Page 167 of Built to Fall
“I’m supplying grilled cheese—not for the actual baby shower since she’s catering food, but for the rest of the weekend. I’ve also agreed to scratch her and Claire’s backs every night.”
Even if he weren’t allowed at the baby shower, he still would have done both those things. I’m sure of it. “How did Claire end up benefiting?”
Just as I suspect, he says, “I couldn’t say no to her, and Abby’s loyalty is fierce. She made sure Claire was included.”
A tiny ounce of realization stirs inside of me, and it makes my stomach drop. I wonder how well I’ll be able to sleep at the lake house if Grant is in his sisters’ bedrooms. It feels selfish, but it also fills me with a bit of dread.
This is exactly what I didn’t want to happen—why I originally wanted to solve my sleep problems on my own. I never wanted to become dependent on Grant to get a good night's sleep.
Because needing Grant to fall asleep feels a lot like clinging to a life raft I didn’t realize I’d attained. And now I’m terrified that if he steps away—just for a night, just to be a brother instead of my anchor—I’ll lose my footing and drift so far out I won’t be able to find the shore again.
I don’t want to be dependent on him in a way that makes my peace contingent on his presence.
It’s not something I’d ever say out loud—definitely not something I’d fault him for. He’d never make me feel like a burden.
But still, it lingers.
The quiet awareness that I’ve started to associate safety with the shape of him beside me. That my body exhales differently when he’s near.
It’s not a conflict. Not really. Just something I tuck away to think about later.
Because I don’t want toneedhim to fall asleep.
I want to choose him.
And sometimes, the lines between the two feel blurrier than I’d like.
“I’m going to take a shower,” I say suddenly, lifting my head from my pillow and stumbling off the mattress.
Grant sits abruptly, watching as I make a beeline for the bathroom. “Pretty girl, it’s not even five a.m.”
“It’s fine. I’ll probably go to sleep early tonight.” I try not to make it sound like it’s an obligation for him as well, so I add, “You can go back to sleep, though.”
He doesn’t. Instead, he stands, messily making the bed before following me toward the bathroom.
I stop abruptly when I hear someone in the kitchen through my bedroom door, and it causes Grant to run into me. His bare chest is now pressed firmly against my back as his hand shoots out to steady me by the arm, making sure I don’t topple over from the impact.
It’s probably Kara waking up to go to the city for a photoshoot of some sort. Meredith ended up at Braxton’s apartment last night, and Eden wouldn’t be up this early if her life depended on it.
We don’t move for a second. Almost like we’re tied to this moment, scared to ruin it with any sudden movement.
Grant’s breath is a warm fan against the back of my neck as he bends down to hook his chin over my shoulder, moving his hand further up my bicep and squeezing.
Eventually, I whisper, “She’s going to use the rest of the good oat milk, isn’t she?”
It’s the only thing that keeps my coffee from tasting anything like coffee. That, and the absurd amount of creamer I tend to use.
He laughs, knowing me all too well. “I have the same kind at my place. I’ll run down the hall and grab it while you shower.”
I nod, moving toward the bathroom while he exits my bedroom. I hear the sound of the espresso machine starting up and Grant calling out a quiet, “Morning, Kara.”
Knowing what we know now, after the article inNotes of New Haven,I can’t help but wonder how Grant truly feels toward Kara.
He wears his worry like a second skin, and now that he’s told me about the pressure he feels to keep people safe, I’ve come to an understanding of how these types of things can make him paranoid.
Grant would never judge Kara. If anything, he’s going to make it his mission to make sure she’s alright.
Meanwhile, I turn on the water and step into the scalding spray. I take way longer than I mean to.
