Page 10 of Falling for Grace

“Holy horse balls!” I yelp, as Danny pushes me back into the bathroom. “Danny, you have just knocked five years off my life.” I grab at my poor beating heart, which I think is trying to escape from my rib cage.

“Spill,” he states as he closes the bathroom door.

“What makes you think I have anything to spill?” I plonk myself down on the side of their ceramic bathtub.

“Because I know my brother, and I know you. He’s just come downstairs looking like someone killed his puppy, and you didn’t appear straight away. Plus, you have streaks all over you're lovely immaculate ‘trying not trying’ makeup. So, spill it.” He’s standing with his hands on his hips and tapping his foot.

God, he’s annoying.

“Fuck, really?” I say, grabbing a tissue to fix my reflection. I thought I had checked that.

“Ok, so I lied about the tracks. But you have just confirmed my suspicions.”

I throw the tissue at his face, wishing it was something hard, like a shoe.

“Tell me, baby girl, what happened?”

I let out a sigh and plop the toilet lid down and sit on it, my fingers pulling at my hair. “I told him why I hadn’t been talking to him.”

“And why is that?”

“Danny,” I say, rolling my eyes. “You know why.”

“Yes, I know why, but I still want you to say it.” He watches me intently with his blue eyes.

“Because I love him, and I would never move on if we didn’t stop doing what we were doing.”

Danny claps his hands and sags against the door. “Thank the fucking Lord,” he says. “For years I’ve been waiting for you to admit that to yourself. I mean, sure, I knew, but do you remember when I told you that after the first time you slept with him post break-up after Mum’s birthday? I think I still have the scar.”

I watch as he pulls his sleeve up and inspects his arm.

“Don’t be so dramatic.” I didn’t mean to throw the glass at him, I was drunk at the time, and he was being a know-it-all knob-head.

He smiles at me, but it’s a sad smile. “You did good baby girl. I know you’re hurting, but you know this is the right thing to do.”

I nod. “I know. Urgh, doing the right thing sucks.”

“Sometimes it really does,” he says, smiling. “Now come on.” He puts out his hand. “We need to go do some shots, because sometimes doing the right thing also means shots.”

Chapter 4

We head straight to the kitchen, where Brandon is waiting with three shot glasses.

“Figured we all needed one,” he says.

I reach for one of the glasses full of a dark brown liquid.

“To Ted,” I announce before tipping it back, enjoying the burn of the Jagermeister as it travels down my throat.

“To Dad,” Brandon and Danny say in unison before downing their shots.

“We should probably do another one with your dad,” I say, grabbing the bottle. “Feels wrong toasting the birthday boy without him being in the vicinity.”

“That sounds like a bloody marvellous idea.” Brandon reaches for another shot glass.

“Oh, God.” Danny groans. “This is going to get even messier.”

That’s probably true, because right now drowning myself in this bottle of Jager is the perfect healing aid for a breaking heart.

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