Page 34 of Falling for Grace

Of all the people I could have possibly called when I was drunk, why the fuck did it have to be him? I want to slap myself around the room.

I look at the dirty mark on the ceiling and breathe in and out deeply, desperately trying to calm myself down. I may not have called him, it may not have connected. It’s doubtful that I said anything over the phone to him, even in the state I was in last night.

I’m a coward, but I’m not cruel.

I would never have told him that over the phone.

Never.

Chapter 12

Two weeks have passed, and in that time I’ve had multiple missed calls and messages from Brandon. And do you know what I’ve done? I’ve ignored them.

It’s my past, and it needs to stay there.

I don’t need to talk to him.

Well, that is a big fat lie. Talk to him is exactly what I need to do. I need to talk to him more than anything else in the world.

Danny still hasn’t called me back and I’m starting to feel like I left it too long, and he doesn’t want me in his life. The thought of it hurts like a physical blow to my stomach. Our little corner of the world, Cramwell Drive, was my place of solace. I would go to school, I would go through the motions, but when I got home I would see Danny, I would see Brandon. We would play stupid games.

Each time there was a sporting event we hosted a Cramwell Drive equivalent. The Cramwell Drive Olympics, made up of running, cycling, roller skating. Cramwell Drive Wimbledon, when we would attempt not to smash the ball into people’s windows. And every person on the street's favourite, Cramwell Drive Football, to whatever tournament was playing. The downside of the football was that no parked car was safe.

If I close my eyes, I can almost hear Danny’s voice shouting “Car!”

Always going faster than they should, as we hot-footed it out of the road.

So many memories.

The first time we got drunk, the new years. The stories we shared, the laughter, the tears, the hushed voices, the stolen kisses. It was our childhood, it was my childhood, and it was me making relationships that I thought would last forever. I hope that I haven’t ruined our relationship. I hope that I haven’t left it too long.

“If I have to sit in one more traffic jam I’m going to scream. Like, full-on scream every single profanity. Why? Why do they allow utility companies to dig up roads and then not have anyone work on them? Meanwhile, all the road networks are completely gridlocked.

Iopen the door to our apartment with more force than I intended mid-rant and watch as it bounces off the wall before closing it.

“One hour and forty minutes it has taken me to get home. I work five miles away, T. Five sodding miles. I need wine.” I walk into the living room, throw my bag on the floor and see my roommate sitting on the sofa with Entertainment News on. “Ergh! And now you’re watching this crap. I can’t take it. I’m going for a shower.”

In my bedroom, my sanctuary, I flop down onto the bed, the clean linen smell wafting up into my senses and immediately relaxing me.

What is that Godforsaken noise?

It's buzzing. I open my eyes and see the pool of dribble on my pillow. A twenty-minute power nap and I’m now feeling a bit out of sorts. I feel the bed vibrate and hear the incessant buzzing again. I move my arms over the soft cotton material trying to locate it but refuse to move my head from the comfort of my pillow.

“Hello,” I say, my voice slightly gruff.

“Gracie?” The voice is barely audible. “Gracie Bush, is that you?”

Why do I recognise the voice? It’s so quiet, so soft.

“Speaking.”

“Gracie, it’s Sue.”

As soon as I hear the name my heart starts to race, and I immediately sit up. “Sue?” I ask, even though I know it’s her, that soft, kind voice. The voice I grew up with.

“Can you talk?” she asks.

“Of course. You still have my number?” That probably wasn’t what she meant by talking.

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