Page 110 of Dream Chaser
I groan, leaning my head back against the porch swing. “She’s got her hands in a hundred things—her family, her business, her community. She’s building something.”
“And what are you building?” she asks gently.
“Hell if I know,” I admit. “I’ve always had football. It was everything. But now … I see her planning gardens, and youth programs, and a rooftop covered in vertically-grown vegetables, and I’m sitting there, wondering if I’m enough. If showing up and offering to carry heavy things counts as contribution.”
“You’re more than that,” she says firmly. “You show up for people. You take care of what you love. And you wouldn’t be asking yourself that question if she wasn’t worth the answer.”
I look at her, jaw clenched. “So, what do I do?”
She sets her glass down and reaches over, pressing her warm, veiny hand to my cheek. “You keep showing up. Not like a shadow, but like a man who means to be there. Don’t crowd her, don’t claim her. But don’t disappear, either. You want that girl to be your partner? Show her what partnership looks like.”
I blink back something suspicious in my eyes. “Why you gotta be so damn good at this?”
She smiles slow, her eyes crinkling in the corners. “Because I’ve lived a love that real—bone-deep, messy, and beautiful.”
The wind shifts, warm with salt and Gulf breeze, and I swear I can already smell her shampoo on it. My girl. My Iz.
“All right then,” I whisper.
“Grand?” I speak quietly because, as much as I don’t wanna hurt her, I need to know.
She tilts her head in question.
“Would you do it all over again, knowing you were going to lose him?”
Tears fill her eyes, and I feel like an ass for asking until she smiles.
“Yes, a million times over.” She hugs me tight. “And you, my boy, need to remind yourself that your sister’s, my granddaughter’s, death was not your fault.”
“Know that,” I say, eyes stinging. And I do, even though they made me feel like it was.
“You were five, a baby yourself. They blamed you because they are?—”
“I know.”
We sit there long enough that the sun has disappeared.
Grand smiles and leans back into the swing, “Now tell me, baby, does she eat like a bird, or does she eat like someone I could trust with my deviled egg recipe?”
I grin. “Let’s just say … you better make a double batch.”
Chapter 23
Day One
Izzy
Iwake up at that time of day before dawn breaks. Before I even sit up, I’m reaching for the phone. Rolling on my back, I stare at my screen because I am waiting impatiently for him to crack first and send a message. He hasn’t.
I sure as hell won’t. Why? He made it a competition. First one to crack owes the other a favor to use whenever or wherever they want; nothing can be denied.
Then I do something stupid. I open social media and watch stories.
He posted!
It’s a photo taken last night: Griffon kissing his Grand’s cheek with the sun setting in the background. The light’s golden, soft, warm—stunning.
He captioned it:Sunset, sweet tea, and my favorite girl. Day one. Off-season.
