Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 96875 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 484(@200wpm)___ 388(@250wpm)___ 323(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96875 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 484(@200wpm)___ 388(@250wpm)___ 323(@300wpm)
I growl like I’m mad at him, even though he’s hit the nail on the head. “You’re right.”
“‘Course I am. Catchers always know best. Did you know catchers are the smartest guys on the team?” he says, with a twinkle in his blue eyes.
“Or the cockiest.”
“Because we work the hardest.”
“Like I said.”
Grant grabs my thigh, gripping it with an affectionate squeeze. “Listen, Deck. What I’m saying is this: I’m not going to let you backslide by giving you too much access to my fine ass.”
“Thanks for depriving me of my favorite thing,” I grumble.
“It’s all for a good cause.”
Indeed, it is. The good cause of a second chance.
When we plow through half the food, we go back to his bedroom, change the sheets, and turn on the fireplace.
We return to each other, doing some of our favorite things, then we kiss till the stars wink off in the sky. I’m not sure if it’s the fire or us that’s warming me up from the inside of my soul.
In the morning, I wake to an insistent buzzing on my phone.
31
Declan
The text blares at me.
* * *
Dad: You’re here!
* * *
I cringe.
* * *
Dad: I saw some pictures from the event Thursday night! Guess what?
* * *
I wince—because I can guess. But I don’t even have to type a response because he’s already writing back.
* * *
Dad: I’m in the city too. Are you still here? Have you gone back to NY yet? I’m at the diner we used to go to off Fillmore Street right now. If you’re around, want to join me for a cup of coffee?
* * *
I groan, rubbing my hand down my face.
Grant stirs, slowly opening his eyes. My heart stutters as my fantastic reality registers. I’m in bed with Grant, waking up with him the day after. All those times in Arizona, we never woke up together. The view of him next to me in bed with sunlight streaming through the window, this glimpse of his sleepy face, his wild, messy hair, his lazy early-morning smile.
But it disappears when his eyes drift down to my phone in my hands. “What’s up?” he asks, propping up on his elbow.
I brace myself. “My dad is in the city.”
“Oh.” It comes out like it weighs ten tons.
I set a hand on his arm. “I’m not leaving you. I’m not going to go see him.”
“Okay,” he says, but he sounds tentative.
“I promise. I’m just writing back to him. That’s all. I’m here with you,” I reassure him.
Grant rubs his eyes, yawning. “What does he want, though?”
I sit up. “He wants to see me.”
He takes a deep breath. “Do you want to see him?”
“I want to see you,” I say.
Grant arches a brow. “But do you think you should see him? Is that important for your therapy work? Do you think it would help you?”
“Maybe. I guess it’s what I’m trying to figure out,” I admit. I’ve been weighing that since I saw the first note a few minutes ago.
Grant sits up too. “I researched alcoholism.”
I blink, surprised. “You did?”
“When you first told me about your dad. I wanted to understand your situation, and I read how addiction affects family members. And then later on too, after the World Series, I did some more research. I wanted to know how to support you if . . .”
He doesn’t finish the thought.
He doesn’t have to.
If we got back together.
“Thank you.”
“He’s always going to be your dad,” Grant says. “I want to understand what you’re going through so I can help you.”
“But I don’t have to just jump when he says he wants to see me.”
Grant glances at the time. It’s nine. “True. But I’m not actually waking up this early. I’m going back to sleep—it’s a matter of principle in the off-season.” He reaches for my arm, rubs his hand softly down my skin. “If you want to see your dad, go see him right now.”
“I want to be there for him, but I also want to help him in healthy ways. That’s what I’m trying to work on.”
“Then this is your chance. Just go get a cup of coffee. Maybe this is part of what you need. To know you can see him without getting pulled into his stuff.”
“You think so?”
“I do.” Grant’s decisive as he answers, and his certainty seals it for me.
“You want me to come back?”
He rolls his eyes. “You better. I need to get my lips on your dick before you leave for New York.” He sinks down into the pillow. “I’m going back to sleep.”
I reply to my dad, then I swing my legs out of bed and pull on underwear and jeans. I pad into the bathroom and brush my teeth using the extra toothbrush he gave me last night. Then I return to the bed, press a kiss to Grant’s forehead. “I’ll be back in forty-five.”