Chapter Fourteen
Saint
When we pull into the driveway, Rhyan’s face appears in the window, both hands plastered on the glass, no doubt leaving handprints. Beside her, Remy lifts one hand and smiles.
My breath catches. This right here is what matters. Not the court, the Harts, my contract. Them.
I get out of the car, and before I reach the door, Rhyan throws it open and charges at me, wearing sparkly leggings, a dinosaur sweatshirt, and a tiara.
“You were gone one hundred years!”
I scoop her into my arms. “Feels like it was ninety-nine.”
“Too many!” she says, wiggling out of my arms.
“I agree, Ry.”
“Presley!”
Presley smiles and crouches down just as Rhyan launches herself into her arms. “Hello, my little dragon queen.”
“I made you a picture inside. It has blood.”
Presley blinks. “Awesome.”
“It’s from battle.”
“Obviously.” Presley smiles.
We walk into the house, and it smells like pasta and garlic bread. Alie is in the kitchen with Liam beside her, both of them somehow looking completely at ease in a house that was quiet before everything changed.
Alie turns and looks at my face and gives me a soft smile. “Dinner’s almost ready. Remy and Sera are watching a movie, and Rhyan is …” Alie looks behind me.
“I got her.” Presley walks in with Rhyan on her hip.
“Thanks for all this, Alie. It means a lot.”
“Saint, you would do the same for us. We’re glad to be here. Truly,” she says.
I nod and offer a smile.
“Come on, man. Let’s finish getting the table ready,” Liam says, walking over to me and patting my arm.
A few minutes later, we’re all sitting around the table, like one big family. It’s chaotic, but also … normal. Exactly what we all need.
Rhyan insists on sitting between Presley and me because, apparently, we’re part of her court. But I also think she finds comfort in being close to both of us.
“Uncle Wyatt, you sit here.” She points to the seat on the left.
“Yes, Your Majesty,” I say, sitting.
“Presley, sit here.” She points to the right.
“I feel honored to be seated at the right hand of the queen,” Presley says with a curtsy.
Remy quietly talks to Liam as Alie puts food on Sera’s plate, pretending not to look at me with concern.
“So, how’d it go today?” Liam asks.
I glance at Remy, who’s pushing pasta around his plate.
“Uhh, complicated,” I say.
Liam nods once, and Alie moves her gaze to Presley.
“Later,” Presley says quietly.
“Right,” Liam says, then claps his hands. “So who can tell me why Cinderella was so bad at football?”
Alie snorts into her glass of water.
Remy looks at Liam quizzically. Like he’s trying to decide if the question is funny or not.
Sera giggles.
Rhyan squirms in her seat. “Tell us!”
Liam looks at each child. “No guesses?”
They all shake their heads.
“Because she kept running away from the ball!” he laughs at his own joke.
“This right here is an example of a girl-dad joke.” Alie leans her head on his shoulder, smiling.
“Damn right I am,” he says, then kisses the top of Alie’s head.
Now, there is something I want.
I look at Presley over Rhyan’s head, and she meets my eyes, smiling.
Once we finish eating, Alie and Liam help us clean up. Then we sit on the couch, and Rhyan shows Alie and Sera an elaborate drawing that appears to involve fire, a castle, and maybe … me getting eaten by a dragon.
Presley’s on one side of me, and Remy leans against my other side without saying much, but he doesn’t look upset. Maybe just tired. He doesn’t ask for comfort much from me, more so from Presley, so I don’t move an inch because I want him to have as much as he wants from me.
“Okay, Aliette Pitz, we need to get our own princess home and to bed.” Liam stands and stretches.
“I’m not a Pitz yet,” she says, teasing him.
“I am!” Sera claps.
“That’s right, baby. Mommy is too,” Liam winks at Alie.
Presley and I stand and follow them to the door.
“We’ll be going with you guys to Remy’s hockey game tomorrow. I think he was surprised when I told him I used to play hockey too,” she says, smiling. “Do you want us to come here first?”
“That works. Then we can ride together. Saint will have to take him early for warm-ups,” Presley says, leaning down to hug her niece. “I’ll see you tomorrow, peanut.”
“Bye, Aunt Pwes,” Sera says, smiling.
“Hey, I’ll go with you to take Remy to the rink,” Liam claps my shoulder at the door.
“Okay, that sounds good.”
Alie hugs me and whispers, “You’re doing great, Saint.”
I’m not sure I believe her, but I appreciate it all the same.
“Thanks, Alie,” I say. “See you tomorrow, squirt.” I ruffle Sera’s hair.
“Bye, Saint!” she says, holding her dad’s hand.
We close the door and turn to the kids.
“Okay, guys. You know what time it is.” Presley waves her arms toward the staircase.
We wrangle them up the stairs and into the bathroom.
After they both shower, it’s a war.
Rhyan didn’t want to wear pajamas with sleeves. Then Remy couldn’t find his favorite hoodie for tomorrow. He says it brings him luck, already starting with superstitions. Thankfully, Presley finds it in the laundry basket under three towels and one stuffed dinosaur.
I handle teeth while Presley gets their beds ready. We’ve tried to make their bedrooms feel as much like home as we can. We brought a lot of their things from the house in North Carolina, but we’ll let them pick out some things soon to make these rooms theirs.
We all snuggle in on Rhyan’s bed while Presley reads a story.
“Presley, you do the princess. Uncle Wyatt, you do the dragon.” Rhyan demands.
Remy rolls his eyes like she’s being ridiculous, but then corrects me. Twice. “You need to add an accent, Uncle Wyatt.”
By the time the kids are asleep, the house is quiet, like peace has been negotiated and we can finally call it a night.
I follow Presley downstairs, and she turns back to look at me over her shoulder.
“Do you want a glass of wine?” she asks.
“We have some?” I raise a brow.
I don’t remember getting any the last time I was at the store, but life’s a blur right now.
“Alie brought a few bottles over,” she says, walking into the kitchen.
“Then yes.”
She opens a bottle of red and pours two glasses.
We move from the kitchen to the couch in the family room and sit way too close.
The house is dim around us with only one lamp on in the corner. The toys are picked up, and I can hear the faint hum of the dishwasher in the kitchen.
For the first time since my sister died, my mind feels … clear. Not peaceful or even healed, but like a fog has thinned out.
Presley has one leg tucked under her, her wineglass balanced in her hand, her hair falling loose around her shoulders. She looks tired but beautiful.
As I look at her, my heart starts to pound.
Stable partner.
Thirty.
The pact.
I set my wineglass down on the coffee table.
Presley watches me with concern. “What’s wrong?”
I turn to look at her. Then the words are coming out of my mouth before I can talk myself out of it.
“Marry me.”
She freezes. Her glass paused halfway to her mouth.
“What?”
I lean back and put my arm on the back of the couch behind her head. “I want to cash in on the pact.”
Her eyes widen. “Saint.”
“I’m serious, Doc.”
“I can see that,” she says carefully.
I stand quickly because sitting suddenly feels too confining. “Just listen for a sec. We made a deal.”
“We were in college.”
“We said thirty.”
“That was …”
“Not a joke to me,” I say calmly and truthfully.
That stops her, and her expression goes soft.
I drag both hands through my hair to try to calm myself down and make this sound less insane than I probably do right now.
“The attorneys said a spouse would help.”
She sighs and sets her glass on the coffee table next to mine. “I know.”
“And honestly, Doc, you already are,” I say matter-of-factly.
“Already am what?” Her brows pull together.
“Here,” I say. “With me. Them. You know their routines. They trust you. Hell, Rhyan asks for you, not me, when she wakes up. And Remy talks to you when he won’t talk to me.”
Her throat moves.
“You’re already in this,” I say, voice rougher. “You’re already the person I trust the most.”
“Saint,” she starts.
“Look, I know how this sounds.”
“You do?”
“Well, no, probably not,” I admit.
A faint smile touches her mouth.
I step closer. “Presley, I’m not asking just because of the court.”
Her eyes search mine. “What are you asking?”
I swallow because the truth is big and dangerous. So, I give her the part I think she and I can both handle right now.
“I’m asking you to help me give them stability.”
Her face softens, and she looks down at her lap.
“And I’m asking because I don’t know anyone else I’d want beside me through this,” I continue. “You’re the only one I trust with them. With me.”
She closes her eyes and lets out a deep breath. “This is … big.”
“I know.”
“Saint, this is marriage.”
“I know.”
“This isn’t something we can just …”
“I know,” I say again, but gentler this time. “Believe me, I know.”
She stands and paces the room.
At least she’s not running.
“I don’t think I can answer you tonight,” she says.
My chest tightens, but I nod anyway even though everything in me wants to plead harder.
“Okay, I get it.”
She looks at me with tears in her eyes.
“Just need to think.”
“Okay.”
Her voice breaks slightly. “If I say yes, that changes everything.”
I stare at her—because of course it does.
But everything already changed months ago when I kissed her again after eight years.
When I came inside her and felt her fall apart in my arms, it changed.
When she held me after my sister died, it changed.
It may have changed for me in more ways than her, life-altering ways, but it doesn’t change what I’m asking today.
Instead I say, “I’m asking anyway.”
She closes her eyes, and for a second, I think she might break.
Or maybe I might.
But then she opens her eyes and nods once.
“I’ll think about it.”
Relief and fear hit me at the same time.
“Thank you,” I say, walking over to her and taking her hands in mine.
She shakes her head slightly. “Don’t thank me yet. I haven’t said yes.”
I don’t answer, but I do bring her hands up to my mouth and kiss her knuckles.
She’s staying the night again, like she has every night since Savannah died. Not because I asked, but because when the wine sits unfinished and the question of marriage hangs between us like a live wire, neither of us knows what to say, but we also don’t want to be apart.
So we go upstairs quietly and check on the kids.
Rhyan has already kicked off her blanket. And Remy is clutching the blankets in his hand.
Presley fixes Rhyan’s blanket while I stand in the doorway watching her, wondering what this would look like if it was real. Not a strategic move or a court-friendly agreement. Something real.
I tuck the thought away, because today was a lot.
We walk into my room, still silent.
I change while Presley’s in the bathroom, and she comes out, wearing one of my old T-shirts she started sleeping in and hasn’t stopped.
The sight nearly does me in. But not in a sexual way. Emotionally. Like she looks like she belongs here with me.
I break my stare and go to the bathroom to get ready for bed.
When I come out, she’s already under the covers, and I turn off the light and climb in beside her.
For a minute, we just lie there, facing each other in the dark. The space is small between us.
“You okay?” she whispers.
“I’m not really sure.”
Her hand finds mine under the blanket.
“Me neither.”
I let out a breath. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked like that.”
“Yes”—she smiles softly—“you should have.”
I still.
“Because that’s who we are. But I just can’t answer like that,” she adds.
I nod. “I get it.”
She moves closer, tucking her body into my side, and I wrap my arm around her automatically.
Her head settles on my chest, and I press my lips to her hair. Not kissing, just there.
“Presley?”
“Yeah?”
“If you say no, I’ll understand.”
Her fingers grip my T-shirt.
“And I won’t make you feel guilty.”
“I know.”
“I just …” My throat tightens.
She lifts her head, and even though it’s dark, I can see her face clearly.
“This shit is scary,” I admit.
Her hand comes up to cup my jaw. “It is.”
She leans in and kisses me. It’s soft and brief, but almost like a promise.
Then she settles back on my chest, and I hold her because she lets me. And because she chooses to stay.
“Good night, Saint.”
“Night, Doc.” I kiss her head.
Not long after, her breathing evens out, and I stare into the dark with my arm around the woman—the only woman—I’ve asked to marry me. My best friend, the person who’s been with me since college, and every significant moment in between then and now.
And for the first time since my sister died, I know exactly what I want.
I want the kids to be safe.
I want my sister’s wishes and memory to be honored.
I want to keep playing football.
And I want Presley Grant beside me.