Chapter 2
Grayson
“Ithink something is wrong with Georgia. I’m worried about her.”
“Besides being married to you?”
My little brother, Brooks, sits across from me in my office, his smirk almost identical to the one I usually wear.
Two years ago, I didn’t know I had a little brother—not until he showed up in my office looking for a job.
The interview was a dumpster fire in which I accused him of using me for my success, and he told me to take my ego and shove it.
Maybe not in those exact words, but the sentiment was the same.
I thought I would never see him again after that, and I was content with that decision.
But he’s persistent—albeit annoying. He kept showing up, inserting himself into my life, and giving me no choice but to accept him.
Now, once a week, like clockwork, we meet up to have lunch.
Sometimes it’s at a restaurant. Sometimes it’s at his office, and sometimes it’s at mine.
The location may change, but one thing remains the same every week—I can count on him to say something that makes my eye twitch.
I’m told that’s normal when you have a brother, though.
I glare at him over the top of my glass, and to anyone else, that glare would be intimidating—but Brooks continues smirking, undeterred by my grumpiness.
“Can you take this seriously?”
Brooks wipes the smirk off his face and straightens up in his seat. “Okay, okay. Tell me what’s going on.”
Sighing, I reach forward, fidgeting with the edge of a paper on my desk. My eyes stray to the orchid tattoo on my wrist, the one I got as a promise to my best friend, my wife’s late husband, thinking about how it eventually became a promise to her, too.
A promise to love her.
A promise to make her happy.
A promise to protect her.
But I’m not sure how to keep those promises when I can’t explain what’s wrong with her.
“I don’t know. She’s been—off.”
“Off how?” Brooks raises an eyebrow, steepling his fingers beneath his chin and making me feel like I’m sitting in a therapist’s office.
Brooks and his wife, Emryn, attend therapy often—both together and alone. They say that it makes their marriage stronger. And don’t get me wrong, I’m all for therapy for other people. I’m the one who pushed Georgia to go right after Nate died, but it’s not for me.
I’m not a people person—especially when it comes to sharing feelings. The only people I’m willing to do that with are my wife—and sometimes the little jerk sitting in front of me, depending on how much he annoyed me that day.
“Brooks, I just told you I don’t know. Did you clean your ears out this morning?”
The smirk is back when he says, “No, but I didn’t need to in order to know that you’re avoiding the question. It’s written all over that ever-scowling face of yours.”
I prove him right by deepening my glare. “I hate you.”
His teeth flash when he grins back at me with a smile that makes me want to smack him upside the head.
“Fine. She’s—grumpier than usual.”
A hoot of laughter comes from the other side of my desk, where Brooks is bent over, holding his stomach and trying to catch his breath. Reaching for the closest object, I chuck my stress ball at his head, hitting him directly in the forehead, which only causes him to laugh harder.
“Let me get this straight,” he says through his tears, “you—the grumpiest person I know, are accusing Georgia, one of the sweetest women I know aside from my wife, of being grumpy? Pot, have you met kettle?”
His laughing continues, and I grit my teeth, letting him have his fun until he finally takes two deep breaths and calms himself.
“Are you done?” I ask blandly.
He swipes his fingers underneath his eyes, giving his head a shake, and says, “Okay, I’m ready now.”
With a curt nod, I continue, “As I was saying—she’s grumpy.
Like really grumpy. She nearly bit my head off this morning for offering her a piece of toast. And aside from that, she looked a little green when I held it out to her.
Come to think of it, she’s looked a little green anytime I’ve offered her food here lately. ”
By the time I’m finished explaining, I find myself pacing the small area behind my desk, unable to look at my brother. But when no answer comes, I stop pacing and square my body to face him. “Well?”
Brooks doesn’t answer me at first, and there is a smugness in his eyes as his mouth tips up into a half smile. “I’m waiting for you to figure it out?”
“Figure what out?”
He blanches, his smile slipping. “Surely you can’t be this dumb, can you?”
My fists clench against my legs. “Brooks, if you don’t spit it out right now, I’m going to pummel you, and then I will have to explain to your wife why you have a black eye. I really don’t want to do that because, if I’m honest, the woman scares me a little bit.”
With a huff, Brooks meets my eye, never losing eye contact when he says, “Your wife is pregnant, Grayson.”
“No,” I say, shaking my head. “I would know if she were pregnant.”
Brooks lifts one eyebrow. “Really? Because you’ve been around a lot of pregnant women before? Look, maybe I’m wrong, but when Emryn was pregnant with Avery, she acted the same way.”
“Georgia would have told me if she was.”
He shrugs. “Maybe she hasn’t taken a test yet—or maybe she just hasn’t found a way to tell you. Emryn didn’t tell me at first because, even though we were married, she was scared. And I get that because it’s her body that has to change—not mine. I couldn’t hold that against her.”
I shake my head, trying to clear my thoughts so I can think, but for once, I’m at a loss for words because I’m too busy being suffocated by the bomb my brother just dropped in my lap.
______________________
The front door slams behind me, and I wince at the noise.
It’s the middle of the day, and I’m not usually home at this hour. But it’s also not unusual for me to slip out early sometimes since Georgia started working from home.
After Nate died, I offered her a position as my secretary until she could get back on her feet.
I admit I didn’t entirely do it for selfless reasons.
From my understanding, sometimes I can be—hard to work for, but I knew Georgia wouldn’t put up with any of my moods—not when we had been friends since elementary school.
Plus, it didn’t hurt that I got to see her every day.
Not that I told her that.
But after we got married, Georgia was ready to find her own path again, and I supported that.
She started working for a non-profit that supports cancer patients and their families throughout the healing process. She is their event and charity manager, and I couldn’t be prouder of her.
She took the bad from her life and is making a difference with it.
“Grayson, is that you?” she calls, her soft voice floating down the hallway. “I’m back here.”
But she didn’t have to tell me that because my feet are already headed in her direction. It’s like when she’s near, my body senses it and leads me to her.
Reaching up, I grab hold of the knot at my neck and start loosening my tie, needing a little more room to breathe for the conversation we are about to have.
I walk through the hallway to the kitchen, where Georgia sits at the bar.
Her laptop is in front of her, and her clothes are wrinkled from hours of wearing them.
With her hair in a messy bun at the top of her head, she looks a little crazy, but still, she is the most beautiful woman I have ever laid eyes on.
I don’t say anything, leaning my shoulder against the door frame, content to watch her.
But then she looks up at me, smiling, and I’m afraid my heart might fall out at her feet.
“What are you doing home so early?” she asks, standing up and rounding the bar to greet me.
I meet her halfway, wrapping my arms around her when she is finally within reach. She sinks into me, sighing.
This is my favorite time of day—when I come home, not to a meaningless house, but to her. She is my home. Wherever she is, I want to be, too.
She looks up at me, and her eyes give her away. I’m her home, too.
“I missed you, and I didn’t like how we left things this morning,” I say, lifting a hand to tuck her hair behind her ear.
Her eyes dart away from me, hiding.
And my chest turns to stone because I don’t know how to do this.
We don’t hide things from each other.
The question sits on the tip of my tongue but makes it no further.
If she is pregnant, I will be happy.
Ecstatic, actually, but I don’t want to have to pry that information out of her.
I want her to tell me when she is ready because Brooks is right—a fact that I will not be telling him anytime soon. It’s her body changing, not mine.
“I’m sorry.” Her words are whispered, and even though I can’t see her eyes, her voice gives away the fact that she is on the edge of crying.
“Hey,” I say, tilting her chin up to look at me, “everyone has their days. You were grumpy this morning. So, what?” I shrug, lifting the corner of my mouth into a smile. “If you ask Brooks, I’m grumpy all the time.”
That makes her laugh, and the sound loosens the knot in my chest.
Her smile lights up her face, and I can’t stop myself from staring at her in wonder.
She is my best friend.
No matter how close I’ve gotten with Brooks, Georgia still fills that spot for me. She’s the person I want to tell everything to. My dreams, my bad days, people who annoy me—she gets it all and listens with a smile on her face.
“You said it, not me.” She giggles.
I roll my eyes, a soft smile on my lips that’s only reserved for her. “I want you to know you can talk to me about anything, Peach. If you’re having a bad day, we don’t have to talk about it right then, but you don’t have to bear that burden alone.”
Her bottom lip slips between her teeth, chewing on it as her eyes well with tears.
“I know,” she croaks. “But I’m okay now. Promise.”
My eyes bounce between hers, studying her and giving her time to continue if she wants to.
In my head, I’m silently begging her to talk to me because sometimes she has a tendency to shut down.
But when she doesn’t say anything else, I clear my throat, place a quick kiss on her forehead, and step back. “I’m going to go change into some sweats. Why don’t you order a pizza while I do?”
Just like this morning, her face turns green at the mention of food.
“Peach, are you okay?”
She nods, pressing her lips together.
A sigh gets trapped inside my chest, not wanting her to see that I’m disappointed she won’t talk to me.
With a quick nod of my own, I spin on my heel, walking back down the path I came, but I don’t even make it to the hallway before she’s calling my name.
Slowly, I turn back around, facing her, and when I do, she has tears streaming down her cheeks. Her fingers are twisted together as she looks at me and says, “I’m pregnant.”
It takes two steps, and then I’m in front of her, holding her tight enough to keep her together.
“I know, Peach. Brooks told me, and I can’t wait to love our baby.”
She leans back, at least as much as my hold will allow her, and looks up at me. “How did Brooks tell you I’m pregnant? I haven’t told anyone.”
Red creeps up my neck, and I offer her a sheepish smile. “I might have told him that you’ve been crabby—and that you turn green at the mention of food. He told me I was dense for not coming up with my own conclusion.”
Georgia shakes her head, disbelief coloring her cheeks. “You and Brooks talked about this?”
“Yeah? Is that okay?”
Her eyes soften. “Of course, that’s okay, Gray. He’s your brother. I’m just sorry I didn’t tell you myself.”
“Why didn’t you?” I hate how much that one question reveals. Deep down, I’m okay with the fact that she waited until she was ready. But on the surface level, I’m also a little hurt that she didn’t feel like she could tell me before now.
She looks away, talking to a spot just over my shoulder. “Because I wanted to make sure that the only thing I felt when I told you was happiness. I didn’t want there to be any lingering sadness left.”
“You were sad?”
The thought that this might not be what she wants cuts me like a knife.
Turning back to me, she lifts her hand and cups my cheek. “A little…but not for the reason you think. A part of me was sad because Nate wanted this life, but he never got to live it.”
Understanding knocks me in the ribs, taking my breath with it. Loosening my hold, I place my hands on her hips and lift her onto the counter so we are eye to eye. Air fills my lungs again, allowing me to breathe.
“Listen to me, Georgia. You never have to erase your life with Nate to appease me. Nate is part of who you are, and so are the dreams you had with him. You are allowed to mourn those dreams and still be happy for the dreams we are creating together. It’s not one or the other.
Just don’t mourn alone because I’m right here, willing to hold you through it all. ”
Her body shakes with sobs as she falls into my arms, laying her head against my collarbone. I hold her until those sobs have long since subsided, and then I hold her some more.
And when she is finally ready, she lifts her head, staring back at me with love. “How did I get so lucky?”
My lips twitch as I lift my hand and trace her jaw. “God.”
She nods, her hair tumbling around her shoulders. “You’re right—it was God. Because never in my wildest dreams could I dream up a man like you.” There’s a beat of silence, and then she continues. “I really am excited about this baby, you know.”
A grin splits my face. “Me too, Peach.”