Give Me Grace (25 page)

Fine. We should have duress tonight, and lots of it.

Three times hadn’t worn him out?
I knew he’d barely slept all night. He was worried about the little girl.

Any word on Janie?

His response was immediate
.
She made it through the night. Doctors say she’s gonna pull through.

I sighed with relief.
Good news.

The best.

“Grace, can I talk to you for a minute?” Henry asked as I hit send. Everyone froze at the serious tone and I thought furiously for a quick second. I might have promised Casey I’d let him tell Henry—even though the promise was made under duress and shouldn’t count—but there wasn’t much Casey could do if Henry found out all on his own, could he?

“Privately?” he added to the silent room.

“Of course,” I murmured, feeling a sense of impending doom wash over me.

It was one thing to boast I was going to tell my brother, but actually doing it was something I hadn’t fully considered. I wouldn’t have been so anxious if everyone had kept their opinions to themselves, but there appeared to be an overwhelming consensus that Henry was going to bathe
himself in Casey’s blood. I didn’t like to doubt my brother’s capabilities. Henry was certainly tall and muscular and capable of handling himself, but Casey was, well … Casey.

Henry turned and started for the stairs.
I abandoned my breakfast and followed him, feeling everyone’s eyes watch our retreat. Mitsy brought up the rear of the procession, making sure his growl of contempt encompassed the room as he trotted up the stairs behind us.

After following Henry into my room, he spun around and faced me. I noticed with some surprise that the expected
anger wasn’t there. Maybe Henry hadn’t found out like I thought.

“Grace,” he began, folding his arms.

“Let me speak first,” I blurted out.

Henry shrugged. “Okay.”

I began to pace, trying to think of how I could tell Henry about Casey without actually breaking my promise. Flat out telling him was off the table but at the least I could be proactive about the situation. Perhaps I could somehow bamboozle him.

I stopped pacing and looked at my brother. “Sometimes things just happen whether you want them to or not.”

“Uh … okay,” he agreed.

“So you agree?”

“Sure. I guess.” He shrugged again, his blue eyes clouding with confusion over my sudden line of questioning.

I resumed pacing. “So if something happened that you didn’t want to happen, you would be suitably calm and non-violent and not punch anyone in the face, because you understood that those things just happened, right?”

I paused and looked at him again, waiting for an answer.

Henry narrowed his eyes on my face. “What happened, Grace?”

I folded my arms and narrowed my eyes in return. “Answer the question.”

“Why do I feel like I’m being led into a verbal trap?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” I lied as I tried to form an appropriate response. I walked over to the bed and sat on it, tucking one leg underneath me. “I just want to clarify you aren’t the type of person to go around punching people who do things you don’t like. Take Jake for instance.”

“Jake?” he echoed.

“Yes, Jake. This morning he dumped bacon all over my orange. That would constitute him doing something I didn’t want him to do, right?” I tried not to wince at the ridiculous example. It was hardly the same thing, but I was thinking on the fly and had to roll with it. “I have to watch my weight or risk losing work, Henry,” I continued before he could reply. “That means I can’t go around eating bacon whenever I please, no matter how much I want to.”

Henry’s brows rose slowly as I spoke until they reached his hairline. “What’s your point, Grace?”

“My point is that I didn’t punch him.”

Silence
reigned for a moment as Henry stared. Was he waiting for me to say something else? I calmly folded my hands in my lap. “What is it you wish to talk about, Henry?”

“I have no idea now,” he muttered.

“Well, okay then.” I stood up from the bed and he gripped my shoulder, pushing me back down before I got anywhere.

“I think you should stay,” he said.

I looked about the room, wondering why he would want me to stay. Did he see through the concealer to the dark smudges under my eyes? Granted, a nap would be nice, but we had a show tonight. “There’s no time to sleep today. We have a set list to prepare,” I reminded him.

“I meant stay here.
In Sydney. Permanently.” He let go of my shoulder and stepped back. “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Wow, Henry, that’s
…” Unexpected? Nice? A really bad idea? This break from my everyday life had shown me just how lonely I really was. I loved that I couldn’t get a moment’s peace living here. I loved the constant bickering. I loved that Mac bossed me around. I loved how Frog and Cooper entertained me with their stories until I couldn’t breathe from laughing. I loved the way Jake tried to take care of me while pretending not to. I loved having my big brother back in my life, but not enough to get him, or any of them for that matter, caught up in my problems. “That’s really nice, but … I can’t.”

Hurt and disappointment clouded Henry’s eyes. “Why not?” he asked, coming to sit beside me on the bed. “You can do your job better here than in Melbourne, can’t you? I mean, you’re signed with an
international agency, but I read the other day that the majority of fashion designers are based here. It would make sense for you to move.”

“Where did you read that?”

Henry’s tanned skin flushed slightly. “In one of Mac’s fashion magazines,” he admitted.

My brows flew up. “You’re reading
Vogue
now?”

He grabbed hold of my hand and got to his feet, pulling me with him. After leading me into his room, he flung open his wardrobe and took a bulky folder from the shelves. He held it out expectantly.

“What’s this?”

“It’s my sister’s life,” he said simply.

Curious, I took the folder and opened the first page. Staring back at me was a fourteen-year old Grace from the cover of a magazine. Not just any cover, but my first, I realised as I sank to the edge of his bed. It was with
Dolly
, a magazine targeted to young teenage girls. My hair was mousy brown back then and my freckled nose more prominent. I was wearing a white lace top, lilac jeans, and dangly earrings so alarmingly huge they could’ve anchored a small boat. I ran my eye over the cover’s captions—“The Brave Girl’s Guide to Life” sat in bold font above “Be his best kiss EVER!” To the left read “What is your skin trying to tell you?” and beneath that “Mind tricks to get the guy EVERY girl wants!”

I looked up at him, my eyes wide with surprise.
This
was why my brother was reading Mac’s fashion magazines. “I can’t believe you kept all these.” Returning my attention to the folder, I flipped the page over, followed by another, and another, until I’d silently made my way through the entire book full of clippings from my career. It was staggering to see the transformation from mousy brown tomboy to the unconventional redhead I was today. My look had an edge and I played it up by getting the wild, colourful tattoo on my arm and shoulder. My agent was pissed about that and admittedly I hadn’t been booked for bridal wear since, but it
had
scored me the coveted contract with the Hendrix
label. Their latest campaign was the last picture in Henry’s folder.

I’d been photographed by John on the back of a moving Harley Davidson, clutching hold of a real life hard
-core biker named Bingo as I grinned at the camera. Bingo was immense and sported a beard so impressive he could’ve braided it. At the end of the three-day shoot, Bingo and his biker friends, who were photographed riding with us, hosted a bonfire on our behalf. Hendrix must have paid them a whopping sum for their time because I sat there with my water, watching as they guzzled back full bottles of rum before tossing the remaining contents in the fire. They hollered like excited cavemen discovering fire as the flames blew up wildly. The whole affair escalated quickly when sparks flew out and caught hold of Bingo’s beard. Reacting on instinct, I tossed my drink in his face, drenching his impressive beard and leather vest. He stared at me, open-mouthed, and before I could apologise, John tackled me into his car. After slamming the door behind me, he flung his equipment on the backseat with reckless abandon and the wheels spun as we skidded away. Unfortunately, John’s driving skills left much to be desired. We took out three bikes in our haste to leave. I could only pray I never encountered Bingo ever again or I’d be a dead woman walking.

The muscle in Henry’s jaw ticked as I recounted the story. “No more biker photo shoots,” he ordered.

“Getting that contract was a big deal. A really big deal. Do you know how much I was paid?”

“How much?”

He blanched when I told him the sum. “What?”

I told him again.

He shook his head. “I don’t care if it pays ten dollars or ten million. No sum is worth your life, Gracie Bean.”

While his words were
heartwarming, they were also ridiculous. “I’m sure Bingo wouldn’t have hurt me,” I lied. Saving his beloved facial hair from a fiery death didn’t negate taking out a biker’s ride in a hail of spinning wheels and gravel.

Henry shook his head. “Bikers are wild and unpredictable. Add an unlimited supply of rum to the mix and you’ve got trouble. If
…”

I tuned his lecture out and focused on smoothing the pages in the folder before closing it neatly. Knowing Henry had followed
my career made me realise I hadn’t been as alone as I’d thought. He really did care. Maybe I should have reached out to him more than I did. I placed the folder on my lap and looked at him.

“Thank you,” I said, my soft words interrupting his rant.

Henry paused. “What for?”

I gave him back the folder. “For being more of a brother than I realised you were.”

He put the folder down and pulled me off the bed and into his arms, squeezing me hard. “Thank
you
, Grace. For dropping everything to help us out. I’m sorry I said you chose your career over your family.” Taking hold of my shoulders, he pushed me back until he was looking me in the face. “I was angry over losing you. I missed you.”

I pressed my lips together. “I missed you too.”

Henry let go of my shoulders and picked up the folder. “Does that mean you’ll stay?” he asked, placing it back on the shelf in his wardrobe.

“I’ll think about it,” I hedged
.

We spent the rest of the day tinkering with equipment and going over last minute song changes. The afternoon passed by and before I knew it, we were arriving at the Florence Bar
for our Friday evening show.

The streets were bursting with people waiting to get inside.
We bypassed them all, driving through the gates that led to the back entrance. Casey and Jared were there waiting for us. My pulse thumped at the sight of him. He was wearing their standard security uniform of black pants and snug black tee shirts. Bold white lettering on the back declared him
Jamieson Security
. His face was all hard angles and flat eyes, as though he’d put his “security face” on.

Despite the venue providing their own manpower, Casey and Jared took charge. Jared sprang forward and opened the car door, leading us swiftly towards Casey.

I watched for a reaction after making an effort with my appearance—choosing to wear the high-waisted black leather hotpants Mac had salivated over in my suitcase. They were decorated with three front buckles and silver studs around the sides. Into the pants, I tucked a white tee shirt with rolled up sleeves and my black boots. John called it my “greaser” look, but there was nothing greasy about it. It was supposed to be cool and rock chick sexy and get Casey’s attention.

I
t didn’t.

Casey’s
eyes passed over me like I was yesterday’s news. I deflated when he turned, giving me his back as he led us directly to the dressing room. A five-man crew had come before us and set up our equipment on stage, so once we were all inside, he left with Mac and Quinn to do the stage check, leaving Jared with us.