CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
LINA
B eyond the small taste I got in Grant’s bedroom, I’m not entirely sure what to expect when we go downstairs.
Waking up next to Grant, our limbs half-intertwined with his bare chest on display, had me flustered enough as it is. Meeting his family is a whole other level.
We’re greeted by the smell of brewing coffee and pancakes cooking, while the murmur of one of Grant’s sisters arguing with the Alexa over its music choice echoes in the background.
Abby spots me when I enter the kitchen and lights up. “Look who survived the ambush!”
Grant groans. “Why would you want to scare her off now when you’ve only just tricked her into staying?”
I smile in spite of myself and head toward the coffee pot, trying not to overthink the heat still lingering from the moment upstairs.
“We’re not that scary,” she says, squeezing me. “Just loud.”
“And nosy,” Claire adds, flipping another pancake.
“And inappropriate,” Grant mutters, taking a seat at one of the island’s barstools.
Following suit, I plop down next to him once I’ve filled my mug. Abby begins passing out plates, and when I finally glance up, Mr. Vandenberg is giving me a look—one that’s less ‘ who the hell are you?’ But more ‘ are you okay, kid?’
It disarms me a little.
“I’m Abby, by the way,” Abby chirps unnecessarily, “and this is Claire. In case we scarred you too badly upstairs for you to remember.”
“And that’s Dad,” Claire says, jerking her chin toward Mr. Vandenberg. “But everyone calls him Coach.”
Coach Vandenberg smiles toward me. “Nice to meet you, Lina. Sorry about the… unconventional welcome.”
“It’s fine,” I say, forcing a smile despite how utterly awkward this feels. “I mean, traumatic, but fine.”
I’ve never felt this uncomfortable for seemingly no reason before. I immediately assume it has to do with the fact that this is the first time I’ve been surrounded by a family since my mom died. It seems like a reasonable explanation.
Claire chokes on her coffee, laughing. Abby beams at me like I passed some secret sisterhood initiation test.
“You’re funny,” Abby says approvingly. “You can stay.”
“She doesn’t want to stay,” Grant mutters, but he’s smiling into his mug.
“You don’t know that,” Abby argues, tossing a blueberry at him.
Claire sets a plate in front of me stacked so high I’d almost think she’s suggesting I look malnourished.
“Eat,” she orders. “You’re part of this now.”
I glance at Grant. He gives a slight shrug, like there’s no point in denying his sisters—something he clearly knows all too well. And weirdly, I don’t mind it. Their chaotic energy is overwhelming, but it’s real. Messy and honest.
Something about it makes my chest ache. I chalk it up to my only child syndrome. Being around Grant’s siblings is a nice change of pace now that I’m nearly over the awkwardness of it all.
Abby hops back onto the counter, cradling her mug between her hands. She grins wide, like she’s been holding in a secret too big to sit on anymore.
“Okay, so speaking of surprises,” she says, bouncing a little. “I have one.”
Grant groans. “God, no more.”
“Shut up,” Abby says gleefully. Then, in one breath: “I’m pregnant.”
The room freezes.
Claire smirks behind her mug. Clearly she’s been in the know. Coach Vandenberg’s eyebrows shoot up so high I think they might launch off his face.
“What?” Grant finally says, his voice cracking slightly.
“I’m pregnant!” Abby repeats, throwing her hands up. “You’re going to be an uncle!”
Grant stares at her, speechless. His mouth opens and closes. Classic system reboot.
I glance at Claire, who looks entirely unsurprised, then back to Abby, who’s positively glowing.
Something about being here during such an important family moment makes me feel even more out of place than I already had, but there’s not much I can do about it now.
“Wait,” Grant says slowly. “How? I mean”—he grimaces, realizing his mistake—“please don’t tell me how —but when? Since when?”
“I’m eight weeks along,” Abby says proudly. “Found out last month. Claire’s known. We were waiting to tell you and Dad in person.”
Coach Vandenberg shakes his head, looking dazed but proud. “Well, damn. Guess we’ve got a lot to celebrate!”
Abby beams even brighter. She hops off the counter and practically tackles Coach in a hug.
Grant still looks like he’s short-circuiting. I reach under the table and nudge his knee with mine.
“You okay, Gigi?” I tease, keeping my voice low.
He shoots me a betrayed look as I grin into my pancake.
After a second, his shoulders loosen. “I’m fine. Just… wow.”
Abby turns back toward us, hands on her hips. “You’re going to be the coolest uncle. I already decided.”
Claire snorts. “Debatable.”
“And Lina can obviously help you babysit,” Abby adds, winking at me.
I cough into my coffee. “Uh?—”
“Abby,” Grant says with a sigh. “I already told you, Lina and I?—”
“I heard you the first time, Gigi.”
“I feel like you guys would be good together,” Claire chimes in.
“Exactly!” Abby gleams. “It’s clear she doesn’t take your shit. You need someone like that.”
I hold up my hands, halting the two of them. “Woah. I’ve barely come to terms with being friends with Grant. Trust me, nothing is going to happen between us.”
They both give us a suspicious look, and Grant leans back in his chair, watching me like he’s trying to figure out how I’m not running for the hills.
Honestly? I’m wondering the same thing.
Because somehow, against every rule of self-preservation I usually live by, I’m enjoying this.
The pancakes. The teasing. The way the Vandenbergs pull people in like gravity. How Grant’s knee keeps brushing against mine under the table.
Maybe, for the first time in a long time, I’m not just surviving a morning.
I’m living it.
“Mom would be so excited if she were here,” Grant says suddenly, making everyone in the room go still.
Abby’s and Claire’s eyes fill with tears, and I can tell by Grant’s voice that he himself is getting choked up. “God, Abs, she’d be so happy for you.”
Abby presses a hand to her mouth, nodding quickly as her eyes well over. Claire ducks her head, swiping at her cheek with the sleeve of her sweatshirt.
Coach Vandenberg crosses the room and pulls Abby into a hug, then gestures for Claire to join them too. The three of them stand there, arms wrapped around each other in a messy, tearful huddle.
Grant watches them, his jaw tight, like he’s holding himself together with sheer force of will.
Without thinking, I reach over and slip my hand into his under the table.
His fingers immediately curl around mine. He doesn’t look at me, but he doesn’t let go either.
The moment passes. The tears turn into laughter when Claire mutters something about their mom haunting them if they name the baby something stupid. Abby swears loudly and starts arguing back, and just like that, the kitchen floods with noise again.
Grant squeezes my hand once before finally letting go, standing, and stacking the empty plates without being asked. I follow his lead, gathering mugs and forks, and head toward the sink.
Without even trying, Grant and I have found this strange, stubborn pocket of peace between us. I’m beginning to realize that being friends with Grant is not so bad.
Sure, he can be an asshole, but I’m a bitch.
Yes, him being a man-whore isn’t the greatest image, but it doesn’t affect me any.
Maybe friendship doesn’t hit you all at once. Maybe it’s not supposed to feel like a lightning strike.
Sometimes it sneaks up on you, quietly building until you look up and realize it’s there, like a song you don’t realize you’re humming until it’s already stuck in your head.
And somewhere between the noise and the quiet, I think Grant and I are becoming friends, as odd as it feels.