Chapter 21 #3
“Because I shouldn’t be the one making that decision.
It should be my dad, his son. But he doesn’t answer his phone.
It’s been months since I even got a text from them.
So, I’m left alone, trying to make decisions that might seem small now but could lead to much bigger ones later.
Like, what if Grandpa needs serious medical help?
I’m not sure I can make the decisions for him that would come with it.
I’m not sure I can handle that.” My voice breaks on the last words, and I pause to collect myself.
It’s only when Amelia reaches out her hand to squeeze my forearm that I manage to push out the last part.
“And I know I’ll likely be on my own when that time comes too. It just… paralyzes me.”
Sharing this, laying bare my vulnerabilities isn’t something I do. But doing it with her makes it less terrifying.
Amelia looks at me with a reassuring smile.
“But you don’t have to do that on your own.
” I open my mouth to answer, to tell her I am very much alone in this because my parents don’t give a fuck, but she continues, “I mean, Oliver was the one with the idea, right? And I bet Misha has an opinion on it too.”
“Yes,” I admit, acknowledging that they have been there for Grandpa and me since we moved to Seattle.
“Okay, so you’re not alone, and you don’t have to make these future decisions alone. And you know what the best part is?” she asks, her voice lifting with a hint of optimism.
“What?” I find myself genuinely curious about her perspective.
“That this current decision isn’t yours to make either.”
“But—”
Amelia cuts me off. “It sounds like your grandpa is getting a little weak and a little old. But it also sounds like he’s still very able to make his own decisions.”
“True, but he’s stubborn…”
“Oh well, now we know where you got it from,” Amelia teases, and I narrow my eyes at her, but her playful tone pulls a small, reluctant laugh from me.
“Talk to him, lay out the facts and options. It’s still his life. He should be able to decide how he wants to live it,” she advises gently.
“True, but he should take us into consideration because I’m worried about him all the damn time…” I start, frustration creeping in.
“Then tell him. Did you tell him how you feel?”
“No,” I admit, realizing I’ve been holding back.
I’ve been holding back so much out of fear.
“See? Talk to him, tell him your reasons, and maybe he’ll see the medical reasons and the emotional ones.” Amelia’s words are simple, but they strike a chord. Her advice sounds so clear, so rational.
“Oliver is bringing Morgan over tonight, and maybe she can talk to Grandpa as soon as she has settled in. She works as a live-in nurse, after all,” I muse, watching Peanut playfully chase another dog out of the corner of my eye.
I glance at Amelia and notice her expression shift slightly, something fleeting that I can’t quite catch. Then it clicks when she hesitantly asks, “Morgan?”
Ah, fuck.
Oliver and Amelia haven’t really spoken much, and she knows next to nothing about him—which is definitely something Oliver should work on before the girl of his dreams ends up thinking he’s in a relationship with his sister.
Well, not like that.
Better not let her jump to conclusions.
“Morgan is Oliver’s sister,” I clarify, noting the relief wash over her face.
Interesting.
Why did her relief send a pang through my chest?
“Oh, okay. Yeah, maybe she can explain what a live-in nurse encompasses. But you should talk to your grandpa first about why it’s important to you.”
I nod, and we watch Peanut in silence for a while longer, the peaceful sounds of the park surrounding us until I break the silence between us. “Come on, let’s bring him back.”
As we stand, Amelia groans and rubs her lower back, her discomfort immediately sparking my concern again. I turn to her, my brows knitting together in worry. “That bad?”
“No,” she lies, the tightness around her eyes that follows betraying her words.
I step closer and pull her to face me. My hands find her lower back, and I start to rub soothing circles. “Here?” I murmur against her ear.
“Yes,” she breathes out, the tension in her body easing as she melts into my touch. Her forehead rests against my chest, and for a moment, the world shrinks to just this—her warmth against me, the silkiness of her hair brushing my chin. I want her to stay here, like this, forever.
Lowering my head, I whisper in her ear, “Maybe you shouldn’t walk up mountains if the mountain is the one walking over you.”
“You’re so funny,” she murmurs sarcastically into my chest, but another groan softens the playful edge in her voice as I dig my fingers in a little deeper, finding the knots of tension and working them out.
As I continue to massage her back, the closeness becomes almost too much to bear.
I lean down, unable to resist the pull, and plant a feathery kiss on the spot where her neck meets her shoulder.
The scent of her skin—like milky London Fog tea, soothing and familiar—fills my senses, and my heart races faster at the intimacy of the moment.
I know I’m treading on dangerous ground, but I can’t stop myself from wanting to be this close to her.
She moans when I hit a particularly tense spot, and the sound sends a jolt through me, stirring memories of the same sound she made while she was playing with her toy, making herself come.
The thought alone is enough to make my cock twitch with need, and my mind starts to wander, imagining what it would be like to make her come with my own hands, to feel her tremble beneath my touch.
God, I want to make her come. I want to let my hand slide around to the front of her jeans, let it slip inside…
Peanut’s woof draws me out of my thoughts, a reminder of the real world awaiting us beyond this intimate bubble.
Get a grip, Grey.
“Come on,” I whisper, then pull my hands away from her, noting her slight pout as she straightens her glasses, so I add, “We can go on another walk whenever you want to.”
We leash Peanut and begin our trek back.
After a fifteen-minute walk, we arrive at my childhood home—a two-story building brimming with nostalgia.
As we step through the front door, the familiar scent of aged wood and memories hit me.
“Grandpa, we’re back!” I announce while Peanut dashes toward his water bowl.
His enthusiasm results in more water splashing on the floor than he manages to drink.
Next to me, Amelia shifts uncomfortably, her fingers twiddling with the seam of her sweater—a clear sign of her nerves. Drawing her closer, I lower my voice, trying to offer reassurance. “Just say the word, and we’re out of here, but I’d love for you to meet him.”
I really hope she’s okay with this.
Her response is a shy smile, though her shoulders remain hitched up near her ears. “I would love to meet him too.”
Grasping her hand a bit more firmly, I lead her into the living room, where Grandpa is sitting comfortably in his favorite reading chair, the newspaper held loosely in his hands. “How was the park? A lot of people there?” he asks without looking up.
“Grandpa, we have a guest.”
He lowers his newspaper, and his face lights up with a warm, welcoming smile as he spots Amelia. Slowly, he rises from his chair, the effort more pronounced than in years past. “Oh, what a pleasant surprise,” he exclaims, setting aside the paper.
“This is my…” she is not your anything, dammit, “… friend, Amelia.”
Amelia steps forward, her nervousness momentarily displaced by courtesy. She straightens to her full height, offering her hand. “Mr. Donovan, it’s nice to meet you,” she says, her voice steady but soft.
Grandpa’s eyes twinkle with curiosity as he grips her hand in both of his, patting it with an affectionate smile.
“A pleasure, my dear. Any friend of Grey’s is a friend of mine,” he says and then winks at me, prompting an eye-roll from my side.
“My name is also Grey, but please, call me Grandpa like everyone else.” He chuckles, his eyes crinkling warmly behind his round glasses.
Amelia looks my way in amusement, and Grandpa seizes the moment to add a bit of family lore.
“I used to call him my mini-me, but after third grade, he wasn’t too fond of that anymore,” he says, his playful smirk sending his white mustache into a brief dance.
“Grandpa, let’s keep the embarrassing stories for another time, shall we?”
“He really is your mini-me. You even dress alike, in that old-school fashion,” Amelia comments, eyeing the similar cardigans we’re both wearing—his brown, mine navy.
“It’s not old-school. It’s timeless,” I retort, a hint of defensiveness creeping into my words. Amelia bites her lip to stifle a laugh, clearly amused by my reaction.
“Well, it is a little old-school, but old-school is indeed timeless,” Grandpa concludes, always the diplomat.
Amelia giggles quietly while her eyes wander around the room, and I hope she won’t look too closely at any of the picture frames.
She already knows I’m a nerd. She doesn’t need to see my teenage years.
I still wear my hair relatively long, but back then it reached my shoulder blades and, combined with braces, it wasn’t the best look.
But her attention is captured by the grand piano positioned by the living room windows. Her eyes light up with interest. “You play the piano?”
“I can’t anymore. Rheumatoid arthritis,” Grandpa replies, his tone carrying a note of resignation.
I know how much he misses to play.
Getting old sucks.
“I’m so sorry to hear that,” Amelia says, wringing her hands in concern, perhaps worried she’s broached a sensitive subject.
Grandpa waves her off with a gentle smile. “It’s okay, dear. Everything has its time. But if you want to hear a piece, Grey plays even better than I ever did.”