Chapter 27
TWENTY-SEVEN
Deacon
I scoop up Savannah’s carrier and weave my way through the bags filling the majority of the fourteen hundred square feet of this suite.
Costello was right, I doubled what I did last year.
He told me I shopped online like Drew did when she was home with the kids and not out hustling contracts for the players, she and her company agent.
“Things okay with Nalani?” I ask.
“They’re great,” she says and then clears her throat. “When Koa’s home they should have that little time to themselves.”
“I get that. Your choice though, right?” I ask knowing Koa wouldn’t pull that on anyone, but this fucking ache in my chest just got even heavier and I can’t turn it off even if I wanted to.
I open the door and see it is also packed, “Shit. I—”
“That room you mentioned offering Paul? Would it be okay if for just tonight we stayed?”
“You know it is,” I say failing to keep this desperate tone out of my voice.
“Is it far? Do we need —”
“This used to be Dean, Drew, Cody, and the kids’ floor.” I open the door that connects the two suites. “Not far at all.”
She lingers in the doorway, arms wrapped around herself. “You’re sure?”
The fact that she’s asking that suggests something’s off.
She nods, relief softening her shoulders. “If it is okay, we can stay here. Just until the other room frees up.”
“That works,” I say, because it does. Because it keeps her close. Because for the first time, she looks like she needs a break from the world for five minutes.
I set Savannah’s carrier down on the small table near the window and straighten. Claudia steps in slowly, cautiously.
“You’re good here,” I say again. “You and Savannah can take over.”
She brushes a hand over her arm. “I just do not want you to feel like we’re crowding your space. I do not want to repeat the pattern.”
That hits deeper than she means it to. My stomach draws tight. “There is no one I have ever met in my entire life I’d rather share a space with.” I make sure our eyes are locked when I say. “Trust me.”
She stiffens a bit and clears her throat. I may not be able to see it, but fuck if I don’t feel her wall going up. “I know I’m too emotional right now. Those costumes, the confessional. I’m stronger than this.”
“I do know that. I see it. I get having to be strong.” I pause.
“That first night I messaged you.” I pause for a minute and contemplate how to say the rest, so I just let it roll out.
“I opened up to you because there was an old soul in you. I saw it in your eyes. I have never spoken about it again, and honestly, I didn’t need to. You gave it to me straight.”
“You thought you loved her and felt responsible for some reason. I’ve been in those shoes, just not in the same way. But grief is grief. It all burns the same, as long as you hold a match to it.”
“You tired?” I ask after several minutes of silence.
She nods.
“Have a seat, the remotes are right there,” I point toward the coffee table as I head over and grab the menu for room service. “I know you haven’t eaten yet, and neither have I. Look it over while I take yours and Savannah’s things to your room.”
“I can help,” she says, taking a step toward me.
“Not tonight, you can’t, I insist.”
“Deacon, I—”
“You took care of me when I was at my low point. I need to do this.”
She looks at my chest, where my hand is gripping my shirt, right above that ache in my heart, and nods, “Okay. Thank you.”
I walk out and see her holding Savannah, who is still sleeping. “You want to check it out?”
She nods as she stands. “I would.”
Claudia steps into the room, Savannah bundled against her chest. Her gaze drifts past the bed, past the bassinet, straight to the chair where I set everything up.
On the chair sits the pile I put together earlier.
For Savannah:
The first thing she sees is the onesie. Soft ivory cotton, embroidered across the chest in warm spice orange thread, Savannah’s First Little Halloween.
Beneath it is the sleeper. Not neon. Not loud.
The bottom starts in a rich pumpkin orange at the feet.
The middle fades into a warm butternut squash yellow.
The top shifts to a soft cream near the shoulders.
The hood is trimmed in leaf green, and the slippers match: tiny pumpkin-orange booties with leaf-green vines stitched along the ankle seams.
Claudia smiles. “She is going to look like she belongs in a pumpkin patch.”
“She will,” I say. “Cutest pumpkin there.”
She touches the onesie again, tracing the spice orange. Her cheeks warm, and something soft flickers across her expression. Then she notices the third bundle on the chair.
“Oh,” she murmurs. “What is this one?”
“Daycare costume,” I say.
She unties the satin bow gently. The fabric unfolds.
A pumpkin romper in pumpkin orange. Ribbed cotton. Stretchy and soft for all-day wearing.
Across the chest is a small, embroidered pumpkin outlined in golden yellow, with a tiny stem.
She holds it as if it were the most precious thing she has ever been given.
“And these are for daycare?” she whispers.
“They are,” I say. “So, she has something comfortable to wear for pictures.”
She lifts the matching hat next. A knit cap in sage green, with a pumpkin orange pom on top.
Then the slippers. Little fleece booties in pumpkin orange with stitched forest green vines at the ankles.
“Oh my god,” she whispers.
I nod toward the matching bundle next to it. Her set. A soft long-sleeve tee in ivory cotton.
Embroidered across the chest in Little One’s Mama
And her cardigan, loose-knit in warm brown with wooden buttons and a matching hat:
Cream knit with an orange pom.
Claudia presses her free hand over her heart like she needs to hold something inside herself together.
“Deacon. These are beautiful.”
“It is Halloween,” I say. “You two should have something fun.”
“You did not have to do this.”
“I know.”
She looks up at me, eyes bright. “You even matched the colors.”
“I tried.”
She gives a tiny, breathy laugh that hits me right under the ribs. “This is the sweetest thing.”
I can’t wait to do more, I think, but instead tell her, “Koa may be into all the gear, but I want you both to be warm and comfortable.”
Claudia’s lips part. “You,” she shakes her head in an apparent attempt not to get emotional again.
“You.” I mirror her words.
Savannah stirs and starts nuzzling into Claudia’s chest. “I have to feed her.”
“You hungry?” I ask softly.
Claudia nods without looking away from the baby outfits. “Starving.”
“Good. I will order. Did you pick something from the menu?”
She shakes her head, “Beef or chicken, a potato maybe?”
“Nothing spicy, right?” I nod to Savannah.
“Or gassy,” she says, smiling at her as her eyes flutter open. “Because you can be a little stinker, can’t you?” She looks at me, “Thank you, Deacon.”
Twenty minutes later, Claudia is walking out of the bedroom in sweatpants and a sweatshirt with Stanford across the chest. Pride blooms inside of me, knowing just parts of her story and how hard she worked to become who she is.
And then another feeling hits altogether.
It’s way too big for her to have been hers.
Was there someone else she trusted to care for her? Someone else who hurt her?
“You hung up my work clothes?” She asks, walking over to the couch.
“I didn’t think you’d want them wrinkled.”
She sits down and turns to face me and squares her shoulders, “In the car earlier, when you asked me to come with you, I remembered all the times my mother brought home a different man. Savannah is young right now, but one day she won’t be, and that will not be her life.”
I simply nod because I feel like she has more to say, and she does.
“In fact, I have never invited a man to any place I’ve lived and never have had one stay over. I already broke that rule.”
“With me.”
She nods and continues. “As she gets older, I will never ask her who she ate lunch with at school; I will ask her what she learned. I want her to know school is for learning and not about a social circle because kids can be cruel, and I never want her to think she has to put up with that, so she can answer the question.”
Again, I simply nod.
“I won’t force her to play sports or an instrument; be in clubs she has no interest in, go to summer camps where she will get eaten alive by bugs, just so I can have me time.
” She looks down, brows knit. “I am very fond of my own company, so I don’t feel like I need to find a man or a group of friends that I have to bend or change so they will like me. ”
Worry hits hard, “Did something happen with the girls?”
“They’re wonderful.” She pulls her feet up, sets her chin on her knees, and continues. “I’ve lived in a dozen homes, was in a sorority, and I can read people, especially women. They don’t need or want anything from me; they’re genuine. It’s men, specifically men who show interest in me.”
“Did something happen with Koa?”
“What? No, of course not. You, Deacon. You give me mixed signals. You make me want.” She stops. “Never mind.”
She starts to stand, and I grab her knee to stop her. “I’m not sending mixed signals, Doc. I’m waiting this out.”
“This?” She shakes her head.
“I thought I’d made myself clear, but maybe not, so let me do that now.
I want you. I want to kiss you, fuck you, and do all the things we’ve done, over and over and over again.
I want to sit in awe of the mother you are, the person you are.
I want to stand beside you as you navigate life, or at least follow behind as you figure this all out because you will.
I want you to trust me on instinct, because to your soul you know you can.