Page 29 of Falling for Grace

“Hello, Danny, it’s me, Gracie Le Free Bush. Why haven’t you called me back yet?”

“Gracie.”

Shit.

That’s not Danny.

That voice, that voice that covers me in goosebumps. Even when I am completely and utterly shit-faced and can barely see straight, it still makes my body come alive.

“Brandon,” I whisper.

Fuck.

I totally dialed the wrong fucking Holder brother.

I pressed the wrong fucking favourite.

Oh shitting God.

“Hang on.” I hear rustling on the other end of the phone.

I should hang up, but I don’t.

If anything I sober up.

I’m no longer sitting hugging the toilet, I’m sitting up and I’m gripping the phone so hard that my knuckles are whitening, and my ear is growing hot. But I’m holding onto it for dear life and waiting for his voice to filter back through the speaker.

“Are you okay?” he asks. Of course he would be worried, it’s 2 a.m., God knows what time in L.A. “Gracie, are you there?”

“Shit,” I mutter down the phone. “I’m sorry,” I slur.

“Are you drunk?”

“No… Yes, a little.” I hold out my hand and make a little motion with my thumb and forefinger. He chuckles down the phone and I think I just swooned.

“Of course you’re drunk, you’d never call if you were sober.”

“Not true!” I say, even though it’s entirely accurate.

“When was the last time we spoke, Grace? Three maybe four years ago. We talk through our parents, that’s it.” Guilt stirs in my stomach along with the bitter alcohol. “When was the last time you spoke to my brother?”

“I did speak to your brother.”

“What? When?”

“Well, his answering machine. I spoke to his voicemail. We had a very, very nice chat.”

He chuckles again.

“I miss you.” The words pop out my mouth.

He sucks in a sharp breath, like my words physically hit him.

“Shit, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to say that out loud,” I admit. “But I do.”

Jesus, would you stop, woman!

“Look, I have to go. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to call you. I was actually trying to call Danny. You’re doing great.”

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