Mercy
The be eping woke me first.
“Fuck,” I whispered, pinching my eyes shut as I tried to press the thin pillow over my
ears. The tubes lodged in my hand by the giant needle made it a little hard to move around
at night, which was a problem, since a peaceful sle eper I was not. Most mornings, I woke
with a rat’s nest in my hair and the covers tangled between my legs.
And that was without machines hooked up to my body. After picking at a bland dinner
under Nell’s careful supervision, I was instructed firmly to get some rest.
Like they made that so easy in the hospital. All the checking and the watching and the
studying. And the be eping. Well, the be eping told me all manner of things, like the fact
that this wasn’t actually a nightmare, and I was in the hospital with Swiss cheese brain.
No one liked Swiss cheese. Not really.
Maybe on a sandwich or in a casserole or something. But it’s not like you’d raid the
fridge at midnight, looking to house a few slices of that holey bullshit by itself. That’s why
sharp cheddar existed.
The distraction of cheese thoughts didn’t last very long, because when the be eping
dissipated and I pried the pillow away from my face, my gaze landed on the chair next to
the bed.
When I went to sle ep last night and begged the nurses to leave me in peace for at least
a four-hour stretch, that chair had been empty.
It wasn’t empty now.
The sight of Grant sound asle ep at my bedside sent my nervous system into absolute
disarray. I had to remind myself that I wasn’t actually in danger.
It felt dangerous, though.
As I studied the uncomfortable position of the lean length of his body, my thumb
rubbed the divot in my ring finger.
Nell came into the room, a bright smile on her face. “Good morning, sunshine,” she
said quietly, careful not to wake Grant. She sat on the edge of the bed and checked my
vitals. “How’d you sle ep?”
“Once your friends left me alone, I was fine.”
She tutted, fussing a little with my hair, and I took over, combing it with my fingers
until it was tucked behind my ears. “You know we’re just doing our job. Sometimes
ke eping you alive means waking you up a few times.”
“I know.”
“How’s the noggin?”
“Better.” I rolled my neck gingerly, happy that there was no residual ache from the day
before. “Nothing angry right now.”
Nell watched the blood pressure numbers on the monitor. Her gaze cut over to Grant.
“You good with him in here?”
I couldn’t help but study him too. Mainly because it was so bizarre that he was here.
With me. Caring enough to sle ep in that ridiculous chair.
And . . . he was nice to look at. No matter how much he pissed me off, the man was
stupid attractive. At least with his mouth closed.
His broad chest rose and fell on de ep, even breaths. He was bigger than I remembered.
More muscular. With his arms folded loosely over his flat stomach, I was free to study the
large span of his hands. And the ring in a matching spot where I was missing mine. My
throat tightened, and I looked away. “I guess.”
“He’s not a stranger,” she whispered. “That’s a start.”
I let out a dry laugh. “Might as well be. He’s impossible to read. Always drove me up a
fucking wall. I was in middle school when he and my brother met.” I gave her a quick look.
“Connor was ten years older than me, so when he started at Michigan, I was just a kid.
‘British as fuck,’” I said. “That’s how Conn described him.”
Nell snorted. “I’d have to agree. I’ve learned a lot about tea in the week since you came
in. Your husband prefers the Lady Grey from Twinings, if you’re curious. His mum sends it
to him from across the pond whenever he’s running low.”
“Nice of her.” How was his hair so perfect? What the hell kind of product did he use
that even comatose in a hospital chair, not a strand was out of place? “Maybe you can
make a cheat sheet for me.”
“So you never liked him?” she said. “Before.”
Before.
Before what? I wanted to ask. Before my head cracked a bit too hard against some
glass and the universe punched cheese holes in my memory?
“I like pancakes. Diet Coke. Sausage Mc Griddles,” I r eplied. “No, I cannot say that I
put Grant in the same category.”
Her eyes were smiling even though her face was neutral. “What category would you
put him in?”
Despite every intention not to, my eyes wandered back over to the man in question.
The straight, proud nose. The harsh cut of his jaw and the dark stubble covering
it—something else unfamiliar about him. I’d never seen his face anything but clean
shaven. It gave him a disr eputable edge that didn’t suck.
“When I was in high school, I moved in with my brother after my parents kicked me
out. That was when I started seeing him more, but he didn’t pay much attention to me.
Which was fine. In college, I suppose his looks didn’t es cape my notice.”
“You’re kidding.”
Her sarcasm was about as subtle as a nuke, but I ignored it. “He was just uptight,” I
whispered. “Proper. So rich that he didn’t even think about how rich he was, and that
pissed me off too. When you come from nothing, someone like that is impossible to
understand. Everything came so easily to him.”
“So he was in the category of . . .” She paused, raising her eyebrows. “Irritating hot
man.”
I smiled begrudgingly. “Yes.”
“Irritating, hot, older man,” she amended. “I know all your important vitals, young
lady. His, too, because he said if you needed blood to take his.”
My eyes flew to hers. “What?”
“Same blood type.”
The veins at the crook of my elbow were blue under my skin, easy to poke and prod
when necessary, and I dragged the tip of my finger along the protruding edge of the IV.
Wasn’t that a mind fuck? Grant offering me his blood. There were years he’d hardly looked
in my direction, and trying to account for the shift in this dynamic made my head spin.
“I wish I could remember.”
“It’ll come back.”
At her confident tone, I raised an eyebrow. “Will it?”
“I think so.” She adjusted the blankets over my torso and laid her hands on mine. “Talk
to him. Let him tell you stories. Show you pictures. It’ll help.”
It was hard to swallow. It shouldn’t be, right? Swallowing was like breathing. Blinking.
A product of signals from the brain that told my body what it needed. But there were all
manner of things making the simple action impossible. Bricks. El ephants. A building,
probably. A big one. With lots of people on it. All shoved into my battered body and forcing
me to navigate around their presence.
How was I supposed to breathe easily with the Eiffel Tower on my chest? How was I
supposed to swallow with a mud-packed throat? To allow someone to explain your own
life, because you didn’t know what it looked like, was the pinnacle of vulnerability.
“I don’t know if I can,” I admitted in a whisper.
“Just try.” She squeezed my hand. “Anything I can get for you while I’m in here? Maybe
some breakfast?”
“No thanks.”
She stood, setting her hands on her hips. Her scrubs were purple today. “Eggs and
toast sound good?”
I gave her a look. “I just said no.”
“I’m aware.”
“Do I have a choice?”
“Not really.” Nell smiled. “I’ll add cheese to the eggs. That’s what I do for my kids
when they won’t eat.”
Cheese on eggs sounded nice. A warm, gooey, cheesy breakfast would make me feel
better. I couldn’t remember the last time someone had made me breakfast. It was so
maternal, her pushing this meal on me, that I found my resolve wavering.
“Okay, fine, but not Swiss,” I said.
Her brow furrowed. “Who would add Swiss to their scrambled eggs?”
“You never know,” I answered gravely.
Nell left to order my breakfast, and I turned onto my side, unable to do anything but
watch Grant. He still had those exhausted circles under his eyes, but they were less
prominent than the last time I saw him. Shouldn’t I be able to look at him and recognize
something? Anything?
It seemed impossible that we’d built any sort of life together and there was a complete
blank in my mind. No dating. No proposal. No wedding. I stared at the firm line of his lips
and felt my breath catch. No kissing. No sex.
What a daunting prospect, to have a list such as that ripped from my brain.
And it was in that moment, imagining a world where I’d screwed Grant Hastings and
didn’t remember, that he opened his eyes and found me watching him.
His relief was instantaneous, his harsh features going slack as some invisible stress
was briefly assuaged.
The silence in the room stretched for a moment too long, the air thick with the fact that
I wasn’t sure what to say to him, that I’d asked for some space. His face shuttered
carefully when a few prolonged seconds passed and neither of us said a word.
“Good morning.”
His voice was rough from sle ep, and my hands tightened instinctively in the blanket.
“You sl ept in here.”
“Better than I have all week.” His gaze tracked over my face. “Not that that’s saying
much.”
“You weren’t in here at two when I asked the nurses to stop poking me all night.”
The edge of his mouth tipped up in a hint of a smile. “No. I was out in the hallway. They
told me you’d finally fallen asle ep, so I risked your wrath to be in here.”
“Wrath? I’m not sure there’s much I could do to you in my state.”
“You could do a tremendous amount of damage, should you wish it.”
My cheeks warmed and I stared down at the floor for a moment, not quite sure what to
say to this man who was, for all intents and purposes, a stranger.
“Do you have my phone?”
The impersonal question seemed to amuse him, a brief glint of humor flashing in his
eyes, but he didn’t smile, just shook his head. “Collateral damage to the accident,
unfortunately. I’ve ordered a new one, but it’s not here yet. Did you need to call
someone?”
I licked my dry lips. “I’d like to talk to Rae.”
“Of course. We spoke last night, so she does know you’re awake. She’s been quite sick,
so she can’t come visit just yet. The plague going around the school, unfortunately.”
“Can I use yours?”
Grant paused, indecision flickering over his features. “I’m not sure that’s—”
“Please.”
Grant stared for a moment, then reached into his pocket and removed a phone in a
sleek black case, extending it in my direction. His fingers brushed mine as I took it, and
his brow pinched briefly before his expression smoothed out again.
Before I opened his contact list, I stared at the photo icon.
“What is it?”
I glanced up, surprised by the intensity of his gaze. “Oh, um, just something Nell
mentioned. That hearing stories and looking at pictures might help, but . . .” I rubbed at
my chest with my free hand, pressing against the pressure building there. “I don’t know
how. It feels . . . feels like it’ll just make me anxious. I don’t like that feeling.”
“I know.”
My throat tightened at the careful warmth in his answer. But when I looked up at his
face, it wasn’t visible. Just icy-gray eyes and a firm, unsmiling mouth.
“Maybe . . . maybe you could tell me something, or show me something. Just to see how
it feels.”
Grant nodded, motioning for his phone again, and I was careful to avoid any incidental
contact.
Even fingers touching fingers felt inappropriate.
He scrolled through the pictures, his expression slightly pinched, like he was fighting a
wave of pain that he couldn’t control. “This was our wedding day.”
“Oh good, why not jump in the fucking de ep end.” My cheeks were flaming as his
eyebrow arched. “What about a first date? Or is that too much to ask for?”
“We didn’t go on any dates before we got married.”
My mouth fell open. “Was I drunk?”
“If you were, you did a remarkable job of hiding it.”
“I’m not sure I enjoy the sarcasm.”
His gaze never wavered. “Sober as the judge who married us.”
“Well, maybe he was drunk too.”
“I assure you, he wasn’t.” The phone was still in his hand, and I couldn’t bring myself
to take it. “Or I could show you something else. When you dragged me to a football game.
Made me put paint on my face.” He said it with a tinge of good-humored disgust, and my
brain stalled at the mental image of Grant with a block M on his cheek. That was what
Connor and I always did. That was our thing. Games at the Big House. And I stared at this
man, wondering how he’d found a place in my life where the thing with my brother
became a thing with him. Grant k ept speaking, oblivious to what this was doing to me.
“Our first Christmas, maybe. You made me help you decorate the Christmas tree and said I
was terrible at it, even though you have no conc ept of spatial awareness with ornaments
and broke no less than three. We baked cookies and—”
“Stop,” I whispered. I ran my hands into my hair, wincing when I hit a tender spot.
Stitches. There were stitches in my fucking scalp. I withdrew my hand, trying to hide the
shaking by gripping the blanket again. Panic crawled under my skin, skittering like
invisible bugs I couldn’t swat away. He paused, slowly bringing the phone back to his lap.
“I’m sorry,” I gasped. “I just . . . I can’t. It’s too much.”
I couldn’t look. I didn’t want to see. What if we were happy and smiley and kissy and I
looked at him like I was ready to rip his suit off with my teeth? Or what if we looked tense
and uncomfortable because we’d gotten married for some weird legal reason that I didn’t
quite understand?
My eyes snapped to his. “Oh my God, is this a green card marriage?”
Grant looked disarmingly patient. “No. My mother was born here. I have dual
citizenship. She moved to the UK when she was six.”
“Are you blackmailing me?”
“Are you being entirely serious?”
“I don’t know. Yes? Maybe I caught you doing something illegal and —”
“That would mean you were blackmailing me, darling.” He tilted his head. “Do you
think you’re coercing me into marriage now?”
“No. I’m not that desperate for a husband.” I picked at the edge of the surgical tape
where it was curling up on my forearm. “I didn’t even want a boyfriend. Let alone you.”
“Thank you,” he said dryly.
I sank into the bed. Well. That would’ve been too easy. I rubbed my temples, and Grant
sat forward, concern in his tight expression.
“Are you all right? Should I get the nurse?”
My hands dropped back to my lap, and I shook my head. “No. It’s fine. I just . . . I think
maybe being overwhelmed with information isn’t the best idea.”
“Of course.” His phone buzzed, and his brow furrowed as he stared at the screen.
“I don’t mind if you answer it.”
His jaw clenched, and the itch of curiosity intensified because a part of me wanted him
to answer it so I could glean something about him. About us, maybe. Was it a friend? Did
he have other friends besides Connor? Did all the rich old men who trusted him with their
money care that much about a wife with a bump on her head?
“No, it can wait.” He tucked his phone away, unable to meet my gaze for a moment.
“How about starting small, then? Ask me one thing.”
“Just one thing?” I r epeated.
Grant nodded slowly. “I think we can both manage that, can’t we?”
It was impossible to try to narrow down all the questions whirring in my head. I was
missing a year of my life, and I still didn’t really know what that meant in terms of this
relationship.
I sucked in a breath and let it out through my mouth. “Okay. How long have we been
married?”
Starting with a softball seemed like the easiest way out of this conversation. I would
gain context. He’d be able to share.
But Grant paused for a surprisingly long time, his jaw working before he finally lifted
his gaze and leveled it on me. He was searching for something, and by the look on his face,
I could tell he couldn’t find it.
“Just shy of twelve months.”
“What? How?” I blinked, unable to process a single bit of this. My softball question
turned out to be a fucking bowling ball to the head. “How? Where did we—”
“That’s two, darling.” His face softened.
I sat up. “Then tell me two things.”
“I don’t want to overwhelm you, Mercy.”
The sound of my name on his lips, even in that reluctant tone, made me shrink back.
He never called me Mercy. It was always Kincaid. Somehow even the pet name was safer.
“Please tell me this. It’s . . . it’s connected. A sub-question to the main topic.”
He didn’t seem convinced, but Grant sighed and sat back in his chair, his unrelenting
gaze traveling over every inch of my face. “We saw each other at the cemetery on the first
anniversary of his death. You were standing outside your car.”
“Sitting inside my car,” I whispered. “That’s the last thing I remember.”
Grant’s eyes burned. “Is it, now?”
I nodded, letting out a weary sigh. “So you’re telling me that I saw you there, and
within two weeks we were married?”
“No.”
“Oh goodie.”
“It took us less than a week.”
Just one thing, my ass.