Chapter 15 #2
I’m not sure his teammates—or even my sister—would believe me if I told them that story, but I know it’s true, and that’s enough. He’s more complex than anyone knows, and has a bigger heart than I ever would have guessed.
And that’s the last thing I think about as I close my eyes.
I wake up with the TV remote still in my hand and the kind of stiffness in my shoulders and neck that comes from lying all night in the same position.
God, I was tired.
I’m still tired, but not as bone-deep exhausted as I was last night, so that’s a plus. Especially since I have to figure out how to get April to school and myself to work in addition to our regular morning routine.
There’s a notification on my phone that the Aces won last night’s game three to one, and that Grant had sixteen saves.
That makes me smile as I roll out of bed and throw a robe on over my pajamas. I still have a half-hour before I need to wake April, which is just enough time to pour a cup of coffee and congratulate Grant on his win last night.
Except as I pad downstairs and into the darkened kitchen, I don’t hear the familiar, muffled noise of weights clanging together or the sports channel on the TV in the basement gym.
Oh, right.
They’re on the road for the next game, and Grant will be gone for a few days. I’m sure there’s a rhyme and reason to his game schedule, but I haven’t figured it out yet.
As I turn on the lights and walk across the kitchen to the coffee machine, something on the table catches my eye.
Car keys.
My car keys.
Abandoning the coffee for now, I walk over and scoop up the keys, holding them up and squinting against the bright kitchen lights so I can verify that yes, they really are the keys to my car.
And there’s a note beneath them in what I can only guess is Grant’s handwriting. Unsurprisingly, his penmanship is nearly perfect, with precise letters and straight lines that put my own writing to shame.
Heather—
I was up early to pack for the road, but had a little extra time to pick up your car from the shop this morning. They put in a new radiator hose and gave the whole vehicle a full inspection. The keys are here on the table and the car is in the driveway.
The invoice is paid and you don’t owe me anything.
I hope you and April have a great day.
Grant
I have to read the note twice for everything to fully sink in. After coming home late from a game, he woke up early—probably before dawn—and drove to the auto shop, pulled who-knows-what kind of strings with the mechanic to have my car delivered back here, then paid for the whole thing himself.
All while I was still sleeping like a rock upstairs, completely oblivious to anything else that was going on in the house.
I sink down onto one of the kitchen chairs, still holding my keys and the note. I can’t remember the last time someone took care of me like this. The last time someone anticipated my needs and just handled everything.
Probably because that’s never happened before. Not since I became an adult, anyway.
I need to thank him. Right now, before I get busy with breakfast and April and the rest of my morning.
ME: I can’t believe you picked up my car. And paid for it. I don’t even know what to say except thank you, but that feels completely inadequate. Also, congratulations on the win last night. Sixteen saves! Not that I was counting or anything.
I hit send before I can overthink it, then get up to finally pour my first cup of coffee. My phone has already buzzed with his reply by the time I sit back down at the table.
GRANT: You were counting my saves?
ME: Maybe. I wanted to make sure you made it through the game without any injuries, since our crazy day cut into your practice and warm-up time.
GRANT: No injuries. And you’re welcome for the car. It wasn’t a big deal.
ME: It was a big deal to me.
GRANT: Good. That’s what matters.
The rest of the morning flies by in a whirlwind of getting April ready for school, making sure she has everything she needs for the day, and listening to her excited chatter about possibly joining the reading club.
But through it all, my phone keeps buzzing with messages from Grant.
They’re mostly just little check-ins and random observations, but it’s more than we’ve ever texted before, and it only takes a few back-and-forth messages before I’m looking forward to each new one in a way that surprises me a little.
By the time I get to work, we’ve exchanged more texts in one morning than we usually do in a week.
GRANT: How’s your day going?
ME: Busy. I have this event I’m organizing for work. It’s our annual fundraising dinner. This is the first time I’ve been in charge of something this big.
GRANT: Are you nervous?
ME: Terrified, if I’m being honest. What if nobody shows up? Or what if I mess up the whole thing?
GRANT: That won’t happen. You’ve got this. I believe in you.
His confidence in me is sweet, but it only partially settles the knots in my stomach as I dive into my to-do list. I skim for the easiest tasks first, but every detail feels super important, from the vendor confirmations and seating charts to the last-minute RSVPs and coordinating with the catering staff.
An hour later, my phone buzzes again.
GRANT: I thought you might need this.
The message is followed by a link to a video of a baby elephant learning to use its trunk, stumbling adorably as it tries to pick up a stick. The little sweetie keeps dropping it and trying again, and I love his determination.
I’m smiling from ear to ear as I type out my reply.
ME: That’s ridiculously cute. How did you find it?
GRANT: I have my sources. Are you feeling better?
ME: A little. Thank you.
Throughout the afternoon, more videos pop up in our text thread. A mother elephant teaching her baby to swim. A rescued elephant painting with her trunk. An elephant sanctuary where the animals play with enormous soccer balls.
Each one makes me smile, and they’re the perfect distraction from my growing anxiety about the fundraiser.
Just after lunch, he sends me a video of an elephant who has learned to play basketball. She carefully dribbles the ball with her trunk before shooting it toward a custom-made hoop. She misses the first shot, tries again, and then sinks it perfectly.
The elephant’s obvious pride in her accomplishment, combined with the cheers from her trainers and caretakers, makes me burst out laughing right here at my desk.
“Now that’s a sound I don’t hear very often,” one of my co-workers, Monica, says as she walks by my cubicle. “What’s gotten you into such a good mood?”
I put my phone face down on my desk and do my best to school my big smile into something more appropriate for the amount of stress I’m actually under.
“Nothing in particular,” I lie. “It’s just been a good day.”
“It must be. You’ve been practically glowing all morning.”
I’m not sure what to say, so I mumble a quick thanks and say something about getting back to the seating chart I’ve been working on.
After she walks away, I think back on how she said I’ve been glowing all morning.
I know it’s Grant and all the big and little things he does on a daily basis that’s making me feel this way, but it’s almost overwhelming to dig too deeply into this light, almost giddy feeling that keeps bubbling up inside me.
I’m not used to feeling hopeful and excited about something as simple as a text message from a man. Not when I’ve been in pure survival mode for so many years. I’ve been keeping my head down, working hard, and taking care of April without asking or expecting too much from anyone else.
That’s what’s familiar. That’s what’s safe.
Because expecting more, hoping for more, and trusting someone else to be there when I need them is a recipe for getting hurt and disappointed.
I know it because I’ve lived it. I’ve been the one left alone with a little girl to pick up the pieces of a life I thought someone else cared about protecting.