Chapter 32 – Greyson
Ask for help, and lean on your support system. Dr. Williams's voice replays in my head: I can do this. “Can you help me with something?” Tatum may look like one of those bad boy types, but he’s the biggest romantic at heart.
“Depends.” His eyes are the same color as mine, but his hair is black, and his eyelashes are thicker. It makes him look more exotic, the jerk. But at this moment, the way his eyes are peeking through his lashes as he peels an orange, he looks sinister, like one of those villains that steal the hearts of people in movies.
“I need to do some grand gesture, a personal one.” His smirk turns into a full-on grin. He walks away, coming back with a pad of paper and a pen. He sits at my dining room table, turning the chair around backward, he begins.
“Okay, little Grey-grey. Here’s what you’re going to do since you apparently don’t know how females work.”
I scoff as I walk in his direction. “And you do?”
He jerks his head up and scowls, “Do you want my help or not?” I plop down in the seat next to him as he draws me an actual picture of what he thinks I should do. And I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t a good idea.
“Where do you come up with some of this stuff?” Questioning my brother as he chews on the end of the pencil.
“I pay attention. Just because I don’t say anything doesn’t mean I don’t pick up on things. Plus, Nikki used to watch all those stupid cheesy romance movies. Apparently, girls actually like that stuff.” He shrugs; I cringe at the mention of Nikki. If I thought Kara was bad.
“Personalize it to her likes. I’m sure y ou know more about her than I do. Bring her favorite snacks, flowers, whatever. Then it’s personal and private, and you can fix whatever it is you broke. Hopefully.”
I nod, some ideas flow, and I’m thankful for his help because I wouldn’t have ever thought of this. “Thanks, man.” I roll up the paper, but before I can put all this into action, I need to surprise my girl. Step one is about to go down.
“Are you sure this is a good idea?” I ask as Abby hides me behind the group of my teammates that showed up tonight.
“Yes, now hush, she’s parking.” She whispers as she fluffs my hair. The guys and Abby have been teaching me different dances at the end of each physical therapy session. While I can’t deny that they’re fun to do, I’m nervous to put those moves to use with Hannah.
Peeking through the opening between Monroe and Samuels, I see her walk in. She’s like the freaking sun, bright, radiates warmth, and my gosh does she look fantastic. She has cut-off jean shorts on; they’re lighter than normal blue jeans, but up against her tan, toned legs, they’re like a beacon. Drawing my attention, and wait, if it’s drawing my attention, it’s probably drawing. Oh, heck no. I start to straighten myself up, but Abby grabs my wrist behind her back; I take a breath as I watch Hannah completely wave off the guy who walked up to her and turn toward us.
Her light brown cowboy boots have some intri cate design in light pink stitching; it makes her look so girly, which isn’t her usual go-to. She’s more of the sporty, oversized shirt and leggings type. Which I happen to be a fan of, but this look I’m a huge fan of too. Her shirt is one of those cropped ones, showing the tiniest bit of skin above the waist of her shorts and the bottom of her shirt.
Her hair is braided down her back; I don’t think I’ve ever seen it like that. It’s usually up in a bun or braided to the side. She looks every bit the Southern girl she really is. More than that, she looks happy. I just hope my presence doesn’t ruin that. “Hey guys!” She calls with a smile so bright it competes with the neon lights behind the bar.
Abby squeezes my wrist, giving me the signal. I stand up to my full height, which is a good foot taller than Abby. Hannah’s eyes track my movement, widening in realization that I’m here too. Her lips part, and her stunned silence makes me nervous. Her surprise quickly turns to joy as her lips pull into a smile.
“Hey, Bulldozer.” My heart takes flight at the sound of my nickname. Not Grey, not Greyson, Bulldozer. I didn’t know hearing her call me that would ever make me so happy, but damn it. There isn’t anything better than those hearing those words after this time apart.
Any hesitation I had disappears; I hold out my hand to her, praying to the good Lord above that she takes it. A beat passes before she puts me out of my misery. “Dance with me?” I ask as her eyes meet mine once more.
“You dance?” Her forehead crinkles with the way her eyebrows are pulled high. I give her a nod before taking a step toward her. I forgot we weren’t alone until Reed whoops an d pulls Abby to the dance floor beside us.
Hannah’s looking at me like she wants to devour me whole like a Thanksgiving turkey. Her bottom lip is pulled between her teeth, and I fight every instinct I have to free it; I know I have to play my cards right. Slow and steady.
She pulls me further into the bar, away from our friends, where she finds an empty spot in the corner of the dance floor. “When did you learn to dance?” She asks as we get into the rhythm of a two-step. She lets me lead, which shocks me while also increasing my beginner's anxiety because I don’t want to step on her feet.
“Abby and the guys gave me lessons. They said it made you happy. I wanted to be able to do something that made you happy, too.” Her eyes fill with tears, and I start to panic. Was this the wrong thing to do? Was Abby wrong? Did I really commit myself to exile?!
That train of thought comes to a screeching halt when the song ends, and she steps into me. She places her cheek against my chest and wraps her arms around my waist; I feel her sigh and every ounce of resignation I had melted away. In its place, an overwhelming feeling of rightness takes over. When my cheek meets the top of her head, I can’t explain it. It’s a bone-deep realization that I haven’t screwed this up, that there is still a chance here. That we can heal together, that I am worthy of her affection.
“I have a lot to say to you, but I don’t think now is the time. If it’s okay with you, I’d just like to have fun tonight. We can get to the serious stuff later. Just let me be your friend right now. Is that okay?” I ask into her hair. She nods against my chest.
All too soon, Samuels takes her from me, and she teaches him the steps. Am I jealous she’s giving her time to someone else? Yes. There's an internal battle in my head to both go over and drag her back to me and let her hang out with our friends.
Her bright laugh brings me back to the moment, head lifting to where she’s spinning on the dance floor. Her head is thrown back, arms out wide, her braid swinging like a rope, but it’s the light in her eye that makes me pause. It’s the same shine I saw in the picture Andrews sent me when they were in Alabama. Her eyes catch on mine mid-turn; she slows until she comes to a stop.
She gives me a small smile and her outstretched hand. All but jumping off my stool, my feet take me in the direction of the beauty waiting for me. “Can I teach you one more, or did they already teach you Cotton Eyed Joe?” Her voice is soft, her cheeks pink, and little beads of sweat are visible on her forehead.
“Teach away, Kitten.” I purposely trip all over myself, making it seem like I haven’t done this fifty times in my bedroom, making sure I had it right. Her happiness makes it all worth it. I’m well aware I’m making a fool of myself in public for the sole purpose of making her smile, just like she did to pull me out of my panic attack.
“Come on, Bulldozer. I need a break.” Pulling me from the dance floor she doesn’t let go of my hand until we’re back at the table. Two beers are pushed our way; I hand one to her as I take a sip of mine. The cold carbonation feels good against the warmth of my body at the moment. Relaxing, refreshing. I get the beer and dancing thing now.
“How’d it go with Nora?” Abby asks from her spot between Monroe and Reed. The three of them are like the three musketeers, pranksters. Always keeping the rest of us on our toes.
Hannah’s beer hits the table with a slight thud ; she’s picking at the label, not looking at anyone. “It was good. I’ll cover the next two games, and then I’ll be done.”
DONE?
“Wait, what? What do you mean?” I turn towards her a bit too fast. I almost fall off my chair.
“A couple gave me their card at the carnival. I really didn’t have any intention of calling them, but when everything went up in flames, I ended up back home. I realized a lot, mainly that I don’t know who I am as a person. I only know who my dad told me I was.” Is she moving? Is she going back home? No, that’s why she’s being so nice to me tonight. She’s leaving.
I don’t realize I’m holding my breath until Hannah is in my face telling me to breathe. My eyes are shut, her hands frame my face, and I lean into her touch, relishing in the calming effect she has on me. Who knows how long I’ll have it? “Greyson, take a breath for me.” The concern is evident just from her voice; I crack one eye open and can confirm that very notion.
Her eyes frantically search my face, eyebrows pulled together, revealing the little lightning bolt crinkle she gets between her eyebrows when she’s mad or worried. Taking a deep breath, I put my hands on her wrists, keeping her palms where they are on her face. “Are you okay?” She asks slowly, as if she’s scared I’m going to bolt.
“Are you leaving?” A crack in my voice echoes through my skull. The furrow in her brow gets even deeper as her head tilts to the side as she takes me in. I don’t know how much time passes before her face relaxes, and she gives me a reassuring smile.
“No, I’m not leaving.” She finally puts me out of my misery. “I just realized that as much as I enjoyed my job as a sports journalist, I wasn’t doing it for me. I was doing it to pr ove I could . I’m going to be working for a company called Boswell Events; they do what I did for the carnival on a bigger scale. Their office is in one of the high-rises across the street from Beautiful Pour.” Her eyebrows wiggle at the mention of our favorite coffee house.
Sighing, I pull her into my chest. I hate that I didn’t know any of this; I want to be part of her future. I want to love this woman with everything I've got. She’s not ready to hear that, though, so for now, I’ll keep it locked in the little lock box of my heart.
I groan as I roll out of bed this morning. It’s one of those days already. I’m out of my sling, but Lord almighty, my right arm is weak. I tried to put a plate back on the shelf last night after I got home, and halfway there, my shoulder gave out. A freaking plate. It’s less than two pounds. Of course, not only did that tank my pride, but it hit my psyche. And down the drain, I went into a spiral of negativity. Even after how great of a night we had dancing, I can’t seem to shake it off this morning.
I don’t want to get up; I want to lay here all day. I don’t want to go to therapy; I’m weak, broken. What’s the point? There is nothing worse than being kicked when you’re down, and this is exactly what it feels like. Like I walked out into the street, got hit by a car, and then run over by the six cars behind it.
There’s a knock on my door, but I don’t move. Then there’s another knock, a bit harder this time. “I’m coming, geez. Calm down.” This time, there’s banging. Someone had better be dead, or I’m going to start throwing stuff. I fling the door open to find Monroe and Andrews outside with the biggest smiles on their faces.
Before I can ask them what in the world they’re doing here, they push past me. “Sure, guys, come on in.” If my voice could spew venom, it would have.
Once they’re inside, they turn back to where I’m still standing by the door. “Special delivery!” Monroe calls. Color me curious; I hike an eyebrow in their direction. Smiles still plastered on their faces.
“Are you going to tell me what special delivery means, or are you going to stand there like the creepers you are?” My patience is wearing thin.
“Aww, we got grumpy gills today,” Andrews whines in a voice that grates on my nerves. But before I can snap at him, he holds up a bag. A Beautiful Pour bag.
“What’s that?” I point to the bag with my good arm.
“I believe it’s a muffin. Monroe has your coffee.”
“How do you two know my coffee order?” They give each other a look that also makes me mad.
“Look, guys, I’m having an off morning. I’m trying really hard not to blow up on you, so if you could just get to the point of why you’re here, I’d appreciate it.” Monroe immediately holds out the coffee he had behind his back.
“Sorry, man. We stopped by the coffee shop after our skate and ran into Hannah. We told her we were thinking about checking in on you. She ordered this for you and said to tel l you thanks again for being her dance partner last night.”
Well, if that didn’t just flip my bad mood right on its head. I grab the coffee and take a sip; it’s like that moment when the Power Rangers morph and all that lightning goes crazy. Go go, Greyson-ranger. “Thanks guys.”
“Wanna help me with a secret mission?” I raise my eyebrows twice in rapid succession.
“Yes! I’m a fantastic secret agent. Very demure, very mindful, very professional.” Monroe pulls at the collar of his shirt like a man in a suit would. Andrews and I share a look before we bend over the island, fists banging on the surface as we laugh at our ridiculous friend.
Bad mood forgotten. I’m thankful they showed up because I would have isolated myself from the world, and that would have been a giant step in the wrong direction. I filled them in on the plan Tatum came up with and showed them the picture he drew, which is now hanging on my fridge. They nod their agreement. “I think that’s a good idea. She’d like that. A lot.”
“I’m gonna need some help.” I say as I point to a phone number on the bottom of the paper, “If one of you can figure out how I rent one of these things, I’d owe you big time.” They hold their hands up, silently implying they want high-fives. But apparently, we’re children because I shake my head, and we all bump chests instead.
“Team Han-son!” Andrews and I look at Monroe, clear confusion on both of our faces. “You know, your ship name.”
“My, what now?” I feel the tension in my forehead from how high my eyebrows are pulled.
“Your ship name, it’s your name, and Hannah’s put together. Han-son.”
“I think you’ve taken one too many hits to the head.” I can’t keep a straight face. Is that really a thing? Whatever, I’ve got help. The army is volunteering, and I’m going to try my hardest to let them help. But for now, I need to get ready and head to the arena. “Alright, ladies, out. I need to get ready. I have therapy in an hour.”
“You’re welcome for the coffee, Prince Charming,” Andrews calls over his shoulder as they walk out of my apartment.