CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
HUNTER
Grace’s sitting at her desk with her feet up and hands behind her head smiling at me. She breathes in. “Cheap coffee, man-sweat and fear—It’s just like I remember it.”
I nod my head towards Captain Johnson’s former office where a new captain is settling in, a woman this time.
Grace looks over. “They say she’s cleaner than a priest on Sunday, can’t be bought.”
“I guess we’ll see,” I reply, letting my eyes run over Grace’s form, her perfect breasts, those inky strands of hair that frame her face just right. God, I love her.
There’s a new councilman in office, too, a real big clean-sweep following Nathan’s arrest and the grapevine of corruption it uncovered. Bobby bit the dust too, packed away upstate. They offered us witness protection given Nathan’s connections, but Grace wouldn’t have it, and neither would I. We’ve got nothing to fear together. I faced down aplastic anemia and lived through it, and Grace? She can handle her own. God help any idiot who wants to argue otherwise.
What we’ve been through together, Grace and me, has forged a bond between us that has gone well beyond sex and lust. I look at her and I know this is where I have to leave that bed-hopping bad boy behind, back at Abbotsleigh where he belongs. I’ve matured, grown up and I’ll be damned if I’m going to let Grace Siddell slip away.
“What?” she says, noticing my stare.
“Nothing,” I reply, rocking forward, “or,” a wild idea taking shape in my head, “maybe everything. How do you feel about a ferry ride?”
*
It’s a beautiful day on Staten Island. The sun’s playing peek-a-boo through cotton-ball clouds overhead, the sky a washed-out baby blue.
Grace walks ahead up the stairs. She puts her hands in her jacket pockets, takes them out again. She’s nervous, not that she’d ever let on. This is big for her, and me.
She spins around. “Are you sure you want to do this? He’s not like he was. I mean—”
I come up a step and take her face in my hands, kissing her into compliance. I continue holding her face while I speak and cannot imagine anything more beautiful. “Yes, I’m sure. It’s going to be fine.” I turn her around and give her a sharp slap on the butt. “Now get going.”
We’re directed to a sunny room on the second floor where a man’s seated in a wheelchair facing a large picture window. He’s wearing full military uniform, medals and all, a blanket over his lap as we approach.
Grace moves into his line of sight, crouching before him. “Hi, Dad. How are you?”
I hold my breath.
It takes a while for Mr. Siddell to reply. “Grace? Is that you?”
She takes his hand, eyes wet. “Yes, Dad. It’s me.”
A wide smile lights up his face. “Well, why didn’t you say you were coming, kiddo? I would have whipped up a batch of those coconut cookies you like so much.”
She breathes out. “It’s okay, Dad.” She looks to me. “Dad, there’s someone I want you to meet.”
I step forward, moving behind her.
“This is Hunter Beckett, Dad,” says Grace. “He’s a detective too.”
Grace’s father looks up to me nodding. “A fine profession, young man, law enforcement. What did you say your name was?”
I extend my hand. “Hunter, sir. Hunter Beckett. It’s an honor to meet you.”
“An honor!” laughs Mr. Siddell. “I’m no General, son—just a simple soldier doing his part to ward off the Asian invasion.”
Grace smiles at me, taking his other hand. “Hunter and I are together, Dad.”
The smile drops from his face. He looks between us in panic. “Together? I… I don’t—”
I crouch down beside Grace. “I love your daughter, sir, and I’m going to look after her, protect her. You have my word.”
That seems to placate him. He grabs my shoulder. “Well then, sir, she’s all yours. Handsome devil like you, how could she resist?”
Given his state of mind, I’ll take that compliment.
Grace elbows me. “He’s not that handsome, Dad. Don’t go pumping up his ego. It’s big enough as is.”
“What am I pumping?” asks Mr. Siddell, confused.
“Nothing, Dad.”
He starts to look around. “Where’s that damn chopper? It should be here by now.”
The rest of the conversation unfolds as expected—moments of clarity broken by outbursts and random information about ‘the war’ or a random case. One thing is clear, though, a damaged mind or not—deep down he loves his daughter, even if he did start calling her Penny as the session went on.
When the nurse comes to take Mr. Siddell away for his afternoon nap, I join Grace on the rooftop of the home.
We stand near the edge four floors up. Ahead of us you can see the entire city of New York with all its hustle, bustle and bursting energy. Hell, it almost feels like home, or maybe’s it just the fact I want to be with Grace, drawn to her side. I don’t want to be away from her for a single second, and that’s unexpected. It’s new and alien, terrifying and exciting at the same time, but deep down I know this is what I want.
I peer over the edge. “I hope they don’t let the patients up here.”
Grace laughs, her hair blowing out behind her. “Only the ones they want to get rid of.”
“So, who’s Penny? Was she your mother?”
“No. Apparently, she was some random fling Dad had in Japan, a backpacker or something. Once he started telling me about how ‘flexible she was,’ the ‘amazing things she could do with her mouth.’”
I whistle. “Wow.”
“You’re telling me. I don’t know what to think about that.”
“Hey, it could be worse.”
She squints at me. “How so?”
“She could have been a serial killer.”
She laughs at my stupidity. “You’re going to have to up your humor game if you want to be with me.”
“Dad jokes won’t cut it?”
She backs up. “Whoa, whoa, who said anything about you parenting?”
“You don’t think we’d make cute kids?” I suggest. “Our kids would slay those Beckham brats.”
She spins around, hands in her hair. “Now we’re talking kids, plural? I don’t think my vagina’s ready for that.”
“Something to work on.” I wink.
“Forget my vag. I don’t know if I am ready for that.”
I get down on one knee and reach into my jacket pocket. I hadn’t planned to do this now, here, but fuck it. If it’s one thing Grace has taught me, it’s the value of spontaneity. I should know better than anyone life is too short to ‘um’ and ‘ah’ all day.
I wish I had my phone out so I could snap the look of shock on Grace’s face when she sees the ring—a low, simple princess-cut diamond set in sterling silver. I spotted it while walking downtown earlier in the week and couldn’t help myself. It’s Grace to a tee. I could hear her in my head when I was looking at the jewelers: ‘A big, fat ass diamond’s only going to get in the way when I’m busting ass’.
“Grace Siddell,” I begin, but she stops me.
“Stand the fuck up.”
Uh-oh.
I stand. “Save the soppy speech,” she says. “The answer’s fucking yes.”
I pull her into me and kiss her in full, can’t help the sudden swell of excitement rushing through me.
The last Beckett, now a made man, I think. Un-be-liev-a-ble.
Flashbacks of college come to me, of the girls and parties, the locker-room antics and brotherly bullshit we used to get up to. I get shards of my illness and the hell that was the treatment to follow. I see it all, and you know what? It doesn’t mean a thing to me compared to this, because Grace is the key.
She’s everything I never knew I was missing.