Page 38 of Fate on the Ice

About three hours later, we are discharged, with prescriptions in hand, and he is loaded up in the car, ready to go. The first stop I make is the drive-through pharmacy. The second is his place.

The house is empty when we walk inside. I’m not surprised. It’s the middle of the day, and they’re probably all working out. Otto insists that he doesn’t need my help, but I refuse to leave his side. I’ve been right next to him this entire time. Every minute, except when my father showed up.

I’m not going to stop taking care of him now. He’d have to force me to leave.

Once I’ve helped him upstairs and got him tucked into bed, the television turned on and some water at his side, I ask him what he wants to eat. I don’t know how I’m going to cook it, but I’m going to try, for him.

“I want you to sit down,” he grumbles.

Standing at the doorway, I tilt my head to the side and watch him. I’m unsure how I’m going to sit. I don’t want to. I need to move. I need to help him. I need to prove that everything my father said was a lie.

Even though I don’t know what it is that he’s actually said. I can only imagine. And that imagination has run rampant since he walked out of that hospital room. So, I decide that I can just keep busy instead of finding out. But now that he’s practically forcing me to stop moving around, I have a feeling we’re going to talk about it.

And talking about my father, what he said and what he meant by it all, is something I do not wish to do… ever. I relent and make my way over to the bed. Sinking down on the side, I lace my fingers together, twisting them on my lap.

“Grace,” he calls out.

He doesn’t continue, so I assume he wants me to lift my head. I do, under my own personal protection. Turning slightly, I look at him. He watches me, his eyes searching my own. I watch as his lips curve up into a smirk.

“If you think I give a goddamn about what your father said, you’re wrong,” he announces.

“Otto,” I whisper. “He has his opinions. But at the same time, I know I’m not perfect.”

Otto reaches out for my hand, wrapping his fingers around mine before he squeezes. He clears his throat. My eyes find and connect with his, though I don’t know what I’m going to say to him. He watches me for a moment. Then he squeezes my hand again.

“I don’t care what he says, Grace. I care about you,” he says. Then he adds something to the end that makes me wonder if it’s the painkillers talking or him. “Marry me.”

OTTO

The words were blurted out, but the sentiment was there. It’s what I want. I fell for her the second I met her. The moment she stood outside her father’s office before I even knew her name. She’s mine, and I’m hers.

My Grace.

“You can’t be serious,” she whispers. “It’s the pain meds,” she mumbles. “You won’t even remember this tomorrow.”

I let out a chuckle but try not to laugh too hard because my face is sore as fuck. Groaning, I squeeze her hand again. I am growing tired, my body heavy as the pain meds that she gave me when we got home begin to work on my aching cheek.

“I will, honey. I’ll remember the moment I asked you to marry me.”

Blinking, I try to keep my eyes open, but my view becomes smaller and smaller as my lids grow heavier and heavier. Then I feel her lips touch mine right before she speaks.

“I’ll give you an answer once you’re awake and lucid,” she whispers against my mouth.

Then everything goes dark.

I’m not sure when I finally wake up, but when I do, the room is dark. There is a quietness around the bedroom and house. I know it’s probably late in the evening. All the men have gone to bed. But then I hear a moan.

Opening an eye, I look toward the sound of the noise and am surprised to see Grace lying against the side of the bed, just like she did at the hospital. Reaching out, I slide my fingers through her hair at the top of her head.

Grace lifts her head, her eyes wild and wide as she looks across the bed at me. “What are you doing down there, honey?” I ask.

“Letting you rest,” she rasps.

“Come to bed,” I demand.

She frowns, shaking her head a couple of times before she speaks. “You need your medicine. It’s time.”

“Medicine, then bed, Grace.”

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