Chapter 230

Charles

Grace's knock broke through the haze of research that threatened to consume me. I'd hoped to find answers buried within the tomes and scrolls that littered my office. I knew it was in here somewhere, but I couldn't find it.

Rising from my desk, I crossed the room and opened the door. Grace stood on the threshold, her shoulders slumped. She looked a little blue, crestfallen, beaten down, like she'd lost every bit of fight in her. She was dressed in a form-fitting dress and no coat, though she clearly had just come from outside. Her heels looked muddy. Tears streamed down her face. A wave of concern washed over me. I darted back to grab the throw blanket on the chair. I threw it around her and brought her inside as she started to cry.

"What happened?" I got her settled on the couch nearest the fireplace. She sniffled as I stoked the fire and closed the door.

I settled into the leather armchair across from her. She sniffled and told me that she'd gone out to the bar and met someone whose records had been erased. Silence hung heavy between us for a moment. She'd stopped crying, but she stared bleakly at the table between us. I sighed. The tension that still lingered between us seemed inconsequential, looking at how broken she seemed.

"I owe you an apology," I began, breaking the silence. "Earlier, when you came to me, frustrated with the day, needing… well, needing me. I should have handled that better.."

I saw a flicker of surprise in her eyes, a guardedness quickly replacing it. "It… it's fine," she said, her voice strained. "I get it. I... I deserved it."

"No, Grace," I said, leaning forward. "It's not fine. Even if I couldn't put my emotions aside for a moment to... figure out what you really needed from me, I should have said that. It was childish. No matter how volatile things felt or what's happened lately, I should have handled it better." I hesitated, searching for the right words. "I don't want you to feel like you can't come to me when you're having a bad day. I should have been able to tell you then, so I'll tell you now: entering any conversation on the attack or defense turns it into an argument, not a discussion. I could have diffused the situation in a number of different ways. I could have said anything, but what I did, and I should have. I'm sorry."

I paused, studying her guarded expression. She didn't seem ready to think. I'm not even sure if she was really listening, but I kept talking because it needed to be said.

"The truth is," I continued, "I've been grappling with this… the shift in our relationship. The balance between support and guidance has become harder to navigate now that we're…" I trailed off, unable to finish the sentence.

Her eyes softened slightly. "Now that we're partners in every sense," she finished for me.

"Involved. Intimate," I said, releasing a pent-up breath. "I want what's best for you, Grace. I do. But I'm also painfully aware of the complexities of our positions. There are things that you can't and won't tell me. There are things I can't and won't tell you... There are traumas and insecurities that are too fresh to deal with or work around..."

I shook my head. "For both of us and, things are going to get more stressful with the debts and the push for Senate. More than that, we're keeping things quiet, and I still have things to handle in the Clans. I can't… shouldn't always be the one to cushion the blows, to help you work through things."

Her eyes hardened slightly, a defensive fire flickering in their depths. "So what? You expect me to just toughen up? Suck it up and push down all of this?" Her voice rose, the frustration she'd held all day boiling to the surface.

"No," I said. "But I think that's what you're trying to do."

"I--"

"Trying to ignore it, refuse to work through it. Any of it, so every time it comes back, every time you hit a setback, you feel attacked. Tell me if I'm reading it wrong."

She set her jaw. I leaned forward.

"There's a healthy way to process difficult emotions. You need an outlet, someone objective to help you untangle the knots of stress and responsibility that are building inside you."

Her mouth formed a taut line, and her body was visibly tense.

"You think I need therapy?" she asked, her voice a mix of defiance and wounded pride.

"I think it could be immensely beneficial," I said carefully.

"I'm not crazy."

"Perfectly sane people go to therapy."

She glared at me. "You're telling me you go to therapy?"

I smiled. "I did and still do when I need it."

She frowned, pulling back.

"Surprised?"

"You don't... seem like the type to need or get therapy."

I chuckled. "And what does that type look like?"

"A nervous wreck."

I blinked at her. Remembering her testimony in court, the test, and everything, I wondered if she thought of those times in her life when she'd been a verifiable wreck and considered those moments she needed therapy.

"Your alpha hood came at a stressful time, and the challenge is only tacking on more stress. The attack, your grief--Grace, you've been through so much, and you haven't processed any of it. You haven't even processed your divorce."

She blinked. "Yes, I have."

I tilted my head. "What makes you think that?"

"I'm fine."

"... said every pseudo-functioning depressed, high-strung, and anxious person ever."

She narrowed her eyes. I leaned forward. "I am not trying to attack you."

"You just are."

"No," I said. "I am trying to explain to you what I see and offer you a suggestion. "Therapy isn't about sanity or insanity. It's having a safe space to unpack it all, to gain perspective and tools to cope… it's not about being weak, Grace. It's about being smart and self-aware."

Her silence stretched out until I began to doubt if I'd gotten through to her at all. She looked pissed and resistant.

"I don't agree."

"Okay."

She narrowed her eyes. "Okay?"

"I acknowledge your disagreement and won't push the point," he said. "If you change your mind--"

"I won't."

I sat back and said nothing. I didn't know why she was so defensive about therapy, but I couldn't force her, and I wouldn't. Grace settled back into the chair, the exhaustion of the day etched onto her features. With a sigh, she ran a hand through her tangled hair.

"So what now?"

"Now?" I asked.

"What do you think I should do?" she asked, her voice laced with desperation. "About Michael and the others? About the Senate and all their demands? Devin's mess isn't going to clear itself up, and Edgar's... an asshole."

I resisted the urge to offer solutions, to lay out a plan the way I normally would. This was her battle, and victories earned were far more powerful than those handed out.

"You tell me," I countered.

She frowned. "If I had an answer, I wouldn't be asking."

"I don't think that's true," I said. "You haven't let yourself sit with the issue long enough. You don't have any emotional distance to it yet... You walked home in the middle of the night, after all."

She set her jaw. "Edgar, then."

"What about him?"

She growled. "What do I do about him? He's planning to make me work myself to the bone and still say my probation is a failure."

"He's scheming."

"Yes."

"What would you normally do if you knew someone was scheming against you?"

"Punch them in the face."

My lips twitched. "Anything else?"

She threw up her hands. "I don't know how to stop his schemes!" She shot to her feet, pacing. "There's nothing to plan. He has all the knowledge and all the power, and there's no way to change his mind!" She grumbled. "I want to throw him in a ditch."

"An option, but let's put that on the back burner. What else do you know?"

"He's basically living rent-free in our territory, poking his nose into everything, even if it has nothing to do with the pack!"

"Which you can address."

"To what end?"

"What end do you want?" I asked.

She glared at me. "I want this probation to be over."

"Then, what are your options?"

"I don't have any!"

"Grace," I chided. "Take a deep breath and think. How are you going to get out of probation?"

"Over Edgar's dead body."

I smiled. "Metaphorically speaking."

She bared her teeth.

"You need to find a means to undermine his plans. Either you overwhelm him with how good you are and give him no way to discredit you, or..."

She frowned, crossing her arms and worrying her lip. "... replace him?"

"That is an option. Or?"

Her gaze darted from side to side. "Discredit him."