CHAPTER FORTY
LINA
W hen I rush out of the players’ exit and into a private parking deck of the stadium, I’m expecting to see Grant’s car somewhere in the lot. When it’s not there, I feel like a delusional idiot.
Here I am, running out of the stadium, imagining some type of movie-like reunion where he’d be leaning against the hood of his car, waiting for me to run into his arms.
Instead, I’m halted in the center of the parking lot, wondering what the fuck I did wrong.
What is it that Eden says? It’s like watching a rom-com where nobody gets to the airport in time.
Except worse, because I’m the idiot who bought the plane ticket, sprinted to the gate, and watched the plane take off right as I was catching my breath.
I press the heels of my hands into my eyes, trying to block out the sting. Maybe I deserve this. Maybe this is what happens when you hold on too tightly to something that was supposed to be temporary. Something that already let go of you.
But has he let go?
A car door slams somewhere behind me, and a small part of me hopes that it’s Grant, despite everything else pointing at the fact that he’s already gone.
My heart stutters—stupid and reckless—and when I turn around, Braxton and Meredith are getting into Braxton’s BMW.
They must notice me when I go to turn back toward the stadium door, the click of my heels on the cement echoing through the nearly empty parking garage.
“Lina?” Meredith called.
I turn back, smiling slightly and waving.
“Are you looking for Grant?” Braxton asks.
My back straightens, and I say, “I was.”
“We’re going to Sal’s Diner. He’s already there,” Meredith tells me, right as Braxton says, “Get in!”
“I—” I stop myself, swallowing hard again. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”
“So what? You’re going to stay here and mope instead of just going to him?” Braxton asks, making Meredith glare at him.
The ache in my chest tightens, pulling taut like a rubber band about to snap.
I look back at the stadium doors, at the ghost of the place where I thought it would all fall into place.
Maybe it still can.
“Come on,” Meredith urges. “He’s probably waiting for you, just like he was all night.”
I take a few steps toward the car before hesitating again. “He left,” I say suddenly, my voice hollow. “How could you say he’s been waiting for me when he left without me?”
“Lina.” Meredith steps forward, taking my hand in hers. “Just because Grant left without you doesn’t mean he gave up on you. He could tell you were upset and wanted to give you space.” It’s the most reassuring thing she’s ever said.
I blink hard, the words slicing through the thick fog of hurt clouding my brain.
“He was checking his phone every minute while we were waiting outside the bathroom,” Meredith continues, squeezing my hand. “He didn’t want to push you. He thought if you wanted to come, you would.”
Braxton leans over the center console from where he’s sitting in the driver’s seat, his voice softer this time. “He looked like shit leaving the stadium, if that makes a difference.”
It does.
God , it does.
But fear is a heavy thing, a living thing, curling around my ribs and dragging me backward.
“What if it’s too late?” I whisper, more to myself than to them.
“Then let it be because you tried,” Meredith says simply. “Not because you stayed standing in a parking garage.”
A tear slips down my cheek before I can stop it, and Meredith smiles sadly, tugging me toward the car.
“Come on, Lina.”
And somehow, on legs that barely feel like mine, I get into the car.
* * *
During the ride to Sal’s diner, my palms were sweating and my heart was pounding a frantic rhythm against my chest.
And when I walk through the doors, I’m met with the loud atmosphere of nearly the entire football team being packed inside. It only takes a second before I spot Grant in one of the booths in the back corner.
I recognize Cam sitting closest to the window next to him, but I have no idea who the guys sitting behind and across from him are.
Whether or not I should approach him doesn’t even feel like an option at this point. I’ve come all the way here and worked up the courage to talk to him.
There’s no going back, and that sentiment echoes through the sound my heels make against the linoleum floor as I approach.
“Grant,” I say, my voice trembling.
His head jerks up immediately, brown eyes wide and raw when they land on me.
He’s out of the booth before I can even think, like he can’t stand another second without closing the space between us. His arms wind around me—desperate and sure—and I press my face into the place where his neck meets his shoulder, thankful for the heels giving me a few extra inches to do so.
I’m breathing him in like I’ve been underwater for too long and he’s the first gasp of air. He smells like soap and sandalwood—something so achingly and stupidly familiar that it cracks something open deep inside me.
I don’t even realize I’m crying again until I feel his hand slide up to the back of my head, fingers threading gently through my hair, grounding both of us.
Grant’s other hand presses flat against my spine, anchoring me to him like he’s afraid I’ll disappear if he lets go.
When we finally pull back enough to look at each other, his thumb brushes over my cheekbone, catching a tear.
His smile is broken and beautiful all at once.
“So much for giving you space,” he says, voice rough.
“You’re exactly where I want you,” I whisper back.
Grant gives me a knowing look from the few inches he still stands above me. He’s looking down at me as though he can see the weight of everything I wasn’t saying, willing to carry it if I just hand it over.
It makes my chest tighten because I know what I need to say.
“I was hurt.” The words come out small, almost childlike.
“I know.” His voice is wrecked and full of so much regret. It almost undoes me.
We stand there, in the middle of the diner, while the whole world keeps spinning around us. And I don’t care who’s watching.
“I was scared you didn’t want me the way I want you,” I whisper.
I’m still scared of that reality.
His hands cradle my face so gently it shatters something inside me.
“God, Lina,” he breathes. “You have no idea how badly I want you.”
“If you really mean that, then you should take me home with you.”
Grant looks surprised, but then a smirk grows on his face. “Is this you taking me up on my offer? For a second time?”
I bite my lip to stop from smiling. “We’ll see.”
Grant pulls back so he can lace his fingers through mine. “Come on,” he says, tugging me gently toward the door.
There’s something so familiar about getting in his car, like chasing a feeling I know better than to trust.
The engine rumbles to life, the world blurs past, and with his hand still tangled in mine, I think some mistakes are the ones you make on purpose.
My pulse is drumming all the way from my heart, down my arm, and into my wrist on the drive back to our apartment building.
Walking up the steps toward the lobby makes me realize exactly what I’m doing.
Suddenly, everything feels loud. The stereo of my brain is turned up much too high, until the only sound left is the whooshing that speeds through your ears when you’re falling.
Grant squeezes my hand right as we get in the elevator, and my heart tips sideways. It’s what makes me realize I’m not falling in a way that sends me rushing toward the ground.
I’m falling straight into him .
And as we head down the hall, I know that I’m not scared of the fall.
I’m scared of how badly I want to be caught.
I’ve known for a long time that I saw something more in him. Between the way his sisters pried him out of the shell he was in—showing me all the ways in which he cares for the women in his life—and the way I’ve practically taken a can opener to his ribs, revealing the heart and soul inside of him.
That’s the scariest part of it all. Somewhere between me doing everything in my power to get Grant to show who he truly is and him memorizing every jagged piece of me, he cracked me right down the middle.
I handed him the key to unlock my rib cage and then the flashlight to explore my heart. I gave him an open expedition to the mess of me, and he picked up the most broken parts like they were diamonds instead of glass shards.
Walking into his apartment, the feeling doesn’t leave, even as we head for his bedroom. The rushing of blood through my head doesn’t slow. I can still hear it in my ears.
Then Grant turns toward me, and when he says something, I have to reorient myself in order to comprehend exactly what he asks me.
“Do you want to talk about it?” is what I think he asks.
I hadn’t even noticed my hands were wringing around themselves in front of me. The only time they stopped awkwardly moving in circles was so I could run them through my hair.
Jesus, I look nervous.
I shake my head, not trusting myself to speak quite yet.
“Are you sure?”
He takes a step forward, making me swallow past the feeling of a boulder being lodged in my windpipe and take control of my hands again to reach out and grab his.
“Sorry,” I say. “I don’t know why I’m suddenly so freaked out.”
Grant tilts his head, like he knows why, but he doesn’t know what to say about it.
Before he can, I take a step forward, molding my lips to his in a searing kiss. With the way he’s moving against me right now, the memories are coming at me from every which way, threatening to break down every barrier I’ve built between us.
But along with that, and the way he’s kissing me, I’m reminded of why I’m standing in his bedroom.
The longer I spend in his hold, feeling like he’s completely undoing me, I remember how I felt a few hours ago.
I was crying in the bathroom of the stadium because I thought he didn’t want me, while the girl he’s been regularly hooking up with comforted me.
A prickle of unease settles deep in my stomach, trying to replace the arousal that was threatening to bubble there a moment ago.