14. House Calls & Heartbreak
Chapter fourteen
House Calls & Heartbreak
Grant
Ihated letting her walk away so quickly.
Every instinct in me was screaming to stop her. To scoop her up, carry her somewhere private, and not let her out of my sight until I knew she was okay.
But making a scene would’ve been a mistake. It would’ve drawn Marlow’s attention in an instant and the last thing I need is my daughter asking why I was so damn concerned. Why I felt this overwhelming need to look after Eslin so closely.
So I let her go.
But I’m still not convinced she’s okay.
The stubborn tilt of her chin told me she’d brush it off, play it cool and pretend nothing was wrong. But the way she stumbled into me—how light she felt in my arms—told a very different story.
And even though I have no right to do this, even though I’m already crossing a line I swore I wouldn’t, I pull out my phone and make the call.
Since Eslin left the school today, my mind’s been in a loop—running through every worst-case scenario on repeat. I haven’t been able to stop myself from wanting to go to her door, just to check on her. To see her. To know she’s okay.
But without a reason, without an excuse, I’d look exactly like what she asked me not to be—intrusive. Crossing lines. Making this harder than it already is.
And this right here—what I’m feeling now—is exactly why I’ve spent so long keeping my distance from anything close to love. Why I’ve stayed guarded. Why I’ve been terrified to let anyone get this close again.
Because when I fall, I fall hard. I love hard. And I know myself—I’d worry too much, hold too tight.
I’ve already lost one love of my life.
Losing another? That would destroy me.
So I do what I know I can, from a professional position, even if that feels like a stretch. I call the team doctor.
“Dr. Shoup. Grant Mills here. We’ve got a team member who needs your assistance.”
Dr. Shoup freezes for a beat when I tell him where he’s going. My building. And we both know none of the players live here.
But to his credit, he doesn’t ask. Still, I give him the rundown—what happened at the event, how Eslin hit her head, how she insisted she was fine but I wanted to be certain. And because he hasn’t formally met Eslin yet, I add, “I’ll meet you at her place. I don’t want you to startle her.”
I sound composed. Calm. Like I’ve got it all under control.
But the truth is, I’m nowhere close.
***
An hour later, I’m standing outside Eslin’s apartment, Dr. Shoup a few steps behind me.
I check my watch, anxiety tightening in my chest.
Please don’t be asleep. Please don’t have a concussion and be doing the one thing doctors always warn against.
I draw in a breath, then knock.
Also, please have some decent clothes on because…a man can only take so much.
When she opens the door, there’s already a frown waiting for me, like she knew exactly who it was before she even checked.
But what there isn’t much of...is clothing.
She’s standing there in a pair of those little boy shorts—the kind I used to absolutely hate seeing my daughter wear—and a simple tank top.
Only difference is…I like Eslin in those shorts.
I like her in them, a lot.
“What are you doing here?” She asks.
I hold out her phone. “You dropped this at the school.”
She gasps, snatching the phone from my hand. “Oh my goodness, thank you! I emailed Marlow to see if anyone had seen it, and when she wrote back and said no, I thought I’d lost it for good!”
I’d grabbed it the second I saw it slip from her pocket. Tried to tell her. But she was so focused on getting away, on escaping the embarrassment, she didn’t notice I was standing there holding it.
Her gaze flicks from the phone to the man standing beside me.
“This is Dr. Shoup,” I say, keeping my tone even. “He’s going to check you for a concussion.”
Her mouth opens, ready to argue, but I cut her off.
“Once I know you’ll be okay, I’ll leave you alone.”
And for both our sakes, I pray I can actually follow through on that promise.
After a beat, she steps aside and lets us in.
Her apartment is ten floors below mine, smaller, cozier—but still well-kept and inviting. The walls are painted a soft cream, with warm accents with throws, plants, framed prints. Nothing out of place.
It suits her.
I knew it would.
The low hum of the TV filters through the room—Scandal reruns—and I can’t help but smile, picturing her squealing at the screen every time Olivia and Fitz steal a moment.
I feel closer to her somehow, just standing in this space. Like I’ve been given a glimpse into a part of her world I’d never dared to imagine.
But who am I kidding? I’ve imagined all of this.
I toured the space before she moved in, before she added her touches—before her scent lingered in the air, before the soft throw blankets and stacks of books made it hers. I made sure everything was perfect.
Moving to a new city, alone, as a single woman was hard enough. I didn’t want her to worry about a damn thing when it came to finding a place to live or comfortable furniture. So I handled it. Quietly.
And for the two months she’s lived here, I’ve imagined her in every inch of this space.
I’ve pictured her dancing in this living room, nothing but skin and that smile. I’ve imagined her curled up on the balcony with a book on lazy Saturday mornings, her bohemian locs spilling over her shoulders.
And I’ve spent more minutes—hell, hours—than I care to admit in the shower, imagining what it would be like to have my way with her right here, bent over that dining table that seats eight. I’d feast on her like I was eating for twelve.
Pull it together, Mills.
You can’t afford to get hard while the pretty lady is being assessed for a head injury.
Dr. Shoup sets his bag down and walks her through the standard checks. Pupils. Eye movement. Balance. Reflexes. A few simple questions to test her memory and orientation.
Through it all, she sits up straight, answering calmly, even though I can see the weariness pulling at her.
Finally, he straightens, tucks his equipment away. “You’re fine. No signs of a concussion. Just stay rested. No screens for a bit. No strenuous activity. Listen to your body.”
She thanks him quietly.
I walk him to the door, shaking his hand. “Thanks for coming so quickly.”
“Anything for Coach Saunders,” he says, referring to the new miracle worker all the guys on the team have been bragging about. And I like that they call her that. Made her one of them.
Then, the doctor leaves.
When I turn back, Eslin is curled on the sofa, her legs tucked beneath her.
Without thinking, I reach for the throw blanket draped over the back of the couch and gently lay it across her feet.
She watches me for a long beat, eyes soft but sharp. Then she says, “You’re terrified of losing the people you love, aren’t you?”
I love that she can do that. Hate that she can do that. See me so easily.
She seems to realize the weight of her words and quickly corrects, “I mean, not that you...love me or anything. I wasn’t saying that—”
I shake my head, a wry smile tugging at my mouth.
“I know what you mean, Eslin. And yes, you’re correct.
When Marlow was sixteen, she made me sign a contract that I wouldn’t make her leave the house in bubble wrap the way I always watched over her.
I was…a little intense about her safety after her mother died. ”
Her expression softens. “How did she pass? If you don’t mind me asking.”
“Cervical cancer.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Thank you.” I pause, letting out a breath. “I got the greatest gift of all from the short time we had together.”
I reach down and tuck the blanket under Eslin’s feet a little tighter.
“And I don’t like how easily you see me when I’ve been able to hide from so many people for more than twenty years.”
She smiles faintly, her eyes warm. “Occupational hazard.”
There’s a pause, her gaze steady. “But you don’t have to worry about me. You don’t have to fuss over me. I’m not going anywhere.”
Hope stirs, unbidden, sharp. “Do you promise?”
She stills, looking straight into my eyes. “Promise what?”
“That you aren’t going anywhere.” My heart kicks up, the words tumbling out before I can stop them. “I don’t know… maybe, once this all settles, once Marlow is fully acclimated to—”
I stop myself.
Because I already know how this sounds.
Like I’m asking her to wait.
Like I’m offering her a maybe when she deserves so much more than that.
“If you’re asking me what I think you’re asking me…to wait for you until you fully turn over your portion of the team to Marlow,” her voice softens, but her tone is resolute, “ the answer is no.”
She sits up a bit and holds my gaze and my heart breaks just a little more before she even begins to speak. “Grant, I’ve spent my entire life waiting—to be picked, to be taken in, to be wanted. And what I’ve learned is, I have to choose me, first. Or I’ll keep breaking my own heart…waiting.
“So while I admire what you’re doing for your daughter and for yourself…I won’t wait for you while I am reminded, every day, I wasn’t worth choosing first.”
I swallow hard, the air in the room suddenly too thick, too sharp to pull in.
She’s right.
She deserves more than that.
More than me, asking her to wait around like some afterthought. Like her worth could be measured in patience and sacrifice.
I’m ashamed. Ashamed those words even left my mouth. She deserves a man who’d choose her first. Every time. Without hesitation. Without conditions.
I force a breath, my voice rough with the truth of it. “You’re right. And I’m sorry. Goodnight, Eslin.”
I turn, each step toward the door sinking in deeper, the finality of it pressing heavier with every movement. A cold, suffocating fog settling over me.
Before I reach the door, I hear the rustle of the blanket and the soft shuffle of her getting up from the couch. Then she calls out to me—her voice quiet, but steady.
“Grant?”
I stop, turning back so fast I nearly stumble. Just hearing her say my name feels like a gut punch wrapped in silk.
“Yeah?”
“It was a great night, though, right?”
I smile, but it’s tight, stretched over the ache in my chest. “Best fucking night of my life.”
She starts playing with the hem of those shorts I love. “Shame it didn’t end with a kiss, huh?”
“Biggest regret of my life.”
She steps closer, slowly closing the space between us. My pulse kicks up like it’s trying to outrun my good intentions.
“So,” she whispers, just inches away now, tilting her head to meet my eyes. “Maybe we say goodbye. This time the right way.”
“Couldn’t agree more,” I murmur.
Her hand rises, delicate fingers tracing the edge of my jaw, her palm warm against my skin. The second she touches me, the restraint I’ve been clinging to snaps like a frayed wire.
I dive in, capturing her mouth with mine—hungry, desperate, but reverent. I need to memorize her taste because I’m painfully aware our first kiss is also our last.
Her lips part softly beneath mine. She melts into me, hands fisting in my shirt, and for a moment, the world disappears. It’s not rushed. It’s not frantic. It’s heartbreak disguised as passion—two people clinging to something they’re both terrified to lose, even as they know they have to let it go.
For a second, I let my hands roam, unable to stop myself. I slide them down, cupping her behind, pulling her even closer. She’s exquisite. Petite, soft and full in all the places that make my self-control fracture.
She moans into my mouth, and my erection pulses painfully as her fingers slide into my hair, tugging just enough to make me lose what little sanity I’ve been clinging to.
I kiss her like I’m trying to hold time still. Like if I kiss her deep enough, long enough, maybe we don’t have to let go. Maybe goodbye doesn’t have to come.
But it does.
When I finally pull back, breathless and desperate to stay, even as I know I can’t, my forehead rests against hers.
“I’ve dreamed about doing that since you first sat next to me at that bar, Eslin Saunders.”
Her breath hitches, voice low and shaky. “How dare you fucking kiss me like that, Mister? I was just starting to convince myself I could get over you.”
She tries to make it sound light, but I can hear the weight under her words. Feel it in the way her hands won’t let go just yet.
“I know the feeling,” I whisper back.
Neither of us says anything else. We don’t have to. The goodbye is already thick between us, sitting heavy in the air like a storm we’re both too heartbroken to outrun.
“I left the team doctor’s number there on the coffee table.”
She looks back and smiles. “I didn’t even notice. Thank you.”
I bend down and press a kiss to her forehead. “I’m glad you’re ok, Coach Saunders.”
And then, with one last look, I turn and walk away—feeling like I’ve just left a piece of my soul behind.
And damn…can she kiss.