30 - Grayson
Grayson
I collapse onto the couch, wishing this fucking day was over already.
The morning meeting with Coach had turned into a strategy session.
The strategy session turned into media obligations.
The media obligations turned into sponsor obligations.
Then, somehow, I ended up standing in front of a camera for half the day answering different versions of the same five questions.
How are you feeling about the conference finals?
How important is leadership this time of year?
What makes this team special?
Do you feel pressure as captain?
What do you expect from New York?
I answered every question but couldn’t tell you a single thing I said. Every spare second in my brain wandered right back to Avery.
If I’d known my relaxing walk to get lunch in between interviews was going to turn into that, I would’ve starved.
Instead, I had to spend the back half of my day replaying her words and wondering what the hell it all meant for us.
It’s my fault because I’ve turned this into a relationship in my head, without even talking to her about it.
I shove my phone onto the coffee table hard, and the screen lights up.
6:58 PM.
We’d originally planned for her to come over at 7 tonight.
I lean back against the couch and stare at the ceiling.
The thing that’s really pissing me off is how hard I’m trying not to care. Nothing she said today was news to me. I know her and the way she panics when feeling cornered. I know relationships scare the hell out of her. But none of that stops it from stinging.
Because at the end of the day, she still sat across from Liam and admitted she wasn’t sure she wanted this.
Wasn’t sure she wanted me.
It’d be less confusing if she just told me to fuck off already.
At least then I’d know where I stand.
The clock on the microwave clicks over.
7:07.
I let out a short, humorless sound.
I told myself I didn’t care if she showed up tonight. Maybe this was her way of cutting me loose.
Another five minutes pass.
I push off the couch and grab my keys from the counter. Once they’re in my hand, irritation settles into something familiar. I cross the living room, unlock the front door, and yank it open before stopping in my tracks.
Avery stands on the other side holding four grocery bags.
We just stare at each other.
Her hair is pulled into a messy ponytail. She’s wearing leggings and one of those oversized hoodies she practically lives in.
Considering I overheard a conversation that circled topics like dumping me, I thought she might seem nervous or apologetic. Instead, she has the audacity to look annoyed.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
She shoves one of the bags into my chest. “Move.”
I blink. “What?”
“Move, Grayson.”
Then she physically shoulders past me. I stumble backward into my own entryway while she marches straight into the house like she owns the place.
“What the hell is happening?”
She disappears into the kitchen, and I follow her.
“I’m cooking you dinner,” She says, rolling her eyes as if I’d just asked the dumbest question in existence.
The grocery bags land on the island, and she starts unloading them. There is not a frozen ingredient in sight, which is when I realize that she means actual cooking.
“You’re cooking?” I ask, picking up the box of pasta and cloves of garlic.
“That’s what I just said, Grayson,” She bites out.
“Avery. Things got kind of tense earlier–”
“No.” She points a carrot at me.
I cross my arms. “No?”
Avery has lost her mind. It’s the only reasonable explanation.
“We’re going to eat dinner,” she snaps, her blue eyes narrowing when she finally looks up at me. “And then we’re going to finish fighting.”
I run my hand through my hair, looking around as if there might be someone to explain what the hell is happening right now.
When I don’t say anything, she nods once. “Good. Glad we’re on the same page."
I lean against the island, watching her aggressively dice vegetables and stir sauce. It’s messy and loud, the entire thing feeling strangely threatening.
Warmth blooms in my chest because she’s cooking for me, knowing exactly what that kind of gesture means to me. It’s the last thing I expected from the night.
“So, just to be clear,” I say, unable to stop my lips from twitching. “You’re not here to dump me?”
Her hands stop as she turns toward me. “I’m cooking for the first time ever right now. I think you should be more worried about me accidentally poisoning you than dumping you."
I huff out a laugh despite myself.
Avery points the knife at me. “None of this is funny, Grayson.”
I raise both hands in surrender, then turn away to hide the grin that spreads across my face anyway.
The next half hour passes in near silence.
I pour wine while she cooks and mutters obscenities under her breath.
At one point, she nearly drops an entire pan of something onto the floor. At another point, I catch her glaring at a sauce as though it’s out to get her.
By the time she finally sets two plates onto the table, I’m relieved. That is, until I take a bite.
When the pasta hits my tongue, I know something has gone horribly wrong. It tastes as if I bit into a garlic clove soaked in salt. It takes everything in me to choke it down.
I glance up to see Avery take a bite, but her face doesn’t change.
There’s no way she likes this. Right?
I force myself to take another bite, hoping it gets better. Across from me, Avery takes another bite and another.
I start plotting ways to get her to look away long enough that I can dump my serving in the trash. Before I have a chance to do just that, Avery sets down her fork and slides the plate away from her. She reaches for her phone.
“What are you doing?”
She unlocks the screen. “Ordering something edible.”
A laugh escapes before I can stop it, and she narrows her eyes.
“I’m sorry.” I cough out, trying to regain my composure.
“Pasta isn’t supposed to be hard to make.” She complains. “It was supposed to be a gesture.”
“I appreciate the gesture.”
“Not enough to eat it.” She says, eyeing my mostly untouched plate.
Another laugh slips out while I nod. “Not enough to eat it.”
“What do you want to eat?” Avery points her phone at me.
“Literally anything else.”
She snorts despite herself.
And just like that, some of the tension finally cracks.
Relief rushes through me when I see her lips tilt up. She locks her smile back down fast, clearly not ready to call a truce, but I can work with that.
She still came here. She didn’t hide, and that’s already so much more than what she would’ve done in the past.
“Can we get to the fighting part of the evening, please?” I ask, desperate to get whatever’s coming over with.
“Fine,” she starts immediately, already pointing a finger at me, “Liam is my friend. I am allowed to have lunch with my friends. And you have absolutely no right to be upset about that.”
That’s what she thinks I’m upset about?
She keeps going before I can say a word. “You don’t get to show up and act weird because I had lunch with a friend.”
“Avery.”
“No, because–”
“Avery,” I say, sharp enough that she stops talking. I drag a hand down my face. “I am not him.”
She finally stops pacing as I continue, “I didn’t plan to crash your lunch. I don’t care that you’re friends with Liam.”
Her mouth opens. “I wasn’t–”
“Yes, you were.” I nod. “You walked through my front door ready for a fight that I have no plans on having.”
A flash of guilt crosses her face before the stubbornness returns.
“Well, maybe because you were acting weird and then you just walked away.”
“I was acting hurt.”
Her shoulders tense. “You said we’d take things slow. One date at a time. You said I could figure things out, and then suddenly you’re pissed because I was confused and venting and–"
I reach across the island and lace my hand around hers. She goes still, and I can see the fight drain out of her.
Tonight, she expected the kind of cruelty she’s come to associate with relationships. She walked into my apartment as if she were prepared for battle, thinking that if she struck first, I wouldn’t be able to hurt her.
My heart aches for the woman who’s been taught that arguing means mass destruction.
“Avery.”
Her eyes finally meet mine.
“You might think you need to come in here with guns blazing.” She frowns as I continue,
“I’m not interested in that. I’m not trying to win a fight or hurt you. You don’t have to defend yourself to me.”
My thumb brushes across the inside of her wrist.
“I’m confused.” Something vulnerable flashes across her face. “Aren’t you mad?”
“Yeah.”
I watch as my honesty sinks in.
“Then why are you being so calm?”
Because I’m falling harder for her than I understand, and none of this feels like something worth destroying.
“Because I can be pissed off with you and still respect you.” I squeeze her hand lightly. “I can be frustrated with you without treating you like shit.”
The words hang there.
Neither of us says Damon’s name because we don’t have to. The realization hits her painfully, as if she’s seriously never considered that it doesn’t have to be the way she’s always experienced it.
Her eyes drop to where I’m still holding her hand, and all the fire she came here with is doused with uncertainty.
“Come here.” I tug gently on her hand.
She lets me pull her across the apartment to the couch, looking more nervous with each step we take. I settle onto the couch beside her, leaving enough space that she doesn’t feel cornered.
“Do you even know what actually upset me?”
Avery looks over. “I thought I did.”
I rub a hand across the back of my neck.
“Finding out that you are this uncertain from Liam.”
Her expression immediately tightens. “I can talk to anyone I want.”
“I know. That’s not what I’m saying.”
“Then what are you saying?”
I lean forward, resting my forearms on my knees.
“I’m saying it was upsetting to find out that you’ve been this confused and conflicted, but never felt like you could bring it to me.”