chapter FIVE

Grace

Phoenix Hayes makes me nervous.

He makes me nervous.

I don’t know why I am repeating those words over and over in my head. It is unlikely that my nervousness will just disappear into thin air. Not a chance. Especially for someone who has never been alone with a man as intimidating as Nix.

Hello! You’ve never been alone with a man. And you can’t count Father Bruno or Mr. Cushenberry, the gardener. Forget about Freddie the frog or Clyde the turtle; you don’t even know if they are of the male species.

Nix has this air of confidence while I feel like a skittish fifteen-year old girl. I shouldn’t look at him this way, but his ruggedly handsome face and impressive physique can’t be ignored. His arm alone is wider than my leg. His chest is as wide as some of the narrow doors in the abbey. I’m not immune to crushes because, at fifteen, I had my fair share. Living in the abbey placed that part of my heart into a dormant state though.

“We’ll probably get something to eat at the airport. If that’s okay with you,” he says out of the blue.

“That’s fine.” My answer comes naturally without a hint of hesitation.

Once again, we fall into a nontalking rhythm, except for the music blaring from the speakers. During ten years of convent living, the only music I heard was church hymns. Listening to the radio is a good change. I smile, thinking that Nix shares my sentiment, as his fingers dance against the steering wheel to the beat of the music.

When the last song ends, static noise destroys the rhythm of our silence. He turns the knob to find another station. With no luck, he turns it off in resignation or frustration. My guess is the latter.

After a few minutes, he clears his throat before saying, “So, tell me something about yourself.”

Oh no. I don’t really want to talk about me. There’s really not much to tell after ten years of seclusion. Now, if he wants to learn the mysteries of the rosary, I’m open to that.

“Um…” There’s a hint of uncertainty in my tone. I don’t attempt to hide it this time.

He waves me off. “Don’t answer. It’s all right. I’m just trying to make small talk to pass the time; that’s all.”

“Mother Gertrude told me that you know everything about me. I think you know more about me than what I know about you.”

He smiles, making me feel at ease. “You’re straightforward. I like that.”

“Just telling the truth.”

“I appreciate that, too.” He smiles again. This time, there’s mirth sparkling in his eyes.

“Thanks,” I answer, all the while looking at him.

Our eyes meet for a second, and then he gives the road his undivided attention.

“I’m all about fairness, so let me tell you a little bit about me. I’m twenty-seven years old. I grew up in San Diego and then moved to Dana Point. I still live there, close to Pops and Mama Ada. I have two brothers, Drake and Nate. Nate is married. His wife’s name is Rachel. We own a building we call The Fort. And that’s all there is to know about me.”

“Can I ask you something?”

His head bobs up and down, motioning with his fingers for me to continue.

I begin to fidget, knowing where I want to take our conversation. “Can you tell me more about the men who saved me that night?”

“The older one is Joseph Gunderson. We call him Pops. He is married to Adelaide, and we call her Mama Ada for short. Anyway, your grandfather and Joe worked together for the Dana Point PD. After a few years, he left the force and worked for the government. The younger guy was Liam. He died—”

“A few years after they picked me up, right? Mother Gertrude told me about him.”

He nods without adding more.

“Um…I know Joe is Mother Gertrude’s brother, which—”

“Which means he’s too old to be my father. Pops and Mama Ada adopted us when our parents died in a car crash.” His tone is somber, sad, and distant.

“I’m…sorry. I…I didn’t mean to pry.” I am hoping my apologetic tone calms him some.

He shrugs. “It’s all right. I just don’t like talking about them or the cause of their deaths.”

“I understand.” I let a few seconds pass before diving into another topic. “It has bothered me through the years that I haven’t sent a letter or even called to say thank you. Mother Gertrude has always assured me that her brother knows how grateful I am.” I frown in memory. “I guess I just don’t understand the secrecy. Or does he want to remain anonymous for his protection?”

“It’s more for your protection than his actually. There’s absolutely no secrecy, except for your whereabouts.” Suddenly, his demeanor shifts, and the tension in the air grows thick.

“Is everything okay?” I ask, sensing his alarmed state.

“Yeah.” The inflection of denial in his voice gongs loudly in my head, like the ringing of church bells on Sunday mornings.

“Are you sure?” My frown deepens. I wish he would just tell me the truth. The whole truth and nothing but, so help him God.

He blows out a breath. “Grace, there are things I can and can’t tell you right off the bat. I need to assess the situation without alarming you because I can’t afford for you to lose your shit.” He quickly glances at the rearview mirror. “My objective right now is to keep you safe. So, I will tell you what I can, when I can. I hope you understand that.”

Now, it’s my turn to exhale deeply. “I understand.”

“Good.” His one-worded brush-off lights up my fuse.

“Are you always this intense?”

“Intense?” He smirks. “I’d say that’s as exact as you’re gonna get in describing me. But I suppose, being intense is part of the game when you’re protecting someone. Is that a bad thing?”

I answer truthfully, “It’s not a bad thing. I know it’s hard to risk your life—”

“Hold that thought.”

I look out the window when he interrupts me. This will be the longest ride of my life. All of a sudden, I jerk to my right as our car swerves to the next lane, picking up speed. He switches lanes again, and my heart thuds wildly against my chest. If we swerve one more time, not only will my heart stop, but my breakfast will also splatter gloriously on the windshield.