Mercy
Every day, Grant appeared with the doctor. He’d listen quietly in the corner, type
something into his phone. And disappear when they left.
“Do you think he’s got a girlfriend?” I asked Nell.
“Grant?”
“Who else?”
“No, Mercy, I do not think your husband has a girlfriend.”
“Maybe he’s got a boyfriend,” I mused. “It’s been a long time since I saw him with
anyone. Maybe I’m his cover story with his family. I’d totally go for that if he needed it.”
“You are exhausting.”
I sighed. “Yeah, I hear that a lot.” The pattern was broken, however, on day five. Grant
appeared in the doorway without a doctor present and with a small box in his hand. I
opened it to reveal a state-of-the-art cell phone; he turned it on for me, connecting the
charger to an outlet above the table next to my bed. While I scrolled through some of the
apps he’d already installed, he settled into the chair in the corner and opened his
computer.
“There’s no pictures.”
Grant glanced up from his laptop, eyes blank. “I thought it best. Until you’re . . . ready.
Or your memories return.” He closed the computer and slid it into his messenger bag.
“They’re saved on your storage cloud.”
It was a plausible excuse. Ninety percent of the world’s population would probably
believe it. But that blank picture icon made my stomach heavy and my mind troubled. And
it wasn’t exactly easy to find other distractions. The problem with hospitals—one of them,
at least—was that there just wasn’t much to do when you were the one stuck in a bed. To
entertain myself, I found little pockets of drama everywhere.
One of the second-shift nurses had just broken up with her boyfriend, and sometimes
she’d argue with him on the phone in the hallway outside my room. Rick, apparently,
didn’t like the way she looked at their neighbor. He sounded like a prick, but it wasn’t
really my place to tell her that.
Dr. Washington was my favorite doctor, and when Nell brought in a different one a few
days later, I wrinkled my nose at the dismissive way he asked questions. His nose was too
large for his face, his chin weak, and with a generous measurement, that guy might clear
five foot six. All things considered, it probably gave the poor man a complex, because he
was a douche to everyone.
He never even really looked at my face when he talked to me. Nell’s, either, as she
stood by my bedside. He did, however, greet my husband with a firm handshake and a
simpering smile that made my lip curl.
“Feeling the same today?” he asked, staring down at the paperwork in his hand.
“Yup. Still no memories.”
“Hmm.” He flipped a page over, his attention briefly moving to Nell, though his eyes
landed somewhere around her chest. “Can you get me another cup of coffee?”
Nell pursed her lips, gaze turning to the ceiling for a moment.
I narrowed my gaze. “Well, that’s a shame.”
For the first time since he’d entered the room, he looked up at me. “What?”
“Your legs don’t work?”
His brow furrowed. “What?”
“Or your hands? Gosh, it must be hard to function.”
The doctor glanced at Nell, then at Grant, who’d simply settled a hand over his mouth.
“What is she talking about?”
“I just figured you were physically in capable if you need a nurse to wait on you. But
since all your appendages seem to work fine, maybe you could get your own damn coffee.”
His face was turning a horrible shade of red. I smiled sweetly. “Is Dr. Washington going to
be in later? I’d rather wait for her.”
He spluttered something and strode from the room.
Nell sighed. “We really need to find a new way to entertain you.”
“Tell that second-shift nurse to block her ex-boyfriend. He’s a dick. But I would miss
hearing their fights. Yesterday, she finally showed some spine and told him to get fucked.
It was fun.”
Nell laughed.
Grant’s eyes bored a hole into the side of my face.
Instead of looking at him, I adjusted the blankets over my legs. “What?”
“Nice to see you acting like your old self, Kincaid.”
“I’m sure you’ll take that back when it’s aimed at you.”
He opened his mouth to answer, when his phone buzzed. Grant sighed. “Excuse me, I
have to take this.” He pulled the phone up to his ear. “I told you I’d call when I was ready,”
he said quietly, then slipped out of the room.
I stared at the empty doorway for far longer than I realized.
Nell squeezed my shoulder. “You okay?”
I blinked. “Yes. I’m fine.” “I swear, if you try to give me another one of those gowns, I’ll
start throwing hands.”
“We needed access to all your important parts, sweetheart.”
“I have a wicked right hook, trust me. I’m revoking your access, starting now.”
Nell whistled. “Goodness, someone’s feisty today.”
“My ass was hanging out for the entire hallway, Nell! It would’ve been nice if you’d
told me to double knot it before going for my walk.”
Her eyes gleamed with wicked laughter. “Honey, like I tell my daughter, who is the
same age as you: There are some things I shouldn’t have to tell you.” She picked up the
tray from my bedside table, eyeing my half-eaten lunch with a raised eyebrow. “Besides,
couldn’t you feel the air on your backside?”
“No,” I grumbled. “I was too busy trying not to fall over.”
She snorted. “Rich told me your PT is going great. You should be out of here in no
time.” Then she held up a bag. “Now, put this on.”
I set my jaw and glared up at her. “I need real clothes.”
The bag was summarily tossed onto my lap, and since her back was turned, I stuck out
my tongue.
“I saw that.”
“You did not.”
Nell chuckled as she handed the food tray to an orderly in the doorway. By the time she
turned around, I was pulling a pajama set out of the bag with a she epish smile. Black with
white edging, luxuriously soft. It wasn’t silk or satin, but when my hands brushed over the
top, I sighed. “Sorry.”
“You were a lot easier to deal with when you were sle eping.”
“Trust me, I’m always like this. The only time I’m malleable is when I’m unconscious.”
I slipped the hospital gown off and let Nell help me pull the shirt into place. Normally I
wasn’t big on flashing people, but modesty was out the fucking window in a hospital, and
Nell handled me with such gentle care that I hardly even noticed.
“Oh,” I said in a long exhale. “It’s lovely.”
She tugged the pants up my legs and tapped my hip in an unspoken request to lift up.
“Your husband has good taste.”
“So I’ve heard,” I answered in a dark tone.
Nell laughed. “Don’t be like that. He’s giving you space, isn’t he?”
I nodded, warring against the thick wedge of guilt that had taken up space in my
sternum.
Space. Loads and loads of space. An entire galaxy existed between us.
Despite the intermittent visits, I knew he was there, hovering outside like a very
well-dressed ghost. According to the nurse scuttlebutt, he was always there. On his
computer. On his phone, always texting and talking with someone. Catching up with the
nurses when they left my side. Dressed like he was waltzing through London’s financial
district. (The second-shift nurse with the red hair and naughty sense of humor told me his
ass should be illegal in the navy pants he seemed to favor.)
“What are we supposed to do when I get out of here?” I asked. “Is he going to lurk in
the hallways while I walk around the house?”
“Hastingses do not lurk. It was bred out of us in the eighteenth century.”
My head snapped up at the sound of Grant’s voice, and Nell laughed. If anyone else
had said it, I’d know they were teasing. But this was Grant. His greatest gift in life, besides
the bone structure, was his ability to be totally and completely unreadable. The tone of his
voice was haughty, and as usual, his businesslike expression was firmly in place.
“I didn’t mean it in a bad way,” I hedged.
The arch of his eyebrow was slow. “Of course not.”
“Lurking can be a compliment.” I winced. “In some social circles.”
His shoulder was braced against the doorframe, and unwillingly, my eyes dragged
down over the entire length of his tall form. No two ways about it, the shape of Grant’s
body was aesthetically pleasing, with all the right proportions—broad shoulders and
muscular arms, a slim waist and hips, long legs encased in the trousers that probably
made the nurses trip over themselves. Proportions one would want a handsome man to
have, if for no other reason than it made for spectacular eye candy.
He lifted his chin toward the room. “May I?”
Nell caught my eye and gave me a mom-look that screamed, You be nice to the man
hanging out in the hallways for the last week, then left us alone.
I nodded, my fingers plucking nervously at the hem of my pajama pants, and Grant
homed in on the tell. His gaze lingered on my hands for a moment, and on the bare spot on
that finger. Lingered on the mark— hypothetical, at least—he’d left on me. It gave my
stomach the twisties.
It meant time spent. With him. Under the same roof. Each day in the hospital brought
that reality closer and closer.
The most horrible sense of curiosity bloomed at the thought. No, not
bloomed—blooming suggested brightly colored flowers and shiny darkgreen leaves. My
curiosity was a weed, and even though I wanted to tear it out at the root, I’d have to deal
with its presence just a teensy bit longer. I’d have to make peace with the way it tightened
around my ankles and locked me in place, the curl of it around my ribs and spine,
something that couldn’t be easily dislodged.
Like it or not, he and I would have to get through this together. That was the pesky
thing about having no family to speak of. One was forced to rely on the circle created from
life circumstances rather than biology.
My circumstances included some college friends who loved me but lived multiple states
over. The friendships with fellow teachers I’d formed at school (trauma-bonded, one might
call it, from having to deal with the politics in volved in teaching) and with Rae (who’d
called me daily and only sobbed through our first phone call as I assured her that yes, I
was fine, and yes, I remembered her).
They’d also landed me a husband, who was my emergency contact and roommate, and
I had no idea what to do with the latter part of that descriptor. No matter how confusing
this all was, I could begrudgingly admit the Grant I knew—imperious, untouchable,
aloof—was the version of him locked in the past.
Whether he was that same man remained to be seen.
“Thank you for the pajamas,” I told him.
My gratitude seemed to take him by surprise, just a flash of it in his eyes, there and
gone again in less than a heartbeat. “Of course.” He paused. “They’re your favorite.”
The easy r eply sank quick and heavy in my gut. The reminders would be endless, and if
I were to gird my loins for anything as I faced the end of my time in the hospital, I’d need
to gird the shit out of them for this.
Not Grant’s eyes or the tailoring of his very expensive-looking pants, even though both
of those things garnered their own distinct internal reaction. It was the fact that he’d need
to do this with everything, would need to remind me of my preferences. Every day. Until,
hopefully, my brain decided it was done with the Sle eping Beauty act.
Without the buffer of Nell, the room went quiet, and I stared down at my pajamas,
praying they’d become sentient and throw me a lifeline in the form of a well-timed
distraction.
I found myself smiling instead.
“What is it?”
I glanced up. “Oh, just wishing I had these yesterday.”
He tucked his hands into his pockets—the picture of easy wealth—and moved farther
into the room. “Why’s that?”
“While on my post-lunch walk with the physical therapist, I flashed my ass to the entire
hallway.”
“Did you, now? How unfortunate.”
I gave him a dry look.
Grant glanced down, his facial expression hidden completely.
“A sweet old lady wheeled up behind me and said, ‘Honey, if mine looked that good, I’d
walk around naked, too, but I think you’re giving the dirty old men a few too many ideas.’”
He exhaled softly, too quietly for me to know whether he was hiding a laugh, and the
look in his eye when he raised his head was lethal. “Undoubtedly.”
Was he . . . was he flirting with me?
No. There was no way.
The idea of Grant flirting with anything exc ept the bottom line on his trust fund was
almost laughable.
Long stretches of silence made me really twitchy, and even though I tried to wait him
out to see what he might say next, the impulse to speak won. “What have you been doing
the last week? When you’re not here.”
Grant’s eyebrows rose slowly as he seated himself in the chair tucked into the corner of
the room, leveling his gaze on me as he crossed one long leg over the other. “Doing some
work. Trying not to make things worse, as it were.”
Oh. Well. If he was going to be earnest and straightforward and do it while making
intense eye contact . . .
“Thank you. For giving me space.”
He nodded, dropping his gaze down to the floor while he seemed to consider
something. “I didn’t stay away entirely,” he added softly.
“Yeah, the non-lurking in the hallway—I heard.” I gave a pointed look to his tailored
pants. “The nurses were all aflutter over those pants.”
“These trousers,” he amended haughtily, “are my favorite cut.”
“Of course they are. Everyone that passes can tell that you were the envy of the boys’
locker room.”
He lowered his voice. “Paying close attention, are you?”
“I can’t help it.” I k ept my attention on his face, instead of where his big, veiny man
hands rested just above the expensive leather belt holding up his even more expensive
pants. “You know exactly what you’re doing wearing those.”
Grant hummed, and the sound wasn’t entirely unpleasant. “Why would one want
anything that doesn’t fit perfectly? Not that you understand. Your loungewear is
egregiously large.”
The smooth way he said it sent my belly into a riotous flip. I’d never flipped anything
around this man, but knowing he was something to me, something mysterious and
undefined, forced me to look at him differently. Define him differently.
Grant tilted his head. “What is it?”
I thought about brushing it off, but to be honest, I was so fucking tired of being trapped
in this room with only my thoughts as company.
“Cognitive dissonance.”
His eyes were steady. “How so?”
“I don’t know what to do with you,” I admitted. “First, because the only role I’ve ever
placed you in was ‘obnoxious prat.’”
“I’m still that. I annoy you on the daily, have no fear.” His eyes warmed slightly. “Shall
I stop flirting?”
“So you were. Wasn’t sure you had it in you, Hastings.”
“Oh, I’ve learned all sorts of new skills, darling.”
My chest felt tight, the stirrings of cold anxiety kick-starting before I had a chance to
talk myself out of it. “See, now you’re trying to throw me off.”
He paused, probably sensing the timidity that had cr ept into my voice without my
permission. The last week, more than anything, had come with a horrific sense of
weakness, and I hated it. Hated that someone had to help me shower. Help me change.
Make sure I wasn’t walking too far, too fast. Help my body build enough strength so that
sending me home wouldn’t fuck something up further.
I was almost there, I could feel it. But leaving the relative safety net of Nell and the
other nurses and the wonderful doctors and the bland artwork came with a different sort
of fragility.
I’d have to rely on him. I didn’t even know if I could trust him yet.
I’d only trusted one man in my entire life. And he was gone.
Grant’s face was resolute as he sat back in his chair and regarded me steadily with
those stormy gray eyes. “You have my word that I’m not. For a moment . . .” He paused,
seeming to choose his words carefully. “For a moment you were like yourself again.”
I drew myself up, allowing my chin a challenging tilt. “I’m still myself. I’m just short a
few memories.”
The words didn’t land the way I wanted, though. They rang hollow. If I said it enough,
if I infused my voice with enough strength, maybe . . . maybe I’d believe it.
“I know,” he said softly. “The more you terrorize me, the more I’m realizing that.”
“Well, that’s good to know.” I crossed my arms. “I’d hate to think I went easy on you
just because you put a pretty rock on my finger. I’m assuming it’s pretty, at least.”
Grant leaned his head back and closed his eyes, the faintest curve to his lips. “Never
easy. I can promise you that.”
Just as a snarky response danced on the tip of my tongue, the door opened and Dr.
Washington came in, a wide smile on her face.
“How are we doing tonight?”
“Fine.” I knew the drill by now. The things she’d check. The questions she’d ask.
She took a seat on the stool, adjusting the computer screen to a comfortable height as
she scrolled through the nurses’ notes. “Heard I missed quite the show yesterday.”
“It’s like no one’s seen a bare ass before.”
Dr. Washington laughed. “Fred in the room next door said it was the best part of his
week. Wanted to send you flowers, but I told him it might make your husband jealous.”
“Not at all,” Grant interjected. “Rather a sign of good taste, don’t you think?”
I narrowed my eyes, and Grant did nothing but meet my look with an unflinching one of
his own.
“How would you like to go home, Mercy?”
My head snapped toward Dr. Washington. “Really? It’s not . . . it’s not too soon?”
“No,” she answered. “You’re regaining your strength. PT is very happy with your
progress. Vitals are good. I think the best thing for you is to get back to as normal of a
routine as you can manage and do the rest at home.”
Home.
Another thing I didn’t remember.
My gaze darted to Grant, who was staring at the ground, his hands clenched tightly in
his lap.
I inhaled slowly, then let it out in a great, big rush. “Okay. When do I leave?”
“Tomorrow, if that works for the two of you.”
Grant’s eyes locked on mine, and I noticed the slightest hint of pink along the edge of
his high cheekbones. He gave me a slight nod, and I pressed a hand to my fluttery belly.
“Tomorrow, then,” I said in a wobbly voice. “Great.”