Page 176 of Built to Fall
It cuts through the air in a neat spiral, arching just enough so Grant barely has to reach for it. When it lands perfectly in his hands, he looks down at it in complete shock.
The throw wasn’t insanely far. A bit over twenty yards, but for my first pass, I’d call it a success.
“Still skeptical?” I cross my arms, tilting my head.
There’s something about the way he saunters back over to me, ball in hand as he looks me right in the eye, that has my knees going weak. It doesn’t help that his stupidly defined abs are all my eyes care to focus on.
I’d like to be cocky right now. I’d love to laugh in his face and say,“Ha! Told you!”But the words don’t leave my mouth as he gets closer.
Grant stops right in front of me. His chest is rising and falling, even though he barely broke a jog. We both know he’s doing it to make me feel important, and my heart soars because of it.
It may seem childish, but there’s something so sincere about someonewantingto make you feel like the most impressive person in the room. Grant could easily show me up, and despite his usual arrogance, he doesn’t want to.
“You’re lethal,” he says, so close now that the football is pressed between us. “God,I’m so into you right now. It’s seriously unfair.”
I laugh, not at all shocked by his bluntness. “You really know how to flatter a girl.”
He reaches out with an inked hand, placing it protectively over the side of my neck before kissing my temple. My eyes fall closed at the way he makes every nerve in my body settle instead of panic.
Grant Vandenberg has successfully rewired my mind. He’s made it easier for me to be myself again, not because he’s fixed me, but because he’s proved to me that vulnerability and trust are not things I need to run in the opposite direction of.
He’s opened a whole new world of softness. He’s shown me that closeness isn’t always something that can unravel a person.
“Want to keep going?” he asks, fingers grazing my collarbone.
My shoulders hitch, but his grip stays strong. “I don’t want to show you up or anything.”
“I’ll take it easy on you,” he says sarcastically, a bright smile plastering his face.
“You can pretend you’re not trying if it helps keep your ego intact,” I retort, taking the football out of the crook of his arm. “Whatever helps you sleep at night.”
He takes a few steps back, not bothering to hide the way he looks me up and down. “I think we both knowIhelpyousleep at night.”
I lunge forward just to shove him. He barely moves. “There’s not going to be any room for me in your bed at the rate your head’s growing.”
“Throw the damn ball, Eva.”
The nickname hurtles through my head, pressing my lungs against my rib cage like a linebacker.
“Shit,” Grant curses. “Sorry. I didn’t mean?—”
The first time he tried calling me Eva was the day I showed up at the training facility pretending to be his girlfriend. I immediately shut it down.
“Evangelina was my mom’s name too,” I tell him, my gaze fixated far away on the goalpost. “She sawGilmore Girlsand thought passing on her name to her daughter was a good idea. Everyone called her Eva and me Lina.”
“I’m sorry,” he repeats, stepping closer again. “It slipped.”
No one has ever called me Eva. It was reserved for my mom.Dr. Eva Everhart.
After she died, it was a reminder too sharp to face. It’s why I snapped at Grant that day.
Now that he’s said it, though, it makes me realize how long it’s been since I’ve heard her name out loud. Not just written in a eulogy or on a flower card.
It makes me wonder if this is my chance. My chance to rewrite the ending I’ve been running from—to make the loss of her life about her and not about me.
It’s also what makes me tell him, “You can call me Eva.”
For a long time, I thought that not thinking about her would be the easiest way to recuperate from her loss—to get back to my normal life. My brain doesn’t have the capability to forget, but eventryingseems to be its own kind of loss.
