177 Grace: Fake It Til You Make It
I collapse where I am, curling my knees to my chest. My throat still feels tight.
Caine must think I’m certifiably insane. What kind of person freaks out the way I did? And the moment he grabbed my wrist, I shut down completely.
It wasn’t like he hurt me. It wasn’t like he did anything wrong. He was trying to talk to me in private. Perfectly understandable.
And yet my entire body reacted like he was about to throw me into traffic.
I slide
up the bed until I can bury my face in a pillow.
“I’m losing it.”
It’s the only explanation.
I smack my forehead against the pillow once. Twice. Three times. Maybe if I hit hard enough, I can knock some sense back into myself.
Heat crawls up my neck and spreads across my cheeks. Caine was so worried and gentle, he’d even asked if I thought he would hurt me. Of course I don’t think he’ll hurt
- me.
Well–not anymore, anyway.
“You’re crazy. You’ve gone insane. You’ye lost your mind.”
Each sentence is punctuated with a frustrated thump of my face into fluff.
The embarrassment is almost worse than the sudden spike of fear. Now, anyway.
My heartbeat gradually evens out, and the flush of heat going up my neck and prickling along my scalp recedes.
But the self–loathing stays.
It doesn’t make sense. Caine wasn’t yelling at me. He didn’t grab me with any real force. Sure, I couldn’t pull away easily, but it wouldn’t have been impossible.
Nothing about the situation should have triggered such a level of panic.
<
177 Grace: Fake It Til You Make It
So why did it feel like-
Darkness. Concrete cold against my feet. The smell of mold and dust. My throat hurts I’ve been screaming for hours.
Please let me out.
I’ll be good.
I promise I’ll be good.
I shake my head violently, forcing the memory back where it belongs. Locked away. Buried deep, where it’s been for four years and counting.
No. That was different. Completely different. It was a big mistake. My mistake.
Even Rafe said it was my fault.
The old Rafe, who cared and loved me. Not the new one, who’s cruel and strange and somehow thinks he’d have Ellie on one side and me on the other.
I shake it off again, refusing to linger on the whys and wherefores.
Getting in trouble for helping a rogue wolf is not the same as bringing a cat home.
I heave a sigh before pushing myself up, forcing my sluggish, overwhelmed body into
movement.
Wallowing in pillows is childish. Get over it and move on, Grace.
I shove my hair back into some semblance of order and cross my legs into the fake zen pose people do when they’re trying to convince themselves they’re not losing their shit.
Me.
I’m people.
shion. Rolling my shoulders pack like I’m trying to impress lifelong yoga–doers (not me), I
out in slow, measure suck in a deep breath and let
There’s only one way out of this horrible, mortifying situation.
Just be shameless and pretend nothing happened.
177 Grace: Fake It Til You Make It
If I pretend nothing happened, maybe Caine won’t say anything either, and we can just… keep pretending. Yeah.
Just pretend I’m not totally insane and apparently prone to freaking out when he comes home angry.
Except he wasn’t even angry.
Whatever zen I’m supposed to be getting from this is clearly not happening.
I press the heels of my hands against my eyes, watching the colorful shapes bounce around behind my eyelids. Focusing on them makes it easier to calm down and slow my racing thoughts.
Okay.
Normal Grace is back, and ready to shamelessly pretend like she didn’t have an absolute fucking meltdown when her boyfriend dragged her to a private room to discuss bringing an unauthorized cat into the family.
I plaster a smile off my face, but my cheeks ache almost immediately. I probably look ridiculous.
Scooting off the bed, I approach the dresser mirror, leaning in to examine my pathetic attempt at normalcy.
Yeah. I look like a lunatic. Or maybe someone auditioning to play a haunted doll. The reddened eyes from almost crying don’t help, either.
Come on, Grace. You’ve faked being okay a thousand times. This is easy.
I shake out my hands out and roll my shoulders back.
Take two.
This time I think of something genuinely pleasant: Bun’s excitement every time we hand her a carrot stick.
Then I look in the mirror again.
Better. I won’t be making any awards as an actress, but at least I don’t look like I’m plotting a bomb threat or murdering people with a knife and a red wig.
“Just act natural,” I coach my reflection. “You’re fine. Everything’s fine. Just a normal
177 Grace: Fake It Til You Make It
girl having a normal day with her kind–of–boyfriend and four supernatural children and a magical dog and-”
“Bun, no!”
The shout cuts through my pep talk, followed immediately by an unholy screech that can only be described as the sound a demon might make if you stepped on its tail.
Sadie’s barking joins the chorus.
“Enough!” Caine’s voice booms through the camper, and I swear it rattles my bones from here.
So much for zen.
I bolt from the room, nearly catching my hip on the dresser corner.
The scene in the main area is pure chaos.
There’s water everywhere.
Bun’s sippy cup is the clear source, with its lid about five feet from the cup and the straw missing. The toddler herself is in Caine’s arms, wailing like a siren. Jer and Sara are holding Sadie back from something, and Ron’s missing.
He pops his head out of the bathroom. Never mind. Ron’s been found.
“It’s hiding in the shower. Should we just leave it there, or do we want to try and catch it with a towel?”
“Close the door and let it calm down,” Caine orders, sounding completely calm despite the frazzled environment.
Andrew opens the door, and Sadie’s barking suddenly resumes.
“Shut up, Sadie!” Jer shouts. I’m pretty sure this is not appropriate language for a child his age, but I’m not exactly a professional mother.
“You can’t say that!” Sara shrieks. Well, at least I was i
“Enough!” The Lycan King orders again, and Sadie whimpers and flattens herself to the ground.
Andrew, still in the doorway, hesitates. “Is this a bad time?”
