An unfortunate accident has sent Grace Reeves spiraling out of control. Having lost her voice, as well as her closest friends. , she returns home to recuperate. But as time passes, Grace's family grows concerned with the severity of her depression...
I set three prescriptions on the bedside table—the mood stabilizer, the sedative, and the anti-anxiety from my father. I add a glass of water and a soft-baked protein bar. In case the indication isn't obvious enough, I write a note, placing it beside the items.
The promotional, marketing, and coaching departments have all emailed, reminding me that I need to be at the training grounds today. Netflix is doing a special on the Saints. Given I'm one of the faces of the organization, my presence is unavoidable. The team will be filming for a week, but I refuse to be away from Grace for that long. I sent a reply, reminding them that they only have me for fourteen hours.
The sun has yet to rise, and I won't be back until it sets. It'll be a grueling task, starting with dramatic interviews, then footage of me training in the gym, and ending with a mock practice. The directors and film crew will work their magic, making it appear as though their viewers are following me through an average week. I'm grateful they were able to accommodate.
But until Grace's health is in order, my place is at home with her. I don't normally take the off season so literally, but I might've emphasized that word in my email—OFF.
My wife is still in bed, lost to her dreams. I can only hope they're more forgiving than her reality. Moonlight spills across the room, casting her frame in sharp repose. Grace is curled on her side, holding a pillow to her abdomen as if it's an extension of her womb. Her hair is a frayed mess across the mattress. Given the bluish quality to her flesh, her tattoos are more pronounced than ever.
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The snake curls around her thigh, its fangs reared at the base of her ass. Her camisole has risen, exposing the nitroglycerin chemical bond on her fragile hipbone. And then there's my thumbprint behind her ear, where I kept my finger all night. I lean over her, kissing the sensitive flesh. Her lavender eyelids flutter, but her breathing doesn't change. I twist the ring on her finger, straightening the blood-infused ruby.
"I love you, Grace," I murmur, resting my forehead against her arm. "Even when you feel like nothing, you are everything to me. Even when you're at your darkest, you will always be my sunshine."
Her shoulder twitches, and she releases a sigh. I breathe in her scent, then leave the room, grabbing my bag on my way out the door.
***
Grace, Now
Sunlight assaults my retinas.
I press the heels of my hands into my eye sockets, mouthing, Fuck.
My skull feels like it's made of glass, with shards breaking off into my brain. I roll onto my stomach, letting my body adjust to the harsh world. My stomach releases a long, vicious growl. My muscles scream in agony. The bones in my fingers may as well be snapped clean in half. My spine throbs from sitting on that bench day after day, week after week.
