34. Grayson
Grayson
T he familiar thrill of returning to Los Angeles washes over me as the plane touches down, the airport sprawling below us. Beside me, George is practically bouncing in his seat, his excitement contagious as he peers out the window.
“We’re gonna live with Maggie!” George exclaims, his face alight with joy.
I can’t help but smile at my son’s enthusiasm. I feel it too—maybe even more so. Moving in with Maggie is a big step, one I’m eager to take, though I know her house needs some work. It’s usually cluttered, a charming but chaotic reflection of her busy life. And then there’s the mysterious second bedroom, always locked, its contents unknown to me.
Every time I bring it up, Maggie’s face flushes, and she quickly changes the subject. But she’s promised to clean it out so George can have his own room. Eventually.
For now, George will have to share our bed, a temporary arrangement until Maggie follows through. We breeze through the airport, not needing to wait for luggage since I tossed my few articles of clothing into a backpack, and George’s stuff is in his small bag. Most of his clothes were left at Lori's; he was outgrowing them anyway. A shopping trip is in our future, one I’m excited about. I want to buy him new outfits and toys—start fresh. Besides, it made Lori feel better knowing he had things waiting for him. She was heartbroken to see him go.
I know this whole situation has been hard on her—finding out her daughter isn’t dead but struggling with addiction and pregnant again. It must be devastating. Once again, I’m reminded of how much Suze has hurt—not just me and George, but others too.
We quickly find my car in the parking garage. After getting George settled, I send a quick text to Maggie that we’re on our way. My heart flutters at the thought of seeing her again.
If there’s one downside to bringing George home, it’s that I can’t pounce on Maggie the moment I see her. A small, nearly insignificant price to pay, but one I’ve thought about nonetheless, especially since he’ll be sharing our bed for a while.
As we drive away from the airport, I turn on the news.
“Daaaddd,” George complains from the back, his whiny tone a familiar comfort. “Yes, my son?”
“Puh-lease can we listen to rock?”
Rock. He said the "r" perfectly. Two and a half weeks, and so much has changed. I mean, when did he start liking music? “Um, sure. Any kind in particular?”
“The Muppets!” he yells out, nearly deafening me. At the next stoplight, I pull up the soundtrack. I’m not sure if this qualifies as rock, but like hell am I going to tell him that.
He sings along, off-key of course, and I can’t help but smile. I missed my son so much. As I drive, a text comes through. The car reads it aloud—it’s from Miranda, checking in after hearing that George is home. I haven’t spoken to either cousin since I found out they knew Suzannah was alive, though I know Maggie has kept them in the loop. To me, it feels like a betrayal that they kept it from me. At least Maggie was honest that she needed to hide something, and I could see how it plagued her. But my cousins should have told me right away.
I’m pulled out of my thoughts by George’s voice. “Muppets, Dad!” he yells. Rolling my eyes, I restart the music. I’m not a snob; kids’ music has its place. But come on, this is torture. Still, the moment his small voice belts out the wrong lyrics, I’m laughing again.
“What?” he asks.
“Nothing, buddy. Just wondering how we’re gonna celebrate you being home,” I reply, though my voice lacks conviction.
“Can Matty and Drew come over? TJ too?” I let out a sigh. It’s hard to say no to George, especially after being apart so long. Despite my reservations, I agree. Family is complicated but essential. “I’ll call them tonight, and we can go visit this weekend,” I say. George’s squeals of delight make a broad smile spread across my face.
When we pull up to Maggie’s house, my heart lifts at the sight of her waiting on the porch. She rushes to the car, throwing open George’s door with a bright smile. Lifting him from his car seat, she plants a kiss on his nose, making him giggle. I watch, my heart swelling with love. Five seconds in, and it’s everything I imagined.
“Miss me, Georgie?” she asks.
“Oh yes, Miss Maggie. I drawed you six pictures,” he says. She raises him higher on her hip.
“Really? Well, can I see them or what?” He wiggles out of her grip and goes for his backpack in my hand.
“Okay, slow down, bud. Let’s get inside.” I hold the bag higher so George can’t reach it, chuckling as he jumps up to try.
Maggie comes to my side and pecks my cheek, but I frown. “You kissed him first,” I say with mock hurt in my voice.
She shrugs. “He’s cuter than you.”
“Ouch,” I say, but I don’t argue. It’s the truth, after all. She laughs and wraps her arm around my waist as we follow George up to the porch.
Inside, Maggie gives George a quick tour, showing how she’s made space for his things, including his prized Lego Batmobile right on the TV stand. For the next half hour, she fawns over the drawings George has made, including one where Maggie is a crime-fighting superhero stringing up a colorful villain. Crayons cover the coffee table as George insists he needs to make more.
Maggie holds up a particularly detailed page. “Oh, this one has to go to work with me, George. Harry is gonna love it!”
“Is Harry your boyfriend?” George asks. Maggie looks at me, I give a slight nod, and she turns back to George.
“Uh, no. Harry is my best friend and work partner. Your daddy is my boyfriend.”
George’s face brightens. “Oh! Is it a secret still? Auntie Andy said it was.”
I’m laughing. Of course, my nosy cousin has been sharing secrets with my son. At the thought, I suddenly miss her. Maybe I’ve been too hard on my family. It would be nice to see them.
“Nope, no secret.”
“Auntie Andy says that, um, you and Daddy might kiss.” He scrunches his nose like the idea is disgusting.
“Possibly,” Maggie says with a wink.
“She says adults are gross when they’re in love, and she’s happy she only loves me.” He tilts his head and looks up from his drawings. “Do I have to kiss Auntie Andy if I marry her?” My face goes pale—not at my son’s admission that he wants to marry his aunt. That’s more endearing than creepy. I had no idea they spoke so much while George was gone.
No, I’m shaking in my shoes for another reason. The big “L” word. The one I’ve been avoiding like the plague.
But Maggie doesn’t seem as affected as I am. “Silly goose, you can’t marry Andy. Marriage means making her your family, and she’s already your family.”
“So, if I want you in my family, I have to marry you?” George asks. Maggie looks down, a shy smile on her face. If she’s bothered by all this talk of love and marriage, she doesn’t show it. Nope. She’s glowing with pride. My woman is happy that my son wants her in his family.
“Erm, not entirely, champ. I’m happy to be your family, however that happens.” I’ve had enough. It’s a cuteness overload. Everything I could ever want is right in front of me, and I’m not letting my stupid fear dictate my words any longer.
I kneel beside them. “Marriage can mean family, but more importantly, love means family, Georgie. I love Maggie, so she’s our family now.”
Without missing a beat, Maggie adds, “And I love your daddy. Very, very much.”
George goes back to his picture, scribbling with a furrowed brow. “So you’ll definitely kiss,” he mumbles. Both Maggie and I laugh loudly, letting his frustration break the tension our admissions created.
When our laughter fades, I let my hand rest on Maggie’s on the coffee table. She squeezes it without looking at me. “Ugh, holding hands too.” George rolls his eyes. So, I guess my four-year-old is now a teenager.
I let go and stand up. “I’ll get cooking, I guess. Bat Boogers, right?” George’s face lights up, and he squeals with glee. I scowl mockingly. “But these better not taste like real boogers, Maggie.” She playfully shoves me, and I head into the kitchen to get to work.
While Maggie turns on a Batman movie for George, I stay in the kitchen to cook the burgers. The sound of their laughter mixed with the movie’s dialogue creates a cozy backdrop as I work. A profound sense of belonging washes over me, a feeling of family that I hadn’t realized I was missing until now. I know how much more I want—us, all together, with thousands more nights just like this.
***
Later, after a fun evening, George snuggles between Maggie and me in the big bed, quickly falling asleep with a contented smile. I lie there, watching them both, feeling a peace I haven’t known in a long time. For a while, I can’t peel my eyes away from them, overwhelmed by a warmth that fills my chest, as if this moment is what I’ve been missing all my life. Eventually, I let my eyes close, a smile still on my face.
Hours later, the tranquility is shattered by the sound of Maggie’s phone. She quickly answers, her face turning serious in an instant.
“I’ll be right out.” She hangs up and slides George off her arm. As soon as she’s up, she heads to the closet, explaining in a whisper. “Harry drove by, and he says there’s a suspicious vehicle. He’s going to talk to them.” She has that tone, the work voice that turns me on and worries me sick.
She comes back out with her pistol in hand. “If I’m not back in five minutes, call 911.”
I’m about to agree when I hear tires squealing, followed by the unmistakable sound of gunshots. Adrenaline surges through me as Maggie dashes back to the closet, retrieving a second pistol from the childproof gun safe.
“Do not leave the house.” She hands me the gun and kisses my head before rushing out the door.
Once she’s gone, I’m frozen in shock for a moment. Then, my protective instincts kick in. I carefully extract myself from the bed, not wanting to wake George, and go to the living room. I peek through the curtains, the gun clutched in my shaking hand.
I’m not a coward, but the idea of Maggie rushing toward gunshots drives me mad. The thought of losing this newfound happiness is unbearable, like a vice tightening around my chest.
It’s dark outside, but the streetlight barely illuminates the figures in the middle of the road. Maggie is bent over Harry, her phone pressed to her ear. She’s ripped off her own pajama shirt and is using it to stop the bleeding on his chest.
I have to do something; I have to help. I know how much Harry means to her. But as I watch, Maggie’s movements are calm, even comforting. I can see a small smile on Harry’s anguished face.
Damn. Maggie is making him laugh, even while he’s bleeding out. God, she’s amazing. Seeing this reassures me—if Harry can smile, he’s hopefully going to be okay.
“Daddy? Where’s Miss Maggie?” George’s voice makes me tense. I don’t want my son to see me with a gun. I tuck it under my shirt before turning around. He’s in his favorite pajamas, clutching Nick the giraffe. My heart breaks a little more at the interruption to his night. He doesn’t need this. Not on his first night home.
Keeping my voice calm, I say, “Her friend called and needed her. She’ll be right back, bud. Go back to sleep.” George rubs his tired eyes but turns around and heads back to the bedroom.
I stay by the window until other officers and an ambulance arrive. After making sure George is asleep, I hurry outside just as Maggie helps load Harry into the ambulance and jumps in after him.
I stand there, heart pounding. “Maggie!” I yell.
She frowns at me, already huddled over Harry. “I told you to stay inside,” she snaps.
“I… what can I do?” I ask, desperate to be useful, to be there for her in any way possible.
She shakes her head, her messy hair swishing with the movement. Even in her Batman pajamas pants and no shirt, she’s beautiful. Surreal, even. Far too good for me. “Two uniforms will stay all night. I’ll be home as soon as I can.”
The ambulance doors shut, and my chest hitches. That could have been me. It should have been me. Harry was shot because he was watching out for my family. The realization hits me like a wave, threatening to drown me in a sea of guilt and helplessness.
Left alone with George, I feel a sense of responsibility settle on my shoulders. I have to protect my son, to keep our new home safe. I go back inside, securing the gun in the safe, then check every window and door to make sure they’re locked. My mind races with plans and contingencies, ways to help Harry.
Sitting on the couch, I think about the one person I know who always gets things done. Though it’s three in the morning, I send the text and get an immediate reply.
Me: Maggie's friend was shot. Can you come help?
Only a few seconds pass before my phone dings.
Henrietta Hillcrest: I'll be there first thing in the morning. Send me the address.
I almost laugh at the quick response, relief flooding through me.
I’ve heard stories of Henrietta’s fierce protective nature, especially when Tilly was in trouble a few years ago. Thankfully, it seems that extends to me. She’ll know what to do. I’m sure of it. People think that once you’re a certain age, you have all the answers. It’s not true. Right now, I feel as clueless as I did when my mother died. That was at nine years old. And now, at 34, I’m even more lost.
How do you support someone as strong as Maggie? She hardly lets me do anything without some sort of resistance. With Henrietta coming, Maggie won’t have a choice. There’s no pride or judgment with Tommy’s mother. Only help. It makes me long for my own mother. You never grow out of needing your mom.
As I lie back in bed, George still asleep and oblivious to the chaos, my mind is anything but calm. The night’s events have shown me the stark reality of Maggie’s world, a world now intertwined with mine. I know I’d do anything to protect it, to protect them.
In those long hours, I realize just how much I need Maggie. I can’t lose her. This can’t scare her away. She’s the sunshine to my storm, smooths out all my rough edges. Hell, she loves Batman almost as much as George does. That's something I could never fake well enough.
As dawn breaks, painting the sky with streaks of pink and orange, I hold George a little tighter, silently promising to keep him safe and keep our new, fragile family intact. If that means tracking Don and Suze down myself, then that’s exactly what I’ll do.