not for him. He's a family friend. Served twenty years before mustering out to open the bar. He's one of the reasons I enlisted in the first place. He saw I was circling the drain, and for some reason he decided he wasn't going to let that happen."

  Her eyes fell to the floor and she leaned back against the wall, her body deflating like a balloon. "You make it sound so easy."

  I shook my head. "It wasn't easy. It was the hardest thing I've ever done. Still is. It never goes away, not completely. I'm probably going to be fighting it for the rest of my life, but at least now I know how to fight it."

  There was a long pause, and when she spoke, her voice was trembling. "I don't know if I have the strength to fight this."

  My hand found hers before I realized what I was doing, and I gave a comforting squeeze. Her body stiffened, but she didn't pull away. The gesture felt so easy, so natural, like I'd done it a thousand times before. "You have to try."

  "Why?"

  For me. God, that sounded insane, but it was the first thing that came to mind. "Because the alternative just isn't an option," I said instead.

  She studied my hand in silence. It looked almost ridiculous, wrapped around hers — a gigantic battered glove cradling a delicate porcelain doll. She rolled her fingers gently across each knuckle, charting their peaks and troughs. Her skin felt impossibly soft, like something that should have just scattered at the first hint of a breeze. My blood accelerated.

  "What do you want me to do?" she asked, bringing me back to Earth.

  I breathed a sigh of relief. "I've got two missions for you, soldier."

  A ghost of a smile broke through on her face briefly.

  "First, I want you to visit the gym every day for at least an hour."

  "Seriously?"

  I nodded. "Exercise helps. Focus, energy, endorphins, all that good stuff. It tires you out, makes you feel good, gives that anger somewhere to go." And it would keep her nearby. I couldn't say that, but it was the truth.

  She winced. "I don't know. Physical activity and I aren't exactly on the best terms, right now."

  "All the more reason to get reacquainted. Maybe it won't work for you, but it's the only thing I know, so you need to give it a shot."

  She still seemed unsure, but eventually she gave a resigned nod. "And the second task?"

  "I want you to cook every day."

  Her brow creased. "Cook?"

  "You need something to pour your energy into when you're not at work. Something that makes you happy and reminds you that life is worth living."

  "I guess I can do that," she said slowly. "That's all?"

  "For now. The most important thing is that you promise to call me if it all gets too much. I meant what I said; one more drink and you're done. And that doesn't just mean at work, that means everywhere. It only takes one slip to wind up right back where you started."

  "Okay."

  "That's not good enough. I'm putting myself out on a limb here, but I'm not willing to cover for you again, so I want to hear you say that I won't have to."

  Her mouth tightened a fraction, and for a few seconds I thought maybe she was going to turtle up again, but eventually she gave a quick nod. "I promise. No more booze."

  "Good. You got your phone handy?" She passed it to me. "Here's my number. You can call me any time, day or night, whenever you feel the urge to reach for a bottle."

  She gave a wry little shake of her head. "Does this make you my sponsor or something?"

  "It makes me your friend," I replied.

  Her eyes narrowed a fraction at that. "Righ
t."

  She turned to leave, but I called after her. "One more thing, Grace. Eventually, you're going to have to tell me what happened."

  I didn't receive an answer.

  Chapter Nine

  Logan

  I wasn't sure she'd actually show up. Following through on a decision like that is easier said than done. But at one o'clock in the afternoon, the gym door opened and in walked Grace. For a few seconds, all I could do was stare like an asshole. Women's workout clothes are a perfect example of how you don't have to show a lot of skin to be knockout sexy. I usually only saw her in the Charlie's shirt and jeans, and while that always made her look good, this was something else entirely. Between the three quarter black tights and the form fitting red tank top, every gorgeous inch of her was on display. I don't think I'd have gotten a better idea how perfect her body was if she was naked. My mind was already peeling those layers away, relishing the sight of her, those spectacular tits, that tight little ass. I felt a hunger growing in me that shot straight between my legs.

  Tony clicked his fingers next to my head. "Earth to Logan. Earth to Logan. This is ground control, do you copy?"

  Jesus Christ, pull yourself together.

  "Sorry," I said, giving the bag he was holding a few more cursory punches. "I need a minute."

  He chewed his cheek for a few seconds. "Alright, but just one. Don't want your muscles coolin' down."

  I nodded and walked toward Grace. "You made it."

  She flashed an embarrassed little smile. "Only just. I nearly talked myself out of it about a hundred times."

  "But you didn't."

  "I guess not," she said with a shrug. In one hand she held a plastic bag, which she offered to me. "These are for you."

  Inside was a clear container stacked high with cookies. "Oh wow, you didn't have to do this."

  She shrugged. "You told me to get back in the kitchen, so I did. It actually felt really good to be back there. Besides, I wanted to make you something. Consider it a peace offering." She drew a purposeful breath. "I do appreciate what you're trying to do, Logan. I'm still not sure I understand it, but I appreciate it."

  "Well I appreciate these." I glanced over my shoulder. "Just don't tell Tony or he'll have my balls. A big box of carbs doesn't really fit the training diet."

  "What if I told you I packed them full of canned tuna?"

  I laughed. "Disgusting, but that might do the trick."

  I cracked the lid and a whiff of freshly baked sugar hit my nose. "Christ, these smell fucking amazing."

  "Old family recipe." She clapped and then gave a mock salute. "Anyway, Sergeant Thomas reporting for duty."

  I couldn't help but grin. "Sergeant already, hey?"

  "What can I say? The general liked the cut of my jib."

  "Then the 'general' sounds like he belongs in the navy, but I'll let that slide. Anyway, for now, I just want you to work up a sweat on one of the machines over there," I nodded to the corner that held the meager collection of cardio equipment. "The goal is mainly to get your endorphins flowing and burn up as much energy as possible. You'll be amazed how easy it is to fall asleep later if you just tire yourself out."

  The skeptical look on her face said that she didn't believe me. I couldn't blame her. Sleep was always one of the strongest motivators for my drinking. When you're desperately trying to blot things out, but all you do is lie awake at night with a racing mind, drinking yourself into oblivion starts to feel like your only option. Finding a way to get to sleep unassisted was going to be crucial to Grace's sobriety.

  "Once I'm done with my session, I'll come run you through some other activities."

  "Okay."

  She gazed at the machines dubiously for a few seconds then shrugged and headed for the bike. Over the next half an hour, I did my best to ignore her. Tony had me interval training, alternating sprints and jogs along the length of the gym, and it wasn't long before all I could think about was the fire in my lungs. But even so, I couldn't help but sneak a peek every now and again. Grace appeared to be taking my request very seriously. She wasn't just idly peddling her way toward being slightly puffed. Sweat was running down the back of her neck as her legs pumped in a furious rhythm. She looked like a woman on a mission. Or perhaps a woman being chased.

  When my body could take no more, I collapsed on one of the mats. "Good stuff," Tony said. "I'll see ya in an hour and we'll do some grappling."

  I nodded, unable to summon the breath to speak, and then closed my eyes. My sessions often ended this way. People don't understand the conditioning required to be a professional fighter. They think that since we're not running lengths of a football field it's somehow all about strength, but the truth is, there are few things more tiring than trying to go five rounds in the ring. Each strike uses your entire body. It's an explosion of energy from every muscle at once. Your heart and lungs need to be in premium shape to stand any kind of chance.

  A minute later, I felt another weight join me on the mat.

  "You look how I feel," wheezed Grace.

  "So, not good then?"

  "I think I'm dying," she replied.

  I choked out a laugh. "Welcome to the club."

  She spent a few seconds trying to catch her breath. "You do this every day?"

  "Yep. Several times usually."

  "Christ. You must be some kind of masochist."

  "You get used to it."

  She gave a disbelieving little snort. "Well, thanks for reminding me why I never exercise."

  I rolled to face her and propped myself up on my elbow. "Seriously? Not at all?"

  "Nope. I tend to prefer activities that don't make me want to violently throw up. Why is that so hard to believe?"

  "I don't know. I just figured that with a body like that..." I trailed off, realizing I was venturing into dangerous territory.

  Her mouth curled into a curious little smile. "A body like this, huh? What exactly does that mean?"

  "Just that you look fit and healthy," I replied, hating how lame my voice sounded. "Given how much you love food I assumed you had to do something to keep in shape."

  She shrugged. "Nope. Just got good genes I guess."

  She could say that again. "Anyway," I said, hauling myself to my feet, "it's time for your first lesson."

  She groaned. "Come on. I just cycled, like, a million miles. Give me a few minutes."

  "Nope. If you lie there much longer, in about two hours you're going to regret it. It's gonna hurt anyway, but if you want to be able to walk later, you can't just stop dead like that." I held my hand out for her and she reluctantly took it and pulled herself to her feet.

  I led her over to one of the heavy bags. It was a tattered, lumpy thing, more duct tape than bag at that point. It probably weighed more than she did. "Okay, let's see you punch."

  "Really? This is your grand plan? Turn me into the next Karate Kid?"

  "Ah, so you do have some appreciation for the classics then."

  "Wax on, wax off," she replied solemnly.

  I grinned. I missed joking about movies with my squad. Those had been some of my happiest memories in a sea of shit I'd otherwise rather forget. "Well, maybe there's hope for you yet. But to get back on track, this isn't about turning you into anything. It's about making you feel good. Boxing is a great way to release tension, and it also happens to be a hell of a work out. Now, show me what you've got."

  She considered this for several seconds, then her eyes flicked to the bag. She took a hesitant step forward, arranged herself in something that looked more like a dancer's pose than something that belonged in the ring, then flung her fists out through the air several times in wide arcs, striking the canvas awkwardly.

  "You hit like a girl," I deadpanned.

  "Oh hahaha. Like I didn't see that one coming."

  I grinned. "The joke may have been obvious, but it wasn't as obvious as that punch. If you swing your arms like that, you're telegraphing to the whole world 'I'm going to punch right here.' Anyon
e with half a brain is just going to take a step backward."

  "So you'd just stand there and take it then?"

  It was my turn to roll my eyes. "Yep, dumb as a pile of bricks over here," I replied. "Anyway, first, we need to correct your stance. Turn slightly to the side, but not all the way. Your back foot should be pointing to the side and your front one should be about forty five degrees." I demonstrated by dropping into a fighting stance. "The goal is to present the smallest target possible while not restricting your visibility or movement."

  She shuffled her feet uncertainly.

  "Here, let me show you," I said, stepping behind her and placing my hands on her hips.

  I'd always been a natural at hand-to-hand combat. I studied a whole bunch of martial arts as a kid, and I drank each one up like I was just remembering something I'd learned long ago. By the time high school ended, I was a black belt several times over. As a result, during quiet times on duty, the brass sometimes had me running combat training courses for other troops. I'd taught my fair share of people to fight. I'd made adjustments to stances and techniques a thousand times, even with women on occasion, and it never felt anything but professional, but touching Grace this way was something else entirely. It felt intimate, exhilarating, and utterly sexual. I couldn't help but be conscious of the fact that I was mere inches from touching her ass, that fucking perfect ass that just begged to be squeezed. It was the same sort of grip I'd have if I was taking her from behind. Just that image had me growing hard.

  She stiffened and drew a sharp little breath as my fingers tightened involuntarily. I don't know why, but that sound just turned me on more. Christ, I had to pull myself together. I was trying to help this girl, and all I could think about was fucking her, which was most certainly going to be the opposite of helpful. One of the mantras Charlie had instilled in me was that I was in control of my life. Booze didn't rule me. Nothing did. But in that moment I didn't feel in control at all. I felt almost helpless, helpless to this tiny girl and her fucking magnetic curves.

  I cleared my throat and forced my mind back to the task at hand. "Like this," I said, turning her until her body was parallel with mine and nudging her feet into position. "And you need to loosen up. You're rigid as anything, right now. Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee and all that."