Page 146 of Triple Play
Too late. He’s pulling all of us together into this tangle of arms and bodies and laughter.
“We’re gonna make this work,” Jordie’s saying. “All of us. Together.”
“Together,” I repeat.
When we finally break apart, Grant’s watching me with something soft in his expression. Something vulnerable.
“What?”
“Nothing. Just—” He shakes his head. “I spent two years running from you. I’m still not sure I deserve this.”
“You don’t,” I tell him, then smile. “Lucky for you I love you anyway.”
His answering smile is small but real. “Lucky me.”
“Lucky all of us,” Wyatt corrects.
We spend the next hour walking through the house, making plans, arguing about furniture placement, and wallpaper. Jordie insists the kitchen needs bar stools. Wyatt wants blackout curtains in the master. Grant’s already planning where to put his hockey equipment so it’s “accessible but not intrusive.”
By the time we’re standing in the driveway again—me by my car, them by their rentals—it’s past nine.
“I still can’t believe you did this,” I say.
“Believe it,” Grant replies. “You’re stuck with us now.”
“When’s move-in day?”
“Furniture arrives next Friday,” Jordie says. “You can move in then if you want.”
I’m smiling so hard my face hurts. “Next weekend then.”
Grant pulls me against his chest one more time. He kisses my forehead and steps back.
I get in my car and look at all three of them standing in the driveway of our house.
Our house.
I drive back to my tiny studio, and it feels even smaller now. Emptier.
Seven days.
In seven days, I get to come home.
Really home.
With them.
I fall asleep that night still holding the house key, the metal warm against my palm, and dream about Sunday pasta nights, early morning workouts, and late nights studying with Grant overthinking beside me.
Seven days.
I can wait seven days.
EPILOGUE I
COMING HOME
Grant
