Page 106 of The Game Plan

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The deep timber rumbles from behind me.Sunshine.

I look over my shoulder and find familiar hazel eyes staring at me, concern etched across his features. His baseball cap is pulled low over his brow, which has a slight furrow, telling me this isn’t some coincidence he’s in the social work building at the same time I’m getting done with class. This isn’t a friendly ‘howwas your first day back, let’s grab a coffee’ run-in. No, this is something worse. Something bad.

“Is it Lennon?” I ask the question breathlessly, my chest seizing.

He shakes his head before gripping my elbow and pulling me to the side. “My mom called me—”

I tune out everything he’s saying as my stomach plummets. I knew it. I knew if I left Lennon alone, something would happen to her.

A warm hand cups my cheeks, tilting my head until I’m staring up at him. “Savannah, did you hear a word I said?”

I shake my head, and he lets out a sigh. “My mom called. She said you’ve called and texted her a dozen times since you left home.”

I shrug. “I was worried.”

“She said you sounded panicked.”

I scoff. “I’m notpanicked. I’m worried. There’s a difference.”

Without saying a word, he glances around us. He must find what he’s looking for because he’s leading me down the hallway. I follow without a word as we pass students. Grant’s hand is grounding against mine as he navigates us around people going in the opposite direction.

A janitor’s closet comes into view, and Grant pushes us inside the dark and crammed space. He flips the light switch at the same time he’s shutting the door behind us. The lock flicks as he pulls me into his muscular chest. With his arms holding me, I melt into his touch, giving him the weight I’ve been carrying as the floodgates open. Tears stream down my face as I hiccup a sob.

“I can’t breathe when I’m away from her,” I admit. “I can’t think because every worst-case scenario runs through my mind.”

He rubs small, soothing circles on my back. “She’s safe, Peach. My mom’s got her. She raised two of us, and we turned out fine.”

“That’s debatable,” I mumble into his chest. “Have you seen your sister make those weird facial expressions? It’s a little concerning.

He chuckles but doesn’t disagree. We both know I’m joking.

“You know it’s the anxiety talking,” he says, kissing my temple. “It’s normal with postpartum to have anxiety, but I promise you, I won’t let anything bad happen to our daughter.”

“I don’t have postpartum anxiety,” I snap, pulling out of his hold. This irrational rage courses through my veins. “It’s a normal reaction to be concerned about my daughter.”

“Our daughter,” he corrects.

I roll my eyes. “Just ask your mom to return my texts.”

I’m over this conversation. I’m tired of the worry etched on his face. I miss the way he looked at me with desire, the way his eyes darkened to amber, like he was picturing all the ways he’d touch me and do unspeakable things. Once I had Lennon, everything changed. I know my body isn’t the way it used to be—not in shape, not tan. My skin carries a few stretch marks, some loose skin, but I’m still me. Unless he doesn’t think so anymore.

I brush past him, ready to get out of this space. It’s too tight and I feel claustrophobic, but his hand shoots out, circling my wrist. I look over my shoulder and our eyes lock.

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?” I snap.

“For whatever made you mad. I love you, Savannah.”

I shrug, flicking the lock and twisting the knob. Cold air from the hallway rushes in, cooling the moment. “I’ll see you at home.”

His shoulders slump with sadness—disappointment, maybe. I don’t have time to dwell on his feelings. I’m angry, and I don’t know why. My emotions are a constant mind-fuck, shifting in an instant, and I never know which version of myself will emerge.

The day can’t go by fast enough. By three o’clock, I’m relieving Emily from Grandma duties and ready to snuggle my baby. We spend the next two hours playing on the floor with Lennon’s tummy time mat while I read her books. Then we watch an episode ofCriminal Mindswhile she kicks her legs and plays with her blanket, the cat Grant bought her beside her.

Eventually, she dozes, and I take the time to reheat leftovers Emily cooked for us. She’s an incredible mom, and I wish my mom were in the picture to share these moments with. I don’t take her help for granted. I just hate that I can’t stay home with my daughter.

With the warmed plate of food, I carry it back to the couch. Snuggling in the corner, I set my plate on the cushion while firing up my laptop. I open a tab for my school email, then another for Zillow.