22. Chapter 22 #2
We sit at the long outdoor table beneath cafe string lights as a 90s country playlist wafts softly in the background.
Their backyard is spacious, with bright green grass, detailed paver work, and beautiful landscaping.
Through casual conversation, Grant never drifts far.
His hand on the back of my chair, thumb rubbing my shoulder blade, knee brushing mine under the table in silent security.
It does what it’s intended to do: keeps me grounded.
As dinner winds down, so does the small talk.
His dad is the first to break the tension. “We need to talk about your marriage.”
My spine stiffens, but Grant remains laid back, his arm stretched across the back of my chair. To anyone else, he looks calm. Relaxed. But I see it—the subtle tic of his jaw that betrays him. “Figured that’s why you invited us over.”
“Oh, sweetie, you know that’s not the reason. You’re always invited to join us for Sunday dinner,” his mom says, trying to dampen the rising temperature.
“I got a phone call with the athletic director.” His dad continues. “Coach Martinez had to report the marriage.”
“I’m aware,” Grant grits out.
“The university has policies against consensual relationships between faculty and students. There are expectations you have to follow and lines you simply cannot cross.”
“I didn’t break any rules—”
“Grant,” his dad interrupts, but Grant refuses to back down.
“The university has a policy on consensual relationships. It says they’re not forbidden, but discouraged. The only thing I failed to do was disclose it. Otherwise, I— we —didn’t break any rules.”
“Goddamnit, Grant. You had your own code of conduct when you signed your contract to work under me. It stated that coaches within my organization are held to a higher standard. You are to set an example, uphold policies, and keep the university in a higher light.”
My stomach clenches at his father’s harsh tone, and suddenly, I don’t want to be here for this conversation.
Call it childish, but confrontation isn’t for me.
It triggers years of memories of my mom fighting with her flavor of the week.
I feel my shoulders start to sag, but Grant never breaks our connection.
“Derek,” Emily scolds.
His dad exhales, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“The AD said they’re still discussing if there’ll be consequences.
For now, it’s an internal matter, which means you two need to keep this private, at least until we get a ruling from the university.
No PDA. No social media posts. It needs to stay quiet. ”
“Dad…” Grant trails off as he shakes his head.
“You’re already under a microscope, Son.”
“I wasn’t going to lose her. No contract is worth it, not when the alternative is not having a life with the woman I love. While you might not understand that because coaching football is your passion, she’s mine.”
The emotion in Grant’s voice has me whipping my head in his direction.
The air is sucked from my lungs as I blink fast to keep the dreaded tears at bay.
Without thought, my hand is reaching out.
I grip the side of his face, turning until he’s facing me, and lean in to kiss him.
It’s a sweet kiss, nothing more than a lingering peck on the lips, but it’s enough to convey how I feel for him in this moment.
“I love you,” I murmur against his lips. And I do.
A smile spreads across Grant’s face as he presses another soft kiss to my lips. “I love you, too.”
Our love isn’t the kind of love you hear about.
It’s not the kind of love where two people meet, date each other, fall in love, and stick together for years.
Ours was chaotic and messy. Fear of the unknown kept me paralyzed from giving this man all of me from the start.
But while my fear of commitment kept us from being together in the traditional sense, he stole my heart a long time ago.
It’s taken years for the fear to subside, the worry and self-doubt to dissipate.
All this time, I was waiting for my brain to catch up and give in to what my heart had given away so long ago.
I brush my fingers against my lips as I sit back in my chair. A blush warms my cheeks as I bashfully glance around and offer a tight-lipped smile. But as I glance at this dad, he’s watching us, and whatever he sees, he must like, because his features soften as he looks at us.
“At the end of the day, you made a choice. I may not agree with it, but I’ll stand behind you.
You might be an adult, but you’re still my son, and I’ll have your back.
That’s what fathers do. All I’m asking is that you give this a moment before going public.
Let’s get ahead so we can control the narrative. ”
Grant nods. “We can do that.”
And it’s like the dark grey clouds that were hanging above us made way for bright blue skies. The storm had disappeared, giving way to a perfect, clear day.
“For what it’s worth,” Emily starts, tapping the top of my hand before gripping it. “This was never about you, Savannah. It was the shock of it all, the secrecy. Derek and I want your marriage to work. We want you both to feel loved and supported.”
I manage a smile as my throat thickens. “Th-that means a lot. I’m sorry for the emotions. I wasn’t raised with”—I gesture around the table—“a family that gave a damn about each other. I promise it isn’t an excuse, but I’m still learning.”
Her expression softens. “You don’t have to apologize. Showing emotion isn’t a weakness. It means you care. But you don’t have to worry about not having a family, because you have one now. You and your baby.”
“Speaking of,” Derek cuts in. “Any chance you’re having a little wide receiver? I know a pretty good coach.”
I chuckle, smiling brightly at the man who looks like an older version of Grant. “It’s a girl.”
“Oh, how exciting,” Emily gushes. “Do you have a name picked out?”
Uneasiness settles over me. I don’t have a name yet. Like everything else, it’s been shoved to the back burner. Still, I’ve been keeping a list—names I hear and like. Nibbling on my lower lip, I shake my head.
“That’s okay, sweetie. Sometimes it takes seeing your baby for a name to come to you.”
I nod without answering, but she doesn’t seem to mind.
“Do you have everything ready? For the baby, I mean. No one’s ever ready for the actual baby.”
“Getting there. I spent all day yesterday washing laundry and doing some light nesting. It doesn’t feel like anything is ever crossed off my to-do list.”
“You’re going to be a great mom, Sav,” Bret says.
As terrible as it is, I almost forgot that she and Crew were here.
It feels like all the attention has been on me and Grant, and I feel guilty about them having witnessed everything.
But part of me is grateful they’re here, even if it’s only for moral support.
Once again, I’m blinking back tears. I will not miss this constant need to cry once my hormones are back in check.
“I hope I’m not overstepping,” Emily begins, looking at her husband with a wistful smile.
“If you need anything at all, Savannah, please call us. If you need someone to babysit so you can attend classes, someone to hold her while you find time to shower, or if you want a break or advice, I’d love to be there for you. Derek and I both.”
“I’d really like that,” I whisper. She might not be my mom, but she’s Grant’s. And maybe, someday, she’ll be like a mother to me, too.
“And I hope when the time is right, we can be grandparents in every sense of the word. Spoil her, love her—”
“Teach her to throw a football,” Derek adds.
Bret scoffs. “No way. Teach her how to shoot a jump shot.”
We all chuckle as Derek and Bret stare each other down.
As rocky as the night started, I can’t help but feel at ease. This is what family is all about. They support each other, no matter what. Even when they aren’t thrilled with each other, their love never wavers.
As we settle into the truck for a drive home, I’m hit with another tightening in my stomach.
It’s almost a crampy feeling that has me sucking in a deep breath.
Luckily, the music is on, and Grant doesn’t notice my discomfort.
Braxton Hicks contractions have been happening more and more.
Each time, they get a little stronger, and I know it won’t be long until Jellybean arrives.
“Hey, Sav,” Grant draws my attention as he turns down the radio.
I roll my head to look at him. Both of his hands are sitting at ten and two on the wheel, thumbs tapping along like he’s nervous.
I study his profile—the perfect lines of his nose, the slight bump from when it was almost broken.
His stubble is trimmed neater than he usually keeps it.
He’s so fucking handsome it nearly hurts my eyes.
“Yeah?”
“What about the name Lennon?”
His question has me frozen. I can’t believe Grant has been thinking of baby names. Not that it should surprise me; he’s been doing so much research on newborns. I’ve caught him with a thick paperback a time or two.
“You can say no if you don’t like it, but with your love of John Lennon, I thought it would be a perfect fit.”
Lennon.
Lennon Holycross.
Wait, no.
Lennon Campbell.
“It’s perfect, Grant.”