21 - Grayson
Grayson
I slept like shit last night. That is, if I slept at all. The entire night played through my head on repeat, getting stuck on Avery fleeing like my room was the scene of a crime. Add in this morning’s skate around with Coach chirping in our ears to stay focused for tonight, and I’m sick of today.
Normally, game day pulls enough of my focus to keep my head occupied before the game. Instead, today, every mental break gets filled by the same thing.
Avery.
I pull out of the arena parking lot while Wyatt scrolls through something on his phone beside me. My sister’s house is close enough that we can grab lunch and still make it back with plenty of time before puck drop.
“So,” Wyatt starts.
I already know where this is going. “No.”
“I didn’t even ask anything.”
“Still no.”
A grin spreads across his face. “Fair.”
I keep my eyes on the road.
Unfortunately, Wyatt Knox has never once let an opportunity to be in my business pass him by.
“So,” he says casually. “You and Avery.”
“There is no me and Avery.” My grip tightens on the wheel.
“Kind of seems like there’s a you and Avery.”
I groan. “What about it?”
His grin widens as if my question somehow confirms everything he’s thinking in his head. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe the fact that you banged last night.”
My jaw tightens. “We’re not together.”
“I didn’t ask if you were together.”
Wyatt is entirely too observant when he feels like being annoying. I glance over to find him staring at me with a look that says he doesn’t believe a word coming out of my mouth.
“We just hooked up. A one-time thing.” The words come out flatter than I intend.
“And?”
“And that’s it.”
“That’s it?”
“Yes.”
That’s all it should be. She has no interest in more, and I’m not interested in getting involved with anyone right now.
He lets the silence hang, then snorts. “You’re full of shit.”
“I’m serious.” I regret entertaining a single part of his stupid interrogation.
“No, you’re not.”
“Wyatt.”
“Grayson.”
The asshole even copies my tone.
“We wanted to get it out of our systems.”
That gets an actual laugh out of him. It echoes through the car while I contemplate leaving him stranded on the side of the road.
I clench my jaw. “Fuck you.”
“Did it work?”
“Did what–”
“Is she out of your system?”
No. It didn’t work. Not even close.
Wyatt settles deeper into his seat. “Let me ask you something.”
“No.”
“After Avery left your room last night, did you or did you not shout her name halfway down the hallway?”
“Then,” he continues before I can answer, “did you or did you not slam the door directly in my face?”
“You interrupted.”
“I interrupted what exactly?”
He’s right. She was leaving whether he knocked or not. Whether I wanted her to or not.
And as strange as it feels to admit, I didn’t want her to.
My silence is answer enough.
Wyatt nods once. “That’s what I thought.”
I hate that he’s right. If last night was supposed to solve this problem, it failed spectacularly.
If it were just sex, it would be simple.
But the sex isn’t what’s replaying in my head.
It’s Avery standing by the door with her dress half-zipped, frozen in place after I said her name, looking at me as if staying was the most dangerous thing she could possibly do.
She treats emotional vulnerability like it’s a contagious disease. It’s the exact opposite of everything I’ve ever wanted, and I don’t know why the hell I keep gravitating toward her anyway.
Before Wyatt can poke at me again, the familiar blue two-story comes into view at the end of the block. Even from half a house away, I can already spot my sister sitting on the front porch. Jace, her husband, had to go into the office today, so she’s flying solo.
Katie’s curled into one of the rocking chairs with Lexie on her lap, the one-year-old wearing a pink sunhat that’s far too big for her head.
When the SUV rolls into the driveway, two tiny figures come tearing across the yard.
“Uncle Gray!”
“Mason, don’t push me.”
“It’s not my fault that I’m faster.”
“No, you’re not.”
I barely get the truck into park before Mason and Jaxon reach us.
The boys crash into my legs the moment I step out.
At four years old, Jaxon manages to talk at a speed that defies human understanding while Mason, a year younger, bounces beside him trying to tell the exact same story at the exact same time.
“We got a frog.”
“It jumped on Mom.”
“And Dad screamed.”
“Like a girl.”
I laugh despite myself, crouching down long enough to pull both of them into a hug.
“One at a time, monsters.”
Wyatt climbs out beside me. “Jesus Christ.”
“He won’t save you now, Wyatt,” Katie calls from the porch.
He makes a face at her, squatting to give the boys hugs.
They don’t stop talking as they follow us up the driveway, each grabbing one of my hands and attempting to drag me in opposite directions. By the time I make it to the porch, Lexie has abandoned all interest in her mother and is reaching both arms toward me.
“Well, look at that.” I scoop her up from Katie’s lap. “Give me my favorite girl.”
Lexie immediately grabs my nose.
Katie gasps dramatically. “You can’t say things like that.”
“Why not?”
“Because Jessica exists.”
She might be halfway across the country, but our older sister would definitely jump down my throat for that comment.
I grin. “Don’t tell Jessica.”
“Your funeral when Macie finds out.”
“She’s seven. She’ll never know.”
Katie laughs. “You underestimate your other niece.”
Lexie settles comfortably in my arms, tiny fingers wrapping around the collar of my shirt while I bounce her lightly on my hip.
Instant calm settles over me.
My family has always been loud. Every gathering turns into complete chaos as soon as everyone has arrived. It’s probably why being alone never seems to sit right with me.
"Hey, Lex." Wyatt reaches up and wiggles her tiny foot.
Lexie stares at him for a long moment before deciding he’s acceptable and rewarding him with a smile.
“There she is.” He points at her. “That’s my girl.”
“Get your own favorite girl,” I tell him, pushing him away.
“You two are no better than Mason and Jaxon.” Katie rolls her eyes.
The smell of food drifts outside through the screen door.
She waves us inside. “Come inside before everything gets cold.”
The boys sprint through the doorway at full speed, nearly taking each other out in the process, while Katie follows behind them, shaking her head.
She manages to get everyone seated around the table with varying levels of success.
Mason is already halfway out of his chair before his plate even hits the table.
Jaxon keeps kicking his legs beneath the table while narrating everything happening around him.
Lexie occupies a highchair beside Katie, periodically throwing pieces of chicken onto the floor and laughing whenever someone notices.
I sit across from Wyatt while Katie moves between the table and the kitchen, grabbing drinks.
She handles it all so effortlessly, and I’m left wondering how the hell she maintains this level of multitasking constantly while not losing her shit.
The food is exactly what you’d expect for lunch before a game. Chicken, rice, and steamed vegetables. Except Katie makes it taste better than any of the restaurants we eat at during the season.
“Damn.” I spear another piece of chicken with my fork.
Katie grins. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“You should.”
“See?” Wyatt points his fork at her. “This is why you’re my favorite Shaw sibling.”
The conversation drifts naturally after that. We take turns updating each other on the extended family drama in an endless rotation of family gossip that never runs out.
“Mom called me three times this week,” Katie says.
“About what?”
“Apparently, Mia’s dodging her calls.”
I chuckle because Mia, Katie’s twin sister, always dodges Mom’s calls. It’s not malicious; the woman just hates getting the third degree, and as the last of her daughters to be unmarried and childless, Mom can’t seem to help herself.
“Did you tell Mom to get off her back?”
Wyatt nearly chokes on his drink, laughing.
“Mom says she doesn’t have enough grandkids.”
My mom has never accepted the concept of enough. Not enough food. Not enough sweaters. Not enough calls. And not enough grandchildren. It’s both one of her most lovable and most exhausting qualities.
Katie glances toward Wyatt.
“How’s your family doing?”
Wyatt snorts. “You mean Sloane?”
“Yes. I mean Sloane.”
It’s not exactly a secret that Wyatt and Sloane only really have each other. They’ve spent years operating like a two-person team against the world, until I started bringing them around my family.
A softer look crosses Wyatt’s face. “Sloane’s good.”
“Mom said she’s in Boston now?”
He nods. “She’s moving into her own place soon.”
“That’s exciting.”
His smile says he’s proud even if he’d rather die than admit it out loud.
Katie laughs. “She’ll have her own apartment. Big girl responsibilities.”
“Don’t remind me.”
“She’s twenty-one,” Katie points out.
“Exactly.”
“She’s not twelve.”
Wyatt stares at her. “Debatable.”
Before Katie can respond, Mason slams both hands onto the table. The sudden movement makes everyone jump.
“I’m going to play hockey next year.”
Jaxon immediately sits up straighter. “No, you’re not.”
“Yes, I am.”
“Dad said maybe.”
“He said next year.”
“Dad said maybe next year.”
Katie pinches the bridge of her nose, and I bite back a grin.
Jaxon points at me. “I already play hockey. I’m going to be good like you.”
Mason points to himself. “No, I’m going to be good.”
“Both of you can be good.”
Then they’re arguing about who gets to wear the number twelve like me.
Wyatt interrupts. “One of you can have my number.”
Both boys stop arguing, heads snapping toward him, before dissolving into another argument of who is going to play goalie like Uncle Wyatt.
Katie laughs and starts clearing the table. “Every single day.”
“You’re welcome.” Wyatt and I both mumble at the same time, amusement dancing between us.
I offer to clean up Lexie only to find that she has managed to get rice in places that shouldn’t be physically possible. Katie sends the boys into the backyard and puts Lexie down for her nap while Wyatt and I keep cleaning up.
We convene in the kitchen. I rinse plates while Katie loads the dishwasher and Wyatt dries whatever gets handed to him. The rhythm is familiar enough that conversation fills the space easily.
For a while, it’s harmless.
Jess’s latest family vacation disaster. Mom’s ongoing obsession with sending everyone articles about healthy cholesterol. Dad replying to our family text chain with random pictures of his lawn.
Then Katie ruins everything.
“Who’s your current lucky lady?”
Wyatt laughs into a dish towel.
I glare at him.
“Well?” Katie leans against the counter.
I shrug. “There isn’t one.”
The problem with growing up with three older sisters is that they all develop the supernatural ability to know when you’re lying.
“Interesting.”
“What is?”
“The fact that for years you couldn’t go six months without a girlfriend and now you’re acting like you’ve taken a vow of celibacy.”
Wyatt nearly drops a plate, snickering under his breath.
“I’ve spent too much time trying to recreate what Mom and Dad have. I decided to give it a break for a bit. Stop forcing it.”
Katie’s expression turns into understanding.
For a moment, I think I’ve survived.
Then Wyatt opens his mouth.
“To be fair,” he says casually, drying a plate. “The Avery situation doesn’t exactly sound forced.”
Slowly, I turn toward Wyatt. I’m going to kill him. I’m going to murder my best friend because he can’t keep his stupid mouth shut. His eyes widen as if just now realizing the hell he’s walked me into.
Katie’s head snaps between us. “The who situation?”
“Nobody,” I say, grip tightening on the sponge as I grab the pot off the stove.
“The Avery situation,” Wyatt repeats, wiggling his eyebrows.
Fucking traitor.
Katie’s eyes narrow the same way Mom’s do when she’s about to uncover information she shouldn’t have.
“Avery?”
I say nothing.
“Oh my God.”
“Katie, it’s not–” I start.
“You like someone.”
I nearly choke. “No.”
The denial comes out so fast that it sounds ridiculous even to me. Her eyes go wide, and then she starts laughing, folding in half as the laughter racks through her body.
She looks at Wyatt. “Did you see that?”
He smirks. “I did.”
“See what?” I ask.
“The panic.” Katie scrunches her face as if she’s delivering bad news.
“There was no panic.”
“There was so much panic.”
My eyes jump toward Wyatt for support, but he’s grinning now, too. I scrub a hand down my face. This conversation has become my personal nightmare.
Katie folds her arms. “So, her name’s Avery.”
“No.”
“And you like Avery.”
“No.”
“Who is she?”
“Nobody.”
Wyatt snorts.
I glare at him. “You’re walking back to the hotel.”
Katie’s smile only grows.
“You like her.”
I shake my head. “No.”
“Grayson.”
I open my mouth, but close it again.
I don’t actually know how to answer anymore. A couple of months ago, it would’ve been easy.
Avery is annoying. Complicated. Difficult. Attractive, sure. But also really fucking frustrating. Wanting her for anything more than what we had last night is a sure-fire way to get hurt.
Katie notices my hesitation immediately, and her teasing grin softens.
“How do you feel about her?”
“I can’t stand her,” I say to myself as much as her. “She’s reckless. And she eats the same food as a toddler. And she drinks too damn much. And she’s difficult just for the sake of it. And she does this stupid thing where she goads you into shit just to win. And somehow she always fucking wins.”
And she brings me out of my shell in a way no one else ever has.
And she looks at me as if she sees right through the bullshit.
And she doesn’t want me to pretend to be anything with her, even if I’m not nice or composed.
And she kisses me as if I’m the only thing sustaining her. And she touches me as if I’m hers.
“Oh.” The quiet word brings me back to the moment.
Wyatt and Katie are staring at me, mouths half-opened in shock. I look away first, trying to erase this conversation from my mind.
“You really like her,” Wyatt says.
I glance between them, trying to figure out what the hell to say now. What the hell do I do with this?
I swore off this kind of thing, tired of forcing relationships that were never quite right. But I’m not forcing this. I’m constantly fighting against it, and I keep orbiting her anyway.
So what does that mean for me?
Avery made it clear where she stands. To her, last night was a mistake. Something to get out of her system. The problem is that I don’t think she’s out of mine at all.
And judging by the way my throat tightens every time I think about her walking away from my room, I don’t think she’s going to be anytime soon.
I drop the sponge into the sink, turning fully to face them, bracing myself on the counter.
“Yeah,” I admit quietly. “I think I just might.”