Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 86064 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 430(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86064 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 430(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
Taking the package I’m still holding, Grant hands it to Sam. “Wow, thanks!” my sweet boy says even though he has no idea what’s inside.
“Happy eleventh, little man.”
Sam leaves to place the box with the rest of his presents.
Taking a deep breath, Grant starts, “We need to talk. Today––not here.” His eyes scan the area and catching all the attention pointed at him, he says, “Definitely not here.”
“Come back to my place after? Only if you want to.”
His eyes slam into mine. “Yeah, I do.”
Four hours later we’re pulling up to my block in Grant’s Suburban. He double parks and hops out. Then he unloads all of Sam’s gifts, placing them inside the security door before driving off to find parking.
Watching him take such good care of us without being asked, when I know he’s hurting, destroys me. Any hope that I had of keeping him at bay is lost. I love him. I’ll take him any way I can and pray for the best.
Fifteen minutes later he’s at the door and I’m ushering him inside while Roxy loses her mind over him. Sam is so excited to have him over our house he’s almost as bad. That and all the sugar he ate.
We live on the top floor of a walk-up. The brownstone has one small enchanting rooftop garden, which is attached to our apartment. Which is the reasons we chose to live here. That and it was newly renovated.
Grant’s curious gaze flies around, checking out every detail.
“It’s nice…it feels like you.”
“It’s small,” I add. “And smaller with you in it.
He smiles broadly. “That it is.”
“Come and see my bedroom!” Sam orders.
“Sam,” I reprimand. “Easy.”
From the other room I hear Grant speaking, “Basketball sheets. I would’ve never guessed this one is yours.”
Sam laughs.
Grant comes back into our main room and sits next to me on the couch, throwing his arm around my shoulders.
“Does yours have basketball sheets, too?” he murmurs.
“I bet you’d like to see them.”
“I’d like a very close look at them.”
“Thank you for the letters…I loved them.”
Pink stains his cheeks as he schools a smile. Dead, I’m dead. This man slays me.
“Why paper? I’m just curious. Why didn’t you email them?”
“Your notebooks.” He shrugs, runs a hand nervously back and forth over his head. “I wanted you to have something from me that hopefully meant something to you.”
“They did.”
After the sugar rush comes the inevitable sugar crush. Sam is passed out by 9:30. Watching Grant pick him up and place him in his bed adds another nail in my coffin.
I will love this man till I’m six feet under.
I grab my zip-up hoody, take his hand, and lead him out to the garden. Grant spots the canopy of Christmas lights and grins. Not nearly as many as he had arranged to be strung at Cal’s house. But it’s the same idea.
“What’s your place like?” That might be the worst, most transparent attempt at getting an invitation.
His face pinches. He frowns. “Empty. I’m moving out.”
Oh…
My heartbeat quickens and the funny feeling in my stomach tells me to brace myself.
“I love you,” he declares while staring at the lights over our heads.
My eyes trace every graceful line of his profile. “I love you too…I love you so much that I’m willing to take you as you are––a football player and not a retired football player.”
His gaze finally meets mine. His smile falters. “They traded me to Green Bay.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
“Can you come to the game this weekend? I already made arrangements for you and Sam with the clubhouse. Please, Amanda. I won’t ever ask for anything else.”
Grant’s deep voice sounds strained, tired. The voicemail cuts off after that. My heartache doesn’t. It goes on and on, practically bringing me to my knees. How can you love someone so completely and yet equally want to run as far away from them as possible?
If I had a mixed bag of feelings before the trade to Wisconsin, now I’m constantly wavering between being so angry at him I could put him in a dog crate and stick him in the basement and begging him not to go. One of these days someone will find me in Central Park with pigeons sitting on my shoulders talking to myself.
Green Bay, Wisconsin. Is that even an actual city? I don’t even like cold weather. And he wants us to go with him. He said that. He also said he would understand if I can’t. I have roots here, he said. He has nothing. Even his apartment is a rental. I wanted to scream that he has me and Sam but I didn’t. If he doesn’t know that already…
This weekend is his last game as a Titan. Calvin and Camilla said they’re going. It seems like outside forces are conspiring to drive me crazy. He wants us there. He’s begging me to come watch him get hurt, possibly killed. He wants me to witness that? Why would I do that? For the sake of my mental and emotional health, I don’t know if I can do it.