Chapter 27 #3
Jace straightened slightly, and I saw the nervousness in his eyes even though his face stayed calm. “Yes, ma'am. It's nice to meet you. I'm sorry it's under these circumstances.”
“Oh, don't apologize.” She moved toward him, and before Jace could react, she'd pulled him into a hug too. “I'm just glad to finally meet you. Grant's told me so much.”
Jace shot me a look over her shoulder—surprised, maybe a little panicked—but he hugged her back carefully. “He has?”
“Of course he has.” She pulled back, hands on his arms, looking him over with a mother's assessing gaze. “You're healing well?”
“Getting there. Physical therapy's helping.”
“Good. Come sit down. Both of you. Cal made coffee.”
Cal was already in the kitchen doorway, and his eyes went to Jace first — just for a second, one quick involuntary flicker — before he got control of his face and leaned back against the counter like he'd been standing there all morning with nothing on his mind.
“Cal, this is Jace,” I said. “Jace, my brother.”
“Hey.” Jace extended his hand, easy and natural, the version of himself he'd learned to deploy in public.
Cal shook it. “Yeah, I know who you are.” Completely flat. Utterly convincing. “Grant talks about his players constantly. It's exhausting.”
“He talks about me specifically?”
“I didn't say that.” Cal looked at me. “I didn't say that.”
I stared at him. “You have his jersey.”
“I have several jerseys. I'm a fan of the sport.”
“It has his name on it, Cal.”
“Grant.” Cal's voice went very careful and deliberate. “Do you want coffee or not.”
Mom was watching all of this with barely disguised delight, which was somehow worse. “Cal made coffee,” she said again, like that was still the relevant information.
“Clearly,” Jace said, and I could hear him working very hard not to smile.
Cal pointed at him. “I like him.”
“Don't.”
“Too late.” He disappeared back into the kitchen, and I heard the sound of mugs being pulled from the cabinet with slightly more force than necessary.
Mom guided us to the living room, and we sat on the couch while she took the armchair. The house smelled like coffee and the lavender candles she'd always loved, familiar and grounding in a way that made my chest ache.
“How bad is it out there?” I asked Cal.
“Bad. Three vans right now. June's team showed up about twenty minutes ago with legal threats, but they're not leaving.” He took a sip of his coffee. “Good news is, they can't actually do anything except stand there and look menacing.”
“Still feels like an invasion.”
“It is.” Mom's voice was quiet. “But Grant, I want you to know—I'm okay. Really. I was scared at first, but then I got angry. These people don't get to make me ashamed of my son. Either of you.”
“I'm sorry I brought this to your door,” I said.
“You didn't. The media did. And they're going to leave eventually because this town is boring and there's no story here except a mother who loves her son.” She leaned forward, eyes serious.
“Grant, I meant what I said when you told me about being bisexual.
Nothing changed. Not then, not now. I don't care who you love. I just care that you're happy.”
“I am,” I said quietly. “Happier than I've been in a long time.”
She looked at Jace, then back at me. “Good. Then that's all that matters.”
Jace shifted beside me, and I saw him struggling with something. Then he spoke, voice careful. “Can I ask—are you okay with this? With us? Because I know it's complicated. The coach-player thing. The age difference. The media making it look worse than it is.”
Mom was quiet for a moment, and I held my breath waiting for her answer.
“I'll tell you what I told Grant when he came out to me,” she said finally.
“I don't care what anyone else thinks. I don't care what the media says or what the league says or what strangers on the internet say.
What I care about is whether my son is being treated well.
Whether he's respected. Whether he's loved.” Her eyes moved to me. “And from what I can see, he is.”
“As for the complicated parts,” she continued, “I'm not naive. I know there are power dynamics. I know people will judge. But I also know my son. And if Grant says this is real, if he says this matters, then I believe him. Because he's never been the type to do anything halfway.”
Jace let out a breath I don't think he knew he was holding. “Thank you. That means more than you know.”
“You're welcome, honey.” She smiled at him and then stood up. “I'm going to make us some lunch. You boys must be starving after that flight. Cal, help me in the kitchen.”
“I'm not a boy, I'm thirty-four—”
“Calvin.”
He rolled his eyes but followed her, and I heard them talking quietly in the kitchen, giving Jace and me a moment alone.
“Your mom is amazing,” Jace said quietly.
“Yeah. She is.”
“And she really doesn't care? About any of it?”
“She cares that I'm happy. Everything else is just noise to her.” I turned to face him. “I'm sorry the media found her. I should've been more careful.”
“This isn't your fault.” He reached for my hand. “Grant, we knew this would happen eventually. We can't control everything.”
“I know. But I wanted to protect her from it.”
“I get it. But she's tougher than you think.” He squeezed my hand. “And she's got Cal here. And us. And June's on her way to handle the legal side.”
As if on cue, there was a knock at the door. Cal answered it, and June walked in looking like she'd just stepped off a four-hour flight and was not happy about it. She had her phone in one hand, frustration written all over her face.
“Grant. Jace.” She didn't bother with pleasantries. “Mrs. Sutherland, I'm June Park. We spoke on the phone.”
“Call me Helen, please.” Mom shook her hand. “Thank you for coming.”
“I wish I didn't have to.” June set her bag down and turned to me and Jace, expression hard. “I told you both—explicitly told you—not to be seen together in public. And what do I find when I land? A dozen photos of you two arriving here. Together. At Grant's family home.”
“We were careful—” Jace started.
“Careful would have been arriving separately. Careful would have been one of you waiting an hour. Careful would have been literally anything except pulling up to the same house at the same time in front of cameras.” She rubbed her temple.
“Do you understand what this looks like?
Family introduction. Serious relationship.
Exactly the narrative we're trying to downplay.”
I kept my voice level. “We needed to get here. The media was already camped outside.”
She pulled out her tablet, scrolling through something. “Now I'm dealing with headlines about 'meeting the parents' and 'taking it to the next level.' This is the opposite of laying low.”
Mom cleared her throat. “June, they're already here. What's done is done. What do we do now?”
June took a breath, visibly calming herself. “Now we make sure this doesn't get worse. Helen, don't engage with the media. Don't confirm anything. If they corner you, say 'no comment' and walk away. We've contacted local police about potential harassment if they trespass or follow you.”
“How long before they leave?” Cal asked.
“If we stop giving them material? A week, maybe two.” June looked at Mom. “Helen, I recommend staying inside for the next few days. Don't answer the door. Don't check your mailbox when they're out there. Make them bored, and they'll leave.”
“I can do that,” Mom said steadily.
June turned back to me and Jace. “When you leave, you go out the back. Separately. At least an hour apart. No more photos of you together. Are we clear?”
“Clear,” I said.
“Good.” She picked up her bag. “I'm staying in town for twenty-four hours to make sure this doesn't blow up further. If anything changes, you call me immediately. And for god's sake—stop making my job harder.”
She left with her assistant, and the house felt quieter without her.
Mom served lunch—sandwiches and soup, simple and comforting—and we sat around the kitchen table like a normal family. Cal told stories about the firehouse that made Mom laugh. Jace asked questions about my childhood that I deflected with varying success. It felt surreal and normal at the same time.
After lunch, Jace helped Mom with the dishes while Cal pulled me aside.
“You good?” he asked quietly.
“Yeah. Why?”
“Because you look like you're waiting for the other shoe to drop.” He studied my face. “Grant, Mom's fine. The media will leave. June's handling it. You can breathe.”
“I know.”
“Do you?” He crossed his arms. “Because from where I'm standing, you're still waiting for someone to tell you this is all too good to be true.”
I didn't have an answer for that.
“He's good for you,” Cal said, nodding toward where Jace was laughing at something Mom said. “I can see it. You're different. Lighter.”
“It's complicated.”
“Everything worth having is.” He clapped me on the shoulder. “Just don't fuck it up by overthinking it.”
“When did you get wise?”
“I've always been wise. You just never listened.”
That night, after the media had finally thinned out and June had confirmed the immediate crisis was handled, Jace and I sat on Mom's back porch while she and Cal watched TV inside. The air was cold, our breath misting in front of us, but it was quiet. Peaceful.
“Your family's great,” Jace said.
“They are.” I pulled him closer. “I'm glad you got to meet them. Even if the circumstances were shit.”
“At least now we've both survived the family gauntlet.” He rested his head on my shoulder.
I pressed a kiss to his hair. He laced his fingers with mine. And sitting there in the cold, with my mom and brother inside and Jace beside me, I let myself believe it.