Declan: When will you ask her?
Dad: I’m thinking this weekend. Maybe get married over Christmas.
Declan: Good luck. I’m going to Tokyo with Grant over Christmas.
I know what will come next, and I don’t want to deal with his guilt-trip replies. Before I go into Do Not Disturb mode, I click over to Grant’s message thread and type:
Declan: Hey. My dad is texting, and I need a break from him, so I’m turning my phone off. I will see you in thirty minutes though. Like a magnet.
Grant: You’re so hot when you tell me what’s going on. Love you so fucking much.
Rereading his last text gives me the inkling of an idea, and maybe some insight into why it’s taking me so long to give Grant an answer to his question.
When I hear the front door open, I set down my laptop, my heart already beating a happier rhythm. I stride to the entryway, and there’s the man I’ve missed—dark blond hair, soulful blue eyes, and a grin that says he’s glad to see me too.
“You’re a sight,” I say.
“Then let your eyes no longer be sore,” Grant says as he slides a hand around my waist, wedges his body against mine, and presses a soft kiss to my lips.
A rumble works its way up my throat as I sink into his arms, then drop my nose against his neck. “And you smell too damn good. Can I take you to bed right now?”
Grant peels away and wags a chiding finger. “No dick for you until you tell me what’s wrong.”
“You drive a hard bargain.” I sigh loudly, but before he came in, I’d been thinking something similar. I need to talk to him more than I need to sleep with him.
Grant drops his bag in the doorway, toes off his shoes, and heads to the living room. I reclaim my seat, and he flops down next to me. “What’s on your mind?”
Everything.
Like how much I want to spend the rest of my life with you.
How I want to give you everything you want.
And how desperately I don’t want to fuck it up.
Instead of answering aloud, I turn on my phone and show Grant my father’s text thread.
His eyebrows climb as he reads. “Whoa. On the surface, that sounds good.” Grant looks up from the phone and brushes a kiss onto my cheek. “But I’m sure you don’t feel good at all. More like whiplash.”
“That’s it, exactly.” My shoulders relax slowly. The only thing better than someone who gets it is someone you love who gets it. “On the one hand, I feel like a jackass for not being excited. On the other hand, I think it’ll fail before he even asks her. Either way, I don’t want to be his best man at all. Does that make me a jerk of a son?”
“Not even a little bit.” Shaking his head, Grant takes my phone from my hand, sets it on the table. Gently, he turns me around, so my cheek rests on his chest, and I’m in his arms. He sweeps a kiss to my hair. “It’s so complicated, Deck. I don’t even know what to say, except I wish you didn’t have to deal with this. This is just part of who he is. But I do know you’re not a jerk for feeling conflicted about literally everything in that thread.”
My heart jumps and cheers, yes, yes, yes! This is what you should have been doing all along—talking to your man.
Grant’s arms circle nice and snug around my stomach. Curling a hand over his forearm, I hold on tight. “Grant,” I begin, swallowing past the dry patch in my throat.
“Yeah, Deck?” He sounds on the edge of hope.
“I’ve been thinking . . .”
“You have?” His voice pitches higher and hope-ier.
I swallow past a painful knot in my throat. In the past—the recent past—talking things out wasn’t something I did. But I need to talk to Grant, about this. “I want to say yes to you. To kids and all that down the road.”
When I turn my head to meet his gaze, his eyes are wide, flashing sparks of nearly delirious excitement. “You do?”
“I do. But I don’t want to be like my dad.” I lick my dry lips and keep going. “What if I don’t know how to handle them or their problems? Tonight, I could barely deal with my dad’s texts. I had to shut it down, which I could do because he’s an adult. But what if I can’t handle something kid-related?”
Grant lifts my hand and kisses my knuckles. “That’s why, if you decide to do it, you’re not going to do it alone.”
I love the sentiment, appreciate the attempt to reassure me. “But Grant, you’ve got your shit way more together than I do. You always have. You’re good at talking to young people, figuring things out. You can connect with anyone. You went through hell with your parents, but you’re not fucked up.”