9. Chapter 9 #2
It pisses me off when people assume I was too scared to enter the NFL draft.
The truth of the matter is that it was never my plan.
While I would’ve preferred to start as a high school-level coach, there was an opening here that I’d be stupid to pass up.
It had nothing to do with my dad. He wasn’t even the one to suggest it first. It was Ron Hawk, the head wide receiver coach.
Once the topic was approached, it was my dad who helped convince me to take the position.
And while I don’t mind answering questions about following in my father’s footsteps, there’s more to me than being Derek Campbell’s son. It drives home the fact that I’m only viewed as my father’s son and not as a man with his own path. His own dreams.
By the time I make it home, I’m beat.
The quiet apartment never bothered me before, but knowing she’s at work and I’m home is unsettling. During the past five hours, I’ve made dinner, wiped down the kitchen…again, read my personal development book, and watched a few innings of a baseball game.
I’m completely wrung out and ready for bed. Only, I can’t bring myself to go to bed, not until I know she’s home safe.
But she’s late.
Her shift ended an hour ago. She should be home by now.
I pace the living room with my phone, looping sports highlights for the fifth time, glancing at it every few seconds for missed calls or messages.
My thumb hovers over her contact. Should I call?
I don’t want to distract her if she’s driving or make it feel like I’m monitoring her… but I’m worried.
Images flash in my head: Savannah behind the wheel, dozing off. A flat tire in a dark parking lot. Her phone dying. Her stomach clenching in pain. Something wrong with the baby. Worst-case scenarios looping, chest tightening. I scrub my hands down my face and pace again.
Then…I hear it.
The sound of keys jingling outside the door. The lock turns, and I freeze.
When the door eases open, I watch as she practically tiptoes into the apartment, nervous to make a sound.
Her hair is piled messily on top of her head, shoulders sagged in exhaustion.
I admire the way her body looks in her work clothes.
Black dress pants flare around her ankles, and a button-down hugs her baby bump.
Her tote slides off her shoulder as she closes the door and twists the lock.
In her other hand, a brown paper bag; the smell of tacos drifts through the air.
Relief slams into me as I finally lay my eyes on her.
And then, like a dumbass, I snap.
“Where the hell have you been?”
She jumps, nearly stumbling, her body spinning in my direction. “Jesus. Calm down, Dad.”
Dad. The word flies out of her mouth, and instantly, I’m hit with a what-if. What if I were her baby’s dad? What if this were all mine? Shaking my head to clear the runaway thoughts, I focus on her—the woman who nearly gave me a stroke from worry.
“I’ve been pacing like an idiot thinking something happened to you.”
She scoffs. “I wasn’t aware I had a curfew,” she tosses over her shoulder, brushing past me toward the couch.
“You don’t,” I grumble, trying to rein in my temper. “But you said your shift ended at eleven.”
“It does, but tonight we had a staff meeting run over, and by the time I got out of the building, it was closer to eleven-thirty. And then…” Sav raises the brown bag. “I was craving tacos. Besides, you didn’t call to check on me.”
“I was afraid of distracting you while you were driving.”
Savannah kicks her heels off before dropping onto the couch. She relaxes into the sofa like she’s been dying to do that for hours and settles the bag of tacos into her lap, pulling out a wrapper. I stand and watch her make herself at home, like I asked her to. My heart warms at the sight.
Her mouth closes around the taco, eyes closing as a soft moan leaves her lips, and my body heats.
Fuck’s sake. Get a grip, Campbell.
“I didn’t want to wake you by cooking,” she says around a mouthful.
My shoulders ease, and I take a deep breath, walking toward her. Without a thought, I lean down and press my lips to the top of her head. “I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I didn’t mean to yell.”
She stiffens at my gesture before melting into it. “It’s okay. I’m sorry I didn’t let you know I was stopping. I didn’t think you’d be up.”
Rounding the coffee table, I take a seat on the opposite side of the couch. “I couldn’t go to bed without making sure you were home safe.”
“You worried about the baby, Sunshine?”
“You, Peach,” I admit. “Worried about you.”
Her cheeks flush as she turns her attention back to her tacos. Lifting one, she gestures it toward me. “Want one?”
I shake my head. “No, thanks.”
We fall into a comfortable silence as she eats and I watch the same reel of sports highlights flash on TV. The sound of paper crinkling has me turning my attention to the woman I can’t stop thinking about. Sav must feel my gaze on her. Her eyes meet mine, and electricity crackles between us.
Her expression softens. We’re sitting close enough that when she stretches her arm out, she places her hand on mine. Heat flares at our connection. “Thanks for worrying about me, but you don’t have to wait for me every night.”
“You’re living here. I wasn’t going to bed until I knew you were okay.”
“Thanks, Grant…for everything.”
Turning my hand over, her fingers fall between mine, and I squeeze gently.
I feel that same damn ache. The one I always get when Savannah Holycross is in my presence.
The kind that has me wanting to claim her.
Crew’s words from earlier run through my mind.
Your past with her isn’t in the past anymore—it’s your present.
Decide if you want it to be your future.
I want to know when Crew and my sister got so philosophical with their relationship advice.
Knowing I want Savannah and her baby in my future, I vow to myself that I’ll start showing her.
Sitting here with her, for the first time all day, I can finally breathe.
She makes me feel alive.