Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 61180 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 306(@200wpm)___ 245(@250wpm)___ 204(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61180 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 306(@200wpm)___ 245(@250wpm)___ 204(@300wpm)
I want to ask him now.
But I want the moment to be magic.
I flashback to the words he breathed in my ear one night when our bodies were tangled together.
I see the only man for me.
Same, Deck. Same.
The platinum band fits like a dream, so I say, “I’ll take it.”
29
Declan
This is one of my new favorite pastimes—checking out photos of Grant growing up.
With the scent of peach pie filling the house, his grandparents show me pictures of Grant as a kid. In the silver frame Trevor grabs from the mantel, Grant can’t be more than eleven. He’s on a baseball diamond. He’s dug in at the plate, gripping the bat, poised to swing, his brow etched with concentration.
“This is when he won the Little League championship,” Trevor says, and I take the picture, studying it.
“His stance is a little different now, but you can see he had the basics down,” I say.
Trevor’s blue eyes twinkle with delight. “Right? He was a natural from the first time he played.”
Kim pats my shoulder. “No doubt you were the same way, honey.” I smile at the endearment and the fact that she thinks I need the reassurance. “Trevor, show Declan the one where we all went bowling for Grant’s thirteenth birthday. I love that picture.”
I sigh wistfully. “I haven’t gone bowling in years,” I say. “Contract forbids it. Bowling and ‘all other sports with the substantial risk of personal injury.’”
“And with good reason,” Trevor says. “Can you imagine explaining to the team you blew out your shoulder throwing a spare?” He roots around through the framed pictures till he finds a shot of Grant holding a bowling ball at the end of a lane, the same intensity in his brow that he gets when he swings a bat. The companion shot is of Grant grinning, his arms in the air, confident as an eagle having caught a fish.
“He threw a strike. What a shock,” Trevor says, deadpan.
“He was good at all sports,” Kim says, then lowers her voice. “And a show-off too.”
I smile. “Understandable. All that talent.” I take the frame, unable to look away from how happy Grant was. “But he’s having fun.”
Grant didn’t have a perfect childhood. He’s told me what he went through with his parents not wanting him. How much their rejection forged who he is and how he wants to be loved.
The way I love him.
But he also had this life in this picture, and I’m so damn glad. He still has these tremendous people in Kim and Trevor.
“Oh, you have to see this,” Kim says, as she locates a picture on a coffee table. “He’s seventeen here. This is Grant and Reese going to a concert.”
A laugh bursts out as I view the shot. “He wore a navy-blue polo shirt to a concert?” I ask, incredulous.
They chuckle too. “His fashion tastes haven’t changed much,” Kim says.
“He’s so . . . preppy,” I remark, still chuckling. “What was the concert? Do you remember?”
Kim hums and Trevor strokes his chin. They both shrug at the same time. “Something loud and poppy,” Trevor says.
“Guess his music tastes haven’t changed much either,” I say as Kim reaches for a graduation picture. Grant’s wearing a black gown and cap. His grandfather stands with his arm around his much taller grandson. His grandmother has her arm around Grant’s waist.
My throat tightens as emotions churn inside me—happy ones, though. Grateful ones. “You really did raise him.”
“We did,” Kim says with pride. “We sure didn’t plan it, but Grant and Sierra are the best things we’ve ever done. Right, Trev?”
Trevor smiles and nods. “No question.”
And that brings me to why I stayed behind.
I have something to share with these two people who helped shape the man I love—something I’ve been pretty damn sure since Grant came home from Seattle and I opened up to him about how I felt about us having a family. That night, he eased my nerves, and I realized what I had needed all along—to talk to my person.
Hanging out with Pearl today simply affirmed to me that I’m not the mess I thought I was. I might not be a wiz with kids. I might still have a shitty dad, but that’s all okay because I’ll figure the rest out with Grant someday down the road.
I want all the somedays with him. Every single one of them.
But first things first.
I clear my throat, lock eyes with Grant’s grandparents, take a breath. “There’s something I’d like to tell you both.”
Kim tilts her head and waits patiently. “Yes?”
Trevor stands taller. “What’s on your mind?”
There’s a reason I’ve been carrying a ring around since the day Holden and I went to Pepper’s store. I hoped I’d get here eventually.
Now, here I am on the doorstep of my future—the one I want to have with the man these two raised.