Chapter 15 #2
Mama nods from beside me. “They think they know what they’re getting from us, but Coach Allen has built in a whole different game plan. If our boys execute it right on game day, we’ve got a real chance.”
They talk with experience and passion, and the hope is infectious, but I don’t miss the nerves humming beneath every word. A win this Saturday means everything to this family, and I respect that.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Harper take a discreet photo of the family lunch.
No cheesy grins or poses. Just a candid shot of us all relaxed, mid-conversation.
Later, Jake will post it on his socials and Flic will share to the Red Zone, and while I won’t be tagged or mentioned or anything too obvious, Flic is certain the die-hard fans will notice my presence.
I hope she’s right. We might have avoided more protests this week, but time is running out and the anger from fans is still high.
That miracle we need isn’t feeling any closer.
The conversation moves on to Harper’s next book, which is publishing soon, and the book tour she’s going on.
And then the topic moves to babies—Izzy’s impending due date and Serena and Chase’s twins, due this summer.
Name suggestions are passed around as easily as the dishes for second and third helpings.
“Gotta be Thor,” Jake says immediately.
Harper swats his arm without even looking at him. “No one at this table is naming their baby Thor.”
It’s all teasing and sweetness and noise.
And above all, it’s a love that circles the table like a hug that squeezes my chest. I swear the closest thing I’ve had to feeling cared for is the time at NYU when I was hit with bad flu.
I was stuck in bed, too sick to move, let alone eat.
I was shivering and sweating and the room spun every time I opened my eyes.
The only person checking on me was Donny, who brought me plastic cups of matzo ball soup from the deli on West 4th Street.
He threw away my Kleenex and made sure I had a bottle of water in reach.
He even mopped my brow with a cold washcloth when I was feverish.
As soon as I was well enough to think straight, he swore me to secrecy because showing emotion would “ruin his brand,” which is hilarious because you only have to look at my best friend to know he’s got a well of love to give.
It’s hard to miss something you didn’t know existed, but watching how the Sullivans tease in one breath and offer support in the next, yeah, there’s a pang in my chest.
As the dishes empty, it’s obvious the Sullivans are making an effort not to mention the Stormhawks’ ownership or the mess surrounding my name, and I’m grateful.
After lunch, I push up my sleeves and start washing dishes, Mad at my side acting as self-appointed interrogator.
“Do you really have your own plane?” she asks.
“Yep. And you’d be welcome to fly on it.”
“I’ll have to check my schedule,” she replies with a deadpan tone that makes me chuckle.
I like Madison. She says exactly what she means and takes me as I am. She isn’t interested in my name or where I come from, just who I am standing in front of her. It’s refreshing and I find myself relaxing around her.
“And do you really have your own driver who can take you anywhere you want whenever you like?” she asks, eyes wide.
“I do. His name is Hunter.”
Dylan calls from the table, “Pretty sure you’ve got a whole fleet of drivers right here, Mad.”
Mad beams. “Yeah. I could be a billionaire.”
I laugh again.
When the last dish is drying on the rack, Flic shoves my jacket at my chest. “Come on, I’ll show you around the ranch.”
Outside, the cold is just as biting. The snow crunches beneath our boots as Flic leads me past the paddocks. The horses whinny from the barn, breath puffing white into the air, and Flic lifts a hand to them like she’s greeting old friends. “I’ll come see you later.”
We loop around the property until the land crests into a wide-open stretch with the snow-covered foothills rising beyond. No fences or gates. Just the ranch and the wilderness, and between them sits a full-size football field, complete with uprights.
“I can’t believe they have their own football field,” I say.
Flic nods. “Football means everything to them. Like it does for a lot of us in Denver.”
There’s a weighted pause. It feels like this lunch was as much about acceptance as it was a photo for Jake’s socials, and maybe Flic is waiting for me to give more of myself.
“Are all dinners like that here?” I ask instead.
Flic barks a laugh. “That was calm. One year, Jake and Chase got into a wrestling match over the last piece of Mama’s pecan pie and broke a chair.
Mama banned dessert for three months. At which point Chase started bringing his own, creating weird concoctions like avocado and caramel, until Mama gave in and made her desserts again.
Not that it stopped Chase from bringing weird cakes with him for every dinner. ”
“That explains the chili and pineapple muffins,” I say, thinking of the plate of mustard-yellow, oddly shaped muffins sitting untouched on the table beside Mama’s apple pie.
“All Chase.” Flic chuckles, shoving her hands deeper into her coat pockets. “You’ve got a sister, though, right? You must’ve had some fun growing up, too.”
“Nothing like this. My father is a man who hates vulnerability. Showing weakness even as children left us open to being hurt or manipulated. It’s hard to relax and have fun when you’re on guard all the time.”
Flic frowns. “You make it sound like a chess game.”
“That’s exactly what it felt like. Helena and I have our own relationship now, but I’ve only ever seen her guard down once.”
Even though I know it’s coming, the memory still hits hard and with sickening clarity.
I think of her in the hospital bed, broken inside and out.
Me apologizing, telling her I should’ve come home sooner.
I’d been so focused for so long on proving I wasn’t my father, and on staying out of his reach, that I didn’t stop to think about what I was leaving behind—or who.
In the end, it turned out there was no place I could go out of my father’s reach.
But that day in the hospital in New York was the only time I ever saw Helena cry.
Silent, fat teardrops rolling down her face, swollen with bruises that made me feel sick.
The attempt at a smile. The weak squeeze of my hand. It’s not your fault, Grayson.
Maybe it wasn’t. But I should’ve seen how bad things were with that bastard my father pushed her into marrying. It wasn’t the first time he’d hit her. It wasn’t even the first time she’d ended up in the emergency room. And that killed me.
I drag in a breath and force myself back to the present.
I’m aware of Flic’s gaze on me, watching me with something between concern and curiosity.
I’m sure she sees I’m holding back, but I’m grateful she doesn’t push.
If I start talking about my father and how fucked up my family is, I’ll have to talk about Ana.
Flic has only just stopped seeing me as the devil.
The last thing I want is to give her a reason to look at me again and decide she was right the first time.