26. Declan

I'm only doing this for Holden.

My teammate is checking out rings, and I'm tagging along to be a good sport—and because he hates driving. After our Sunday game, we pile into my car, and we head to the East Bay. We're not unknown on this side of the bridge, but there's less chance we'll be spotted, especially since he made an appointment at a jewelry shop known for discretion.

The store owner meets us at the back entrance. She's a petite blonde with a teacup chihuahua tucked under her arm—also a blonde.

"This is Gigi," the woman says, petting the dog as we follow her to a private office. "And I'm Pepper. We're looking forward to helping you find the perfect ring, Holden."

"Thanks, Pepper," Holden says, and Gigi lifts her chin, shooting him a haughty stare.

"And Gigi," I add with due deference to the pup.

"Smart man," Pepper says with a laugh.

A few minutes later, after she brings out an assortment of engagement rings for Holden to peruse, the woman then turns to me. "Anyone special in your life?" she asks.

Holden chuckles without looking away from the rings. "Just a little bit."

"Oh?" The woman and her dog tilt their heads in identical expressions of curiosity. "Do tell."

I glance at the sparkly diamonds Holden is checking out, then swing my gaze back to Pepper. Seems silly not to at least look at options. Since we're here, and all.

Taking a deep breath, I tell her, "I would actually love to see some platinum bands for my boyfriend."

"Wonderful. I have lots of those. It's a new specialty for the store. My father just married his partner. It was such a lovely ceremony. Even my mother thought so."

I love these stories, no matter when they happen in someone's life. "Good for him, for figuring out what he wanted."

She brings her free hand to her heart. "After all these years." She sighs happily. "Let me gather some options."

When Pepper disappears to the storefront, Holden turns to me, a Cheshire cat grin on his face. "I knew you weren't here just for moral support."

"Is it so inconceivable I was just coming along as your trusted friend and teammate?"

"Yes," Holden says. "And I was right. You had ulterior motives."

I sigh, rolling my eyes. "Fine. Maybe I did."

He wiggles his brows. "So, when are you going to ask him?"

That is a good question.

I'm not at all afraid to marry Grant, but can I buy him a ring if I don't know if I want to have kids someday?

That's another excellent, but more complicated, question.

That night, after I whip up an omelet for dinner, I check my phone to see if Grant's landed yet. There's no text from him, though he should be here soon. I sink onto the sex couch, turn to the new memoir I picked up, and dive into a story about a journalist who battled a stutter his whole life.

I'm lost in this tale of perseverance when my phone pings with a new text.

Grant:Did you feel the gravitational force of me landing in San Francisco?

Declan:Like my dick's a magnet for you?

Grant:Yes. Mine is hard just being in the same city as you. See you in thirty, hottie.

I'm about to reply when another message falls on top of Grant's. I wince, wishing I didn't feel compelled to open it. But the preview is like a five-car pile-up on the side of the road, and I have to look.

Dad:Guess what???

I hate clicking on it, but I have to peek.

Dad:I was going to call you but figured it was only fair to give you a heads-up first, since I know you hate surprises...

So why surprise me, Dad?I ask myself, but he keeps typing, saving me from having to reply.

Dad:But . . . here goes . . .

Dad:I think I'm going to ask Tricia to marry me!

What the hell? I hold the phone at arm's length, hoping a different angle will change the note. It still says the same thing, but this can't be happening.

His texts come thick and fast like smoke from a steam train—the one I worry might be about to mow me down.

Dad:We broke up a while back but got back together last week, and it felt so right. Want to be my best man?

I shake my head, over and over. No. For so many reasons, no. But can I tell him that?

Declan: You haven't even asked her yet. Shouldn't you do that first before lining up the wedding party?

Dad:Don't be such a negative Nellie. Say you will. That's sort of poetic, isn't it? You being your old man's best man. This one is gonna last, I know it.

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."

"Neither are you," he says, holding me tighter.

"I'm more than a little messed up. You're the only one I've ever let in."

"And I'm still here. But you also let your mom in, and your therapist. That's huge."

"And what did I do tonight? I turned off my phone," I say heavily.

"And that's awesome."

I snap my gaze up. "It is?"

"Yes. You needed to disengage, but instead of just shutting down, you let me know you needed to go dark, so I wouldn't worry. Dude, you handled it great." He rubs his hand up and down my arm as if warming me. "Look, my parents are out of my life, but I have my grandparents. The only reason you think you're messed up is that your father is still an addict. That doesn't make you messed up and me not. It just makes you human."

"But what if I mess things up with our kids—like he did all the fucking time?" I ask.

Grant sits up, squeezes my hand tighter. "We'll deal with it together."

"Will we?" Maybe this is what I've needed—his assurance that he's entirely in this with me. That he'll be my parachute if I need one.

"We will," Grant says, then adds, "when and if you're ready, and only then."

I let out a long, grateful sigh. I get it now. I understand what's been taking me so long. Fear has been holding me back. But I don't have to be afraid. Or at least, I don't have to worry alone.

Still, all this talking has me ready to downshift to a lighter subject. "Want to know what I was doing right before you got home?"

"I know it wasn't getting naked and lubing up," he says with a pout.

"Don't worry. The night is young." I reach for my laptop, flip it open. "Looking at places in Hawaii to buy."

"Show me," he says with eager eyes.

I click on a browser window. "I thought I could get us a place in Hawaii instead of Miami. When we go in November, do you want to look for a place together?" I ask.

Maybe I'm asking too much. Buying real estate in Hawaii is a big step when I haven't committed to a family someday. But perhaps I need to know if it's one he would take.

Rubbing his palms together, Grant chuckles as he checks out the pictures of a beach home with a gorgeous ocean view. "We're so domestic. We're going to Hawaii for a vacation, and we're going to look at real estate."

"That is kind of domestic," I agree.

"I like it," he adds.

"The Hawaii home or being domestic?"

"Both," Grant says, kissing my forehead.

I put the computer away and cup his cheeks so I can say something hard. "Talking to you about this is easier than thinking about it on my own."

That's what I should have been doing all along. But I'm glad I started tonight.