Page 68 of Grace on the Rocks

“Aye.Hurthis wrist,Ithink?MetTeàrlachin hospital.”

She shook her head. “Whatare the odds?”

“You missed him.Whenhe left home?”Ifit was that long ago,Diegowould’ve been a teenager, andGracejust a kid, maybe no older thanElspethhad been when he leftBarra.

“Every second of every day.It’scrazy to think how close we used to be.”

“Used to?”Hisheart clenched.

“IfItold him how muchImissed him, he might have given up the game and come home.Itwas easier to just… stop talking.Bythe timeIcame over for his wedding, he was a stranger.”

“Ah.I’mfamiliar.”

She looked at him curiously.Forsomeone who spoke as little as possible, around her, he sure couldn’t seem to shut up.

“Didn’t talk toEòghannfor years.ReckonIwas afraid he’d ask me to come home beforeIwas ready.”

“Would he have?”

He thought about it for a long moment and shook his head. “Idon’t think he would.”

“Did you never ask him to visit you?”

“Nah.Eòghann’softhe island.He’llnever leave.He…”Butit wasn’t really his story to tell, was it?Tohis eternal shame,Bryanhad only been an extra standing on the sidelines. “Allthe rest of us left, andEòghannwas trapped here, holding the family together with two hands.Alone.Justlike you afterDiegoand your abuela left.”

“She didn’t leave, she died.”

“Amounts to the same thing though, doesn’t it?”

“A gaping hole,” she agreed.

“Is that why you write friendship so well?Onaccount of you’re lonely?”

She studied him intently, like she was trying to see through his words, searching for a hidden insult among them.Ifanyone could find fault with his clumsy speech, it would be her.

“No,” she finally answered. “Icenter friendship in my stories becauseIstopped being alone.”

“You’re not alone now,” he whispered, and he meant it as a question, to probe deeper, to learn about the people close to her, likeWes, who followed her halfway around the world as a cheerleader on her quest.Butit tripped off his tongue like a statement full of prophecy and laden with meaning he hadn’t intended.

Her brow furrowed and he wanted to kiss it smooth, to show her his words were right and true, she wasn’t alone.Hewas here, he understood—a maddening turn of events.

“I’m not?” she asked, and it completely undid him.

“Not if you don’t want to be,” he whispered, leaning closer. “CanIkiss you?”

She pulled away. “Why?”

He choked back an anguished laugh.Why?“ ’CauseI—‘causeIcan’t think about anything else.”

What a stupid answer.Heshould’ve said how pretty she was, or how she made him feel like his bones were nothing but custard, how her novel had filled up the cracks in his heart and soldered it back together stronger than it was before.

But magically, they must have been the right words after all, because she rocked forward, smoky whisky still lingering on her breath—his whisky—as she tentatively kissed him.

It was all dry, cracked lips and erratic breathing, like she was as hungry and unprepared for him as he was for her.

She scraped her nails lightly through the hair at the base of his skull, sending wave after wave of shivers down his back, and he cupped both of her cheeks to keep his hands the right side of appropriate.Whenshe finally broke the kiss to catch her breath, he pressed his forehead to hers.

“You’re b-beautiful,” he whispered.

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