Page 63 of The Game Plan
He’s quiet, and my eyes sting. “I don’t want to rely on anyone. I’ve spent too long being my own safety net, and maybe it’s selfish, but I’m scared to let someone be that for me. If that makes me selfish, then so be it. But I can’t watch someone else leave me. Leaveourlives. I refuse to be cast aside when something else better comes along.”
“You’re not selfish,” he says softly. “You’re scared, and so am I. This isn’t how I envisioned it either, Savannah, but I can’t imagine my life without you. Let me help. Let my family help.Let me in.”
His voice cracks on the last part.
I don’t know what to say. Exhaustion creeps into my bones, shutting my brain down. Am I seriously going to cave? This idea is crazy—absolutely nuts—but deep down, a part of me is screamingyes. I know Grant. I trust him. Maybe it’s idiotic, but…what if it all works out?
“I know you want to do this on your own, and I respect the hell out of you for that, but let this benefit you in more ways. The university’s insurance is incredible. You wouldn’t have to work so much—hell, you wouldn’t have to work at all, but I’m not taking that option away from you. You wouldn’t have to leave Jellybean at a daycare with people you don’t know. My mom can help babysit. Bret will, too; she’s already offered.”
I scoff, eyes widening at the admission. “Babysit a baby who isn’t even their relative.”
“Not by blood, but by love. Savannah, that’s what she is. She might not be mine. We might not share the same DNA, but that doesn’t matter. I love her. I will always loveher, blood or not.”
Tears well in my eyes, and this time, I let them fall. He loves my baby. He’s shown it time and time again, but hearing it, that’s something entirely different.
As I wipe away the stream of tears, he reaches underneath the couch and slides out a small velvet box, making my stomach plummet.
“Oh my god,” I whisper on a gasp.
“I love you, Savannah Holycross.”
My eyes widen, and I’m hit with the realization he hasn’t said those words since we’ve been living together. Sure, he’s mentioned it over the years, but it’s never held the weight as it does now. There’s no doubt in my mind that Grant Campbell loves me. It’s not only written all over his face, but it’s in the way he cooks for me, gave me and my daughter as safe place to live. How he rubs my feet and sits without complaint as I watch hours of my favorite TV show. The way he speaks to me, touches me, remembers my favorite things.
They say actions speak louder than words, and in Grant’s case, no truer words have ever been spoken.
“It shouldn’t surprise you, Peach. I’ve loved you from afar for four years.”
“I’ve loved you too, Grant.” I swallow down a lump of emotions. “Deep down, it’s always been you.”
He leans forward, our foreheads touching as we sit in this moment. This moment of raw vulnerability we haven’t had since the night I asked him to just be friends. When I laid out my plans and dreams, and while they didn’t have him in them, it was never the end for us.
Grant pulls back, taking my hands in his. “I’ve waited patiently, watched you chase your dreams, and now I want tostand by your side in your present. I love your daughter, even though she isn’t even earthside yet. I want to be there when she’s born, witness her first cries, cheer her on when she takes her first steps. I want to hear her first words and share in her excitement when she loses her first tooth. I want the messy moments, the long nights, and short years. I want all of it. With you, Peach.”
Grant pauses, opening the box. The tears blind my vision as my throat closes. With the sleeve of my cardigan, I soak the wetness and gaze at the timeless ring inside.
When did he find time to get this?
“Will you marry me?” he asks, his eyes searching mine.
And like that, my world tilts, and I'm rendered speechless.
Time doesn’t freeze…itstretches. My ears ring as my chest rises and falls, sharp and shallow. I refuse to have a panic attack right now. His voice, the ring—thegorgeous, perfectring—the dim lighting of the apartment, everything tilts like I'm standing on the edge of a cliff.
Say something.
Move your mouth and say something,anything, Savannah.
The words stick behind the wall I built long ago—for protection. For survival.
Because if I let myself believe he means it, truly means it, and I take that leap, what happens if he lets go? Lets us go?
I can see it all so clearly. Saturdays, cheering on Grant from the spouses' suite on game days. Meal prepping on Sundays with Jellybean in her highchair, watching us chop veggies and dancing to John Lennon. Us rooting for her as she stands and takes her first steps. Father-daughter dances. I seehimloving us with his whole being. This is the man who touched me this morning like I was something holy. Who shields us from the world’s ugliness.
The silence wraps around us like a fog. I sit, stunned, unmoving.
More tears escape, my mouth dry. I choke out a strangled sob because I know my answer.
Swiping at my cheeks, I glance down at my fingers and find black marks from where my mascara has run and smeared. I forgot to put on my waterproof mascara, but in my defense, I didn’t realize I’d be having a life-changing moment today. I can only imagine what a mess I might look like in front of Grant, on the day he proposes, no less.
