Chapter 2
Chapter two
“I’ve got the go-bag!” I shout. “Braxton, Mr. Wardell, help Ivy to the car.” I nod at Ivy’s mother-in-law. “Mrs. Linda, you’re on brownies for the nurses. Second shelf in the freezer. Go! Go! Go!”
En masse, chairs scrape against hardwood in a frenzy.
I back away from the table, scanning the controlled chaos, and wince.
Almost everyone has a role. Halloween was one of the few gatherings Grant hadn’t crashed, which means he wasn’t part of the plan.
Now he’s rocking on the balls of his feet looking eager to jump in, but I don’t have the time to delegate or worry about him. I need to focus on Ivy.
I press my lips together and turn away.
“Let’s get moving, people!” I call, sprinting for the coat closet.
Ivy’s gym bag is right where it should be, bursting at the seams with fuzzy socks, a soft robe, a few books, her bonnet, and about a dozen other comfort items. When I pick it up and spin around, Braxton and his dad are supporting Ivy on either side as they make their way to the garage.
Ten feet away from the door, Ivy gasps.
“Wait!” She looks at Braxton with wide eyes. “I don’t have my shoes on.”
“Shoes?” Braxton’s face goes blank then slack with horror as he looks down at her bare, purple painted toes to the empty space on the shoe rack where the only shoes she can fit these days would be. “Where’d they go?”
Ivy’s chin trembles. “I don’t know!”
“Okay, okay. What about socks?” Braxton suggests. “The thick ones you kept asking for last week because you liked the way they made your ankles look are in the drawer. I’ll run and get them for you.”
Before Braxton can take off, Ivy’s body nearly folds in half as a contraction rocks her, but she still manages to pant out, “I’m not showing up to the hospital in Frankenstein socks when it’s nearly Christmas.”
“Baby, you’re in labor. I don’t think the doctors and nurses care about your feet matching the season. You can show up with them stuffed inside turkeys and no one will bat an eye.”
It’s evident Braxton’s chosen the wrong time to crack jokes when Ivy’s arm snakes up, clutching his shirt and dragging him down to her level. “You don’t understand. I need shoes. Not socks, not turkeys or whatever else you’re thinking of suggesting. Shoes on my feet, or these babies stay in me!”
My sweet, level-headed sister has left the building.
Braxton gulps. “Yes. Shoes. Got it. Uh, here, t-take mine!”
When not full of pregnancy hormones and pain, Ivy loves her some Braxton. She’d be devastated if he missed the birth of their babies because he was busy getting stitches.
Good thing I’m here.
I step forward. “Don’t worry, I’ll find—”
“Got the shoes!” Grant shouts from another room.
Two seconds later, he rushes from around the corner, stopping in front of Ivy to ease her feet into fur-lined clogs.
Feet covered and cozy, Ivy visibly relaxes and looks up at Braxton with eyes docile as a doe while she smooths his shirt.
“Crisis averted,” Grant says, standing up and dusting his hands on his dark jeans.
Grant’s a handsome guy, if you’re into tall ex-NBA players who’ve kept their fit physique, with deep brown skin and even deeper brown eyes that carry the kind of warmth you’d expect from a mug of hot chocolate.
Which, of course, is ridiculous. No one’s eyes should make a person feel like curling up by the window and forgetting the world.
Okay, the man is fine with a capital F, bolded and underlined.
He smiles tenderly at Ivy, brushing a kiss on her forehead, then claps Braxton on the shoulder with an encouraging, “You got this, bro.”
When his eyes meet mine, I swear there’s a spark of triumph before he looks away.
I barely hold in my scoff. As if finding a pair of shoes or hyping his brother up like he’s the one about to push two babies out of him makes Grant the hero of the day.
I shift the go-bag to my other arm and open the door to the garage, keeping it wide so Braxton and his dad can get through with Ivy.
Braxton pulls on the passenger’s handle, only to throw his head back with a groan. “I forgot my keys.”
“Got ‘em,” Grant says, jingling a set of keys with a Dallas Cowboys keychain above his head. “Got your wallet, too.”
With the flick of his wrist, Grant aims the key fob at the car and the sharp click of doors unlocking bounces off drywall.
Well, whoopty doo. He’s got some special knack for finding exactly what people need.
I grit my teeth and watch Braxton guide Ivy down into her seat. Once the seatbelt is stretched safely over her belly and Braxton is making his way to the driver’s side, I move in, “accidentally” bumping Grant out of my way. It may be petty of me, but the surprised grunt he lets out is satisfying.
The dip in my stomach from his heated glare, however, is uncalled for.
“It’s not too early, right?” Ivy asks when I’m back at her side.
“It’s not too early.”
“And everything’s going to be fine?”
“Everything will be fine,” I say, channeling calm confidence. I run a hand over her jeweled locs while holding her gaze. “You’ve got your hair nice and fresh, so you won’t have to worry about looking cute while pushing out my nieces.”
She laughs and shakes her head. “I am not worried about how my hair looks. Just my feet.”
“You’ve got your go-bag with everything to keep you comfy. And your husband by your side.”
A glance up shows me an eyes-wide-with-panic Braxton receiving a similar pep talk from Grant.
“You got this,” Grant says. “And remember, if she says anything mean during labor—don’t take it personally.”
The door leading inside opens and Braxton’s mom comes running out. “The brownies are ready!”
She rushes to jump into the backseat with a wrapped box of brownies and a tag with the words ‘Thank you, nurses’ written across.
Because of hospital restrictions, it was decided that Linda and Wardell would accompany the new parents to the hospital, and I would be able to come after the birth. I don’t like it, but Braxton’s parents treat Ivy like their own, so I know she’ll be in good hands.
Braxton and his dad load into the car as well and with final nervous goodbyes, they back out.
My little sister, my twin, is about to have her own set of twins.
As the car disappears from view, cold November air sweeps into the garage, passing right through my thin sweater.
I wrap my arms tightly around my body, but it barely stops the chill and does absolutely nothing for the sudden hollow feeling that settles over me.
Ivy and I were supposed to be doing this together.
From the time we were young girls, we’d imagined doing life side by side—marriage, babies, family holidays—and having our kids grow up more like siblings than cousins.
For a while, it even looked like it would happen.
Ivy had Braxton, who was loyal and ready to build his life around her.
And I had Eddie, who I thought was equally as loyal, until Grant showed me photographic proof that shattered everything.
I should probably worship the ground Grant walks on for saving me from a lifetime of regret, but if there’s one thing I’ve learned as a family lawyer, it’s that emotions don’t always allow us to do what’s logical.
Emotions are messy. They make you act out or collapse into yourself, run from the people you love or cling too tightly, do everything you possibly can to keep from hurting any more.
Especially when grief is involved.
And shortly after breaking things off with Eddie, I lost Dad.
Life went on, it always does, and I kept working cases and trying to be there for Ivy while she planned her wedding, knowing the man who meant the most to both of us wouldn’t be there to walk her down the aisle.
It was during one of those wedding-prep days when everything finally caught up with me.
It’d been just Grant and me assembling dozens of tiny Lego figurines for Ivy and Braxton’s wedding favors.
Grant was trying to cheer me up with jokes and offering peppermints from a stash in his pocket he must have taken from someone’s grandma.
What I probably needed was a hug, but when he dangled that crinkly wrapper in my face, I went in for a kiss.
Admittedly, I’d always felt a pull to him—one I ignored while planning a future with Eddie—but in that moment, there was nothing to hold me back.
The instant our lips touched though, I knew it was a mistake.
No man on this earth had a right to possess lips that soft, that sweet, that alluring.
One kiss and I’d been tempted to throw all my troubles on Grant and let him carry them away.
I wanted to give up all control when I’d already lost so much.
When he tried to discuss the kiss like emotionally stable adults and made it clear that he wanted to give us a chance, I told him it was a mistake.
I pulled back not only from the kiss, but also the friendship we’d built in the orbit of Ivy and Braxton.
It was the only way I knew to protect myself. Months later, it still is.
The garage door shuts, sealing us in silence. I drag myself out of the past, leaving behind everything beyond my control, and force my attention back to the present, which honestly is no better.
With everyone gone to the hospital it’s only Grant and me here.
He’s on the other side of the garage, standing there with arms crossed over his chest, feet planted on the concrete, and a faraway look in his eyes. Does he realize that this is the first time since the kiss we’ve been alone?
I suck in a cleansing breath. I need something else to focus on. “I’m going to clean the kitchen,” I announce, already halfway to the door.
The sink is full, counters crowded, and table full of half-eaten meals. I roll up my sleeves and get to work. I dig out Tupperware and Ziplock bags and begin packing the turkey, greens, and Linda’s chitlins gravy.
Funny thing about that—I’ve spent all of my twenty-eight years living in the South, having grown up here in Bliss, Texas and moved to San Antonio after school—but have never had chitlins until today.
Dad used to tell us how Mom loved them, but he couldn’t stomach the smell.
She’d insist on cooking them anyway, and he’d insist she leave the front and back doors open, as well as all of the downstairs windows.
I wonder what would have happened if he’d been here when Linda proudly walked in with her pot of gravy, eager for Ivy and me to try it?
Dad had a good poker face, so I’m sure he would have smiled and offered to take it off her hands.
Then “accidentally” poured the whole thing down the sink while the garbage disposal was on.
I fight back the lump in my throat. It was so unfair that a car accident took him from us when Ivy needed him to guide her through her new role as a wife, and I needed him in the aftermath of my heartache.
I’ve spent the past year trying to heal, but sometimes I can’t help but wonder what else will be taken from me.
Suddenly I’m cramming food into the fridge with no methodical care. Turkey smothers the eggs, the pan of green beans balance on the rolls. A lid slips, clattering to the floor and I freeze, realizing my hands are trembling.
“No,” I whisper, too quiet for anyone else to hear.
Everything is fine. Ivy’s fine. The babies will be fine. Nothing bad is going to happen. Especially not during Christmas.
The sound of Grant moving in the living room reaches me, reminding me that I’m not alone. And the last thing I want is for him to see me fall apart.
I take in a long breath. Then another. Then my gaze lands on the table. Among nearly finished, abandoned plates sits one covered by a paper towel—Grant’s slice of pie. I don’t know why, but something about seeing it there just sets me off.
I pick it up and carry it to the trash.
Grant walks in just as I hold the plate over the can. “Hey, I’m still eating—”
The pie slides off and lands with a dull plop.
I meet his eyes, feigning innocence. “I’m sorry, did you still want that?”
Grant narrows his eyes. “Guess not.”
“Perfect.” I beam at him, being nice like Ivy wanted.
I return to the fridge, rearranging it so that everything goes in correctly this time, feeling much lighter and in control. The turkey goes on the bottom. Smaller containers sit on top. Pie on the top level.
Except, the second, whole pie is missing.
I scan the counter, even though I could have sworn I placed right under the microwave. Then I hear it—humming.
He. Did. Not.
I turn around, and there Grant is. Leaning against the wall, fork in one hand and abducted pie in the other. He raises a triumphant brow while shoveling the last bite.
I shake my head. “Are you serious right now?”
“What’s wrong?” he asks breezily.
I’m so annoyed, all I can do is point an accusing finger at the pie.
Grant cocks his head to the side, eyebrows knotted like he doesn’t understand what the big deal is. “I’m sorry, did you want some of this?”
“You know I didn’t,” I all but growl.
This is what he does. Every time I try to shove him out of my space, be it with subtle hints, cold shoulders, or outright actions, Grant just pushes back harder.
Like showing up at mine and Ivy’s birthday dinner, slipping in just long enough to crack a few of his jokes and make sure I felt the weight of his heavy stare.
Or tonight, stealing an entire pie and inhaling it in record time, knowing it’s not something I can ignore.
I may have chosen to guard my heart and shut the door on whatever we could have had, but he's been determined to make sure I can't forget him or the connection we shared. He's determined that I not have even a moment of peace when he's around.
Oh, but according to Ivy, he’s the least petty person she knows.
“You’ve had a lot on your plate today,” Grant says while his brown eyes taunt me. “Figured I could take care of one thing for you.”
At that, he pushes himself off the wall, humming as he gets withing striking distance. He tosses the empty pan in the trash and dirty fork in the sink.
“I’ll get out of your way so you can finish up in here.” His grin lingers as he disappears back into the living room.