18. Chapter 18 #2
I open my mouth but immediately close it. Every breath sticks in my throat as if it’s glued shut. While I’m angry, pissed , a part of me understands the panic when you feel like your back is against the wall. It’s exactly how I’ve been living my life.
Fear can make you do questionable things just to feel safe.
Grant closes the space between us and kneels in front of me. It’s a tight fit with his large body squeezing in the small space between the couch and the coffee table. I’d laugh if I weren’t so frustrated.
“Please, let me explain.”
I cross my arms tightly over my chest, the underwire of my bra digging into my skin, desperate to be torn from my body. “You lied, Grant. About something huge !”
His eyes search mine. “I want to make it right. Please, Savvy, let me make everything right.”
I toss my arms out to the side. “How?”
“You’re going to think I’m crazy—”
“More than I already do?”
He tilts his head, hazel eyes begging me to let him continue. “I know it’s crazy, but what if…what if we actually got married?”
I laugh again, but there’s no humor in it. “You’re insane, actually, insane.”
“Am I?” He leans in, voice rising in desperation. “You’d have healthcare. Financial security, so you don’t have to work so hard. A name on your baby’s birth certificate instead of a blank father space. And I’d have—” His voice catches before lowering into a whisper. “You. I’d have you.”
My chest squeezes, and I find it too overwhelming to breathe.
And dammit, I want Grant Campbell. I’ve wanted him since I was eighteen—a scared girl in a new city, hell, a new state, far from everything familiar.
He was the first person to speak to me at college orientation.
The first to break through the walls I’d built.
The first to see past the facade and meet the real Savannah.
But he doesn’t know what this admission does to me.
I’m six years old again, sitting around a craft table in kindergarten. We’re nearly at the end of the school year, and today’s project is creating a craft for Father’s Day. When I sheepishly told my teacher I didn’t have a dad, the kids in the class started whispering and making fun of me.
On my eighth birthday, I mistakenly asked my mom to tell me about my dad and why I never received a gift like my cousin, Ridge, who would get a card and gift card in the mail from his dad.
Ridge’s dad left when he was five, but he always sent him a birthday gift.
I never got one. Instead, I had my mom yelling at me and crying on my birthdays, asking why I had to make my dad leave.
Fast forward, I’m ten, hearing my mom laugh with another new man in the other room while I eat cold leftovers alone in the kitchen because she was too busy with some guy to help me use the oven—our microwave had broken a month prior.
I’m twelve years old, asking my mom to please stay home with me and not go to the bar. Every time she goes to the bar, she leaves me alone for the night, sometimes not returning for a day or two.
After spending my thirteenth birthday alone, Ridge found me crying in my room.
He settled in bed next to me until I explained why I was crying.
My mom hadn’t been home for a week. She found another new guy and said she’d be back.
But six days later, there was still no sign of her.
Instead, I sat at the kitchen table and waited for her to bring home a store-bought cake, sing “Happy Birthday,” and tell me she loved me.
Only, she never did. After that, I moved in with my aunt because Mom never came home.
She called my aunt and explained she needed to live her life without the reminder of what life could have been like.
I was a burden to her, and she washed her hands of me.
I’m eighteen, smiling for pictures with my sorority sisters after being recruited into Delta Zeta.
My ‘Big’ is standing behind me, arms wrapped around my shoulders, both of us smiling widely.
That is, until they abandoned me when I appeared pregnant and scared.
They preached the sisterhood was supposed to be for a lifetime; that is, until someone does something frowned upon, and then you’re nothing more than the dirt on their Louboutins.
That was me, though.
Always smiling and pretending like it didn’t hurt.
I clench my jaw as the memories pile like bricks on my chest. Tears burn my eyes, but I fight to keep them from falling. Instead, I straighten my shoulders and put my wall back into place, like always.
“You don’t want this,” I whisper. “You think you do, but eventually, you’ll realize it's more hassle—that we’re more hassle—than it’s worth, and you’ll walk away too.”
His face twists as if I’d slapped him. “Sav, I would never—”
“Don’t.” I shake my head, not ready to hear false promises.
Everything about this situation has my guard up and my heart breaking.
This was the dream. Get the prince, fall in love, and live happily ever after.
Too bad my life is the cruel joke, the plot twist everyone predicted.
The girl fell in her mother’s footsteps, and now she’s relying on a guy to solve her problems.
“Don’t make promises. I’ve spent my whole life watching people leave, and I swore I’d never let someone do that to my daughter.”
“I’m not them.”
I’m not them .
Three words. Three words that have me sucking in a ragged breath. Because no, Grant Campbell isn’t them.
He’s quiet, and my eyes sting. “I don’t want to rely on anyone.
I’ve spent too long being my own safety net, and maybe it’s selfish, but I’m scared to let someone be that for me.
If that makes me selfish, then so be it.
But I can’t watch someone else leave me.
Leave our lives. I refuse to be cast aside when something else better comes along. ”
“You’re not selfish,” he says softly. “You’re scared, and so am I. This isn’t how I envisioned it either, Savannah, but I can’t imagine my life without you. Let me help. Let my family help. Let me in .”
His voice cracks on the last part.
I don’t know what to say. Exhaustion creeps into my bones, shutting my brain down. Am I seriously going to cave? This idea is crazy—absolutely nuts—but deep down, a part of me is screaming yes . I know Grant. I trust him. Maybe it’s idiotic, but…what if it all works out?
“I know you want to do this on your own, and I respect the hell out of you for that, but let this benefit you in more ways. The university’s insurance is incredible.
You wouldn’t have to work so much—hell, you wouldn’t have to work at all, but I’m not taking that option away from you.
You wouldn’t have to leave Jellybean at a daycare with people you don’t know.
My mom can help babysit. Bret will, too; she’s already offered. ”
I scoff, eyes widening at the admission. “Babysit a baby who isn’t even their relative.”
“Not by blood, but by love. Savannah, that’s what she is. She might not be mine. We might not share the same DNA, but that doesn’t matter. I love her. I will always love her , blood or not.”
Tears well in my eyes, and this time, I let them fall. He loves my baby. He’s shown it time and time again, but hearing it, that’s something entirely different.
As I wipe away the stream of tears, he reaches underneath the couch and slides out a small velvet box, making my stomach plummet.
“Oh my god,” I whisper on a gasp.
“I love you, Savannah Holycross.”
My eyes widen, and I’m hit with the realization he hasn’t said those words since we’ve been living together.
Sure, he’s mentioned it over the years, but it’s never held the weight as it does now.
There’s no doubt in my mind that Grant Campbell loves me.
It’s not only written all over his face, but it’s in the way he cooks for me, gave me and my daughter as safe place to live.
How he rubs my feet and sits without complaint as I watch hours of my favorite TV show.
The way he speaks to me, touches me, remembers my favorite things.
They say actions speak louder than words, and in Grant’s case, no truer words have ever been spoken.
“It shouldn’t surprise you, Peach. I’ve loved you from afar for four years.”
“I’ve loved you too, Grant.” I swallow down a lump of emotions. “Deep down, it’s always been you.”
He leans forward, our foreheads touching as we sit in this moment. This moment of raw vulnerability we haven’t had since the night I asked him to just be friends. When I laid out my plans and dreams, and while they didn’t have him in them, it was never the end for us.
Grant pulls back, taking my hands in his.
“I’ve waited patiently, watched you chase your dreams, and now I want to stand by your side in your present.
I love your daughter, even though she isn’t even earthside yet.
I want to be there when she’s born, witness her first cries, cheer her on when she takes her first steps.
I want to hear her first words and share in her excitement when she loses her first tooth.
I want the messy moments, the long nights, and short years. I want all of it. With you, Peach.”
Grant pauses, opening the box. The tears blind my vision as my throat closes. With the sleeve of my cardigan, I soak the wetness and gaze at the timeless ring inside.
When did he find time to get this?
“Will you marry me?” he asks, his eyes searching mine.
And like that, my world tilts, and I'm rendered speechless.
Time doesn’t freeze…it stretches . My ears ring as my chest rises and falls, sharp and shallow. I refuse to have a panic attack right now. His voice, the ring—the gorgeous, perfect ring—the dim lighting of the apartment, everything tilts like I'm standing on the edge of a cliff.
Say something.
Move your mouth and say something, anything , Savannah.
The words stick behind the wall I built long ago—for protection. For survival.
Because if I let myself believe he means it, truly means it, and I take that leap, what happens if he lets go? Lets us go?
I can see it all so clearly. Saturdays, cheering on Grant from the spouses' suite on game days. Meal prepping on Sundays with Jellybean in her highchair, watching us chop veggies and dancing to John Lennon. Us rooting for her as she stands and takes her first steps. Father-daughter dances. I see him loving us with his whole being. This is the man who touched me this morning like I was something holy. Who shields us from the world’s ugliness.
The silence wraps around us like a fog. I sit, stunned, unmoving.
More tears escape, my mouth dry. I choke out a strangled sob because I know my answer.
Swiping at my cheeks, I glance down at my fingers and find black marks from where my mascara has run and smeared.
I forgot to put on my waterproof mascara, but in my defense, I didn’t realize I’d be having a life-changing moment today.
I can only imagine what a mess I might look like in front of Grant, on the day he proposes, no less.
The silence is so thick, it almost feels unbearable. Yet he waits, like the gentleman he is.
Shifting uncomfortably, I wiggle until I’m at the edge of my seat. With trembling fingers, I reach out, gripping Grant’s face in my hands.
“Yes,” I whisper, tears cascading down my cheeks like a waterfall. “I’ll marry you, Grant Campbell.”
His breath catches before his hands reach for my face. Our lips crash in a searing kiss. It’s awkward with my big belly, but neither of us cares. Grant also doesn’t seem to mind the onslaught of moisture covering my cheeks.
Slowly, I pull back, both of us grinning as the tension melts away like a popsicle on a hot Texas day.
“When the hell did you even get this?” I choke out, gesturing to the box with a watery laugh. “Did you already have it?”
A sheepish smile slides across his mouth, giving him an almost boyish look. He shrugs. “I might have picked it out when you moved in with me.”
“Oh my god, Grant.” I playfully slap him on the shoulder as my stomach swoops. “You had this planned?”
“I had hope that one day we’d find each other the way we always talked about.”
I can’t help the laugh that bubbles up. He stands, cupping my cheeks, and presses a soft kiss to my forehead.
“I love you, Peach,” he murmurs. “Let’s get you to bed. We can talk more in the morning.”
I nod, heart thundering.
It’s crazy where life can take you in almost twenty-four hours.