brush from the crown of her head to the ends of her hair. After each stroke of the brush, he’d follow with a tender hand. Before she knew it, Grace was leaning into his gentle ministrations.
“There,” he said, putting the brush on the table. “Much better.”
Quentin patted her shoulder awkwardly, then he slipped back so he could stand up. Beyond comfortable, she fell back against the pillow. Without a word, he picked up the brush and walked out of the room.
Grace watched him leave and tugged the blanket over her shoulder, wishing she could understand why her relationship with him was so unique. Quentin’s feelings were completely different from anyone else’s she’d ever sensed, making him very, very unusual. He could feel hers because of the band, and she felt his because of her curse. What if when she touched him she was really feeling her own emotions through him? Great! Talk about projecting one’s feelings onto someone.
Quentin didn’t return. Laney came back just as Grace was dozing off. She eyed the prescription bag in her mother’s hand, uncertain if she wanted to take any meds or not. The bag of chocolate Dove Promises didn’t get by her either. Nor did the rented chick flicks. Oh yeah, sappy romance is exactly what she needed. Not! Laying the items on the coffee table, Laney scrutinized her from head to toe. “Is there anything else you need besides water?”
“Nope, just the water.” Grace picked up the bag and tossed it aside. If she needed the drugs, they were there at least, but she’d rather not take anything. Her mom returned with a glass of water, then slipped into the DVD player, of all the thousands of movies to choose from, City of Angels. Seriously? Grace thought. Is this some kind of cosmic let’s-mess-with-Grace joke? She couldn’t find the humor in it and didn’t appreciate the irony.
“Anything else,” her mom asked.
“No.” Grace sighed inwardly. She knew her answer had come out a little short and gruff, but the helicopter mothering was beginning to freak her out a little.
Laney’s gaze raked over Grace. “Are you hurting?”
It wasn’t her mom’s fault she wasn’t feeling in the chick flick mood. “I’m fine. I’ll take my meds and veg on the couch.”
Not seeming convinced, Laney continued to push. “Have you eaten yet? You really shouldn’t take Ibuprofen on an empty stomach, it could make you nauseous.”
“Not yet.”
“I’ll go make you some food. You just relax and watch the movie. Here—” Her mom moved the corner of the coffee table closer to the couch. “This will make it easier for you to reach your stuff.”
“Thanks.” Grace reached for the chocolates, tore it open, and took four out of the bag. Glancing at the four squares in her palm, she shook her head. Even to Grace, her neurotic even-number OCD issue was impossible to understand. She couldn’t even remember now when it started. It felt as if it were always there. Even numbers of things had always made her feel comfortable and right, whereas odd numbers were like fingernails on a chalkboard.
While Grace ate her candy and the oatmeal her mother brought her, she watched the movie. Her body hurt, her head hurt, and her weary heart hurt.
Tearing up during every part of the movie she always had in the past, she was glad Quentin was somewhere else other than the family room—with her, watching her, and feeling her cry.
She thought she was fine until the scene where Seth chose to fall for Maggie, which only reminded her of herself and what she was. If she could fall off a building, shed her massive responsibility, and become normal, she just might take the plunge.
Instead, a few minutes later she simply fell asleep.
“Come here often?” he asked. He sat next to her on the bench but Grace didn’t look his way, choosing instead to look at the lake that stretched out before them.
A memory nudged below the surface of her mind. His voice was familiar. It surprised her that anyone had found her; she’d thought she was alone. She turned her head, intending to acknowledge his presence, and was met with brilliant emerald eyes. It was him. She’d promised herself to stay away from him, but knew she was safe here.
“I’m Darius,” he said, his hand outstretched. She looked into his eyes and marveled at how they blazed with fire and color.
Grace took his hand in hers. It was surprisingly cool. “I know.”