Page 143 of Triple Play
“We did, though,” Grant says. His hands are on my waist. Steady. Sure. “We called our agents. Made the moves. Signed the contracts. It’s done.”
“But what if—what if you regret it? What if being closer makes you realize—”
“Realize what?” His voice is gentle. Patient. “That we love you? That’s not gonna change because we’re in the same city, Elise.”
“But the distance thing—we were managing—”
“We were surviving,” Jordie corrects. “There’s a difference. And I’m tired of surviving. I want to live.”
My chest feels too tight. Too full.
“Show her the rest,” Wyatt says quietly.
Grant takes my hand again and leads me down the hall to the master bedroom.
It’s huge. Windows on two walls. Space for—for all of us. Actually, all of us.
“We figured we’d need a big bed,” Jordie says. “Like, custom-made big. Because fitting four people in a king was—”
“A nightmare,” Wyatt finishes.
“I was gonna say cozy.”
“You were not.”
I’m laughing and crying at the same time. “You really did this. You really—all of this—”
“We really did,” Grant confirms. “There’s more. Come on.”
The tour continues. The basement gym where Wyatt’s already planning our workouts. The backyard where Jordie wants to build a fire pit for Sunday pasta nights. There are several guest rooms too.
We end up back in the kitchen. The four of us standing in the middle of this empty space that’s somehow already starting to feel like home.
“I can’t believe you did this,” I say again.
“Believe it,” Grant replies.
“We’ve been planning it for months,” Jordie admits. “Since—God, since January? Had to time everything perfectly. The trades, the call-up, the house hunt—”
“You’ve been planning this since January and didn’t tell me?”
“Wanted it to be a surprise,” Wyatt says.
“I’m surprised. I’m very surprised. I’m—” I don’t know what I am. Overwhelmed. Grateful. So full of love I might actually explode. “What if I’d said no?”
The three of them exchange glances.
“We didn’t consider that option,” Grant says.
“That’s very presumptuous.”
“Is it though?” Jordie’s grinning. “You love us. We love you. This makes sense.”
“This is insane.”
“Best kind of insane.”
I look around at the empty kitchen. At the three of them watching me with expressions that range from confident (Jordie) to cautiously hopeful (Wyatt) to trying-not-to-panic (Grant).
