Page 28 of Not In The Christmas Plan
Grant doesn’t interrupt. He just watches me, the fading sunlight softening his face. The seatbelt, however, stays tight across his chest, refusing to let him turn more than his head.
“And it’s not like you did anything wrong. If we’re being real, you saved me from a lifetime of regret. It’s just…” I close my eyes as the emotions of that night crash back. My heart doesn’t ache anymore, but I still remember the sting—Grant’s voice, resolute as I denied what he was trying to tell me, the proof on his phone of Eddie’s arm around another woman at a freakin’ basketball game no less. A heavy breath escapes me. “I really thought I had everything figured out, you know? All my hopes and dreams were tied to a future with him, and to finding out he didn’t feel the same was humiliating and devastating all at once. My life blew up, and then there you were, being all kind and gentle and funny, trying to make me smile when all I wanted to do was break down. My feelings were always just so jumbled around you, and then after Dad died”—my voice catches. “It was like the grief never stopped piling on.”
I open my eyes to find Grant still straining to move against the seatbelt, though it's obvious he's trying to do so inconspicuously.
A soft laugh escapes me and I reach over. My fingers brush his arm as I unlatch the buckle. “There. These old trucks can be finicky.”
He takes in a full breath and is finally able to face me fully. It's more intense, but he deserves to be able to look at the person apologizing to him.
“I know none of this excuses my behavior,” I continue, “but I hope it explains it. I am sorry, Grant. And you were right the other day—it was easier to push you away. Not that you actually stayed away,” I add in a weak attempt to lighten the mood.
Grant’s face is unreadable until finally the corner of his mouth lifts in a slow smile. “Does that mean you’re done trying to push me away?”
My mouth opens to respond, but nothing comes out. Am I done? It is exhausting fighting this pull I feel toward him.
He chuckles low and dangerously, knowing exactly how flustered he makes me. But of course, that’s not enough for him. His hand finds mine, his fingers brushing over my knuckles before his thumb traces slow circles against my nails. The contact sends a shiver through me, steadying and undoing me all at once.
“Eve, I appreciate and accept your apology. Losing Eddie and your dad hit you hard, I get that. I’m sorry you were hurt by me telling you about Eddie, but I’m not sorry for telling you the truth. He was never good enough for you.”
“Thank you.”
“I remember what it was like when my world turned upside down.”
I don’t say anything, silently urging him to keep going.
“When I got drafted by the Spurs, I thought I had it all lined up with fame, championships, a fat shoe deal.” He pauses. “A trophy wife.”
“Oh my gosh, be so for real.”
“I am being real! I told you I want a wife and kids. And, well, I want her to look good too.”
I shake my head. Grant and his forever jokes.
As quickly as it comes though, his laughter fades and his face sobers. “Then I ruptured my Achilles. Physically, I recovered with surgeries and therapy. But realizing I’d never return to the level of performanceand that my professional career was over...” His voice trails off. “It nearly broke me.”
“How did you come back? How did you find yourself through the pain? I’ve managed to keep going, but it still feels like pieces of me are missing. I’m so afraid of losing anyone or anything else,” I whisper.
Grant squeezes my hand. “It wasn’t easy. I mean, basketball was life. It was all I cared about since high school. More than my family, as much as I hate to admit it. I missed birthdays, weddings, holidays, all while thinking that once I made it big, I’d take care of them and make up for lost time. Then when it all ended, I figured I didn’t have the right to call them. Like I’d wasted my shot with them too.”
“You could never, Grant. Your family loves you.”
“I know.” His voice drops, his pain raw and unfiltered. “But I didn’t believe it then. I thought I had to push through on my own. It wasn’t until my sister came tome, of all people, that I was able to look beyond what I’d lost and see what I still had. I realized I could still show up for everyone I cared about. That’s why I’m here now,” he adds. “For Braxton, Ivy, and the twins. For you.”
Warmth spreads through me, filling every corner of my chest. I knew Grant was more than his jokes and easy charm, and here he is, proving that layer after layer resides a man determined to show up for his family. A man who never wanted to hurt me but cared enough to tell me the truth despite the pain. A man who refuses to let me push him away.
I take in a deep breath, feeling the shift in the air, the way it makes my stomach swirl with nerves and affection and something dangerously close to hope.
I let out a shaky laugh, carefully untangling my hand from his to get us back on the road. “Well, I’m glad you want to show up for me, but I’ll tell you right now—I’m no trophy wife.”
“Fine with me,” he says, voice relaxed and warm. “As long as you make pie, I’ll take you.”
Heat crawls up my neck and I have to bite back the smile pulling at my lips. I keep my eyes fixed on every car, every traffic sign in the distance. Because if I look at him now, I’m certain Grant will see just how much I want to be taken.
Chapter twelve
The sun has disappeared by the time Grant and I make it home. Christmas lights dominate the street, turning the block into a glimmering winter wonderland in hues of white, yellow, blue, and purple.
We wrestle the tree inside and set it up in the same rustic tin stand Dad picked out years ago. After trimming the branches to make it look more uniform, I scrunch my nose at all of the needles on the floor and wonder who’s going to sweep them up. Grant on the other hand studies his sap-sticky fingers, apparently amused by how they cling together then snap apart.
