“Emily.” Grace hugs me when I walk in the door. She takes a step back, her eyes roaming up and down me, but she doesn’t comment on my clothing or the fact that my hair is a mess. I’m sure my lips are swollen too. I can feel they are fuller. There is something so erotic about still having lingering touches and marks of Chase on me.

“She’s in her room. Things got a little—”

“I know.” I grab her hand. “It’s bullshit, and I want you to know I don’t believe any of it.” Her face softens.

“Asher is, well…” I trail off, not wanting to say anything bad about my brother but also wanting to give her something.

“Honey, no. I understand. He’s got some demons. I understand that. It’s just when his demons start to haunt my Molly that I get a bit irritated.” Of course, Grace would still see the good in Asher, even after what he accused her of. It doesn’t surprise me at all.

“You’re too nice.” I shake my head. “We don’t deserve you. I think what you meant to say is that you get fucking pissed when it affects Molly.”

“No, I don’t.” The way she stares at me, it’s like she’s staring into my soul. “Just irritated, but if we love each other, we’ll work through all this. Everyone expresses their trauma in different ways, and I don’t want to speak ill of your mother, but she’s left a mark on both of you. That’s her doing, but Asher can’t let that trauma bleed onto the people who are trying to love him. We need to heal it.”

“Damn, Grace, that’s deep for nine a.m.,” I try to tease. She gives me a half smile.

“You want to go talk to her? I think it might help.”

“Yeah, she’s been texting me.”

“As much as I hate what has happened, I love that you two are getting close.” She kisses the top of my head. “Go make our girl feel better.” Warmth blooms in my chest at her words. Our girl. “Emily.” I pause to glance back at her. “You're our girl too.” I give her a warm smile before I head up to Emily’s room, Grace’s words bouncing around inside of my head.

I knock on the door. “I told you to go away!” Molly shouts.

“It’s me,” I say through the door.

“Oh.” I hear some shuffling, and a moment later, the lock pops and she opens the door. Her eyes are red-rimmed, but she gives me the same glance-over her mom did when I walked in the door. “Who did this?” She motions to my appearance.

“I’m here to talk about you.”

“No, you’re here to cheer me up, so spill.”