Chapter Three #3
“Yeah,” I say with a smile. Sad and grateful, all at once.
“He was an awesome dad. He wasn’t perfect, but he was ours.
He always forgot school picture day and knew how to make exactly four meals on rotation.
But he always showed up for us. He worked himself to the bone, would come home tired, but still helped us with homework, still learned how to braid Savannah’s hair after a family friend showed him how. ”
Presley smiles. “He sounds like he was a great dad.”
“You would have loved him.”
“I’m sure I would have.” The certainty in her voice hits me deep.
I nod and keep talking.
“He died three weeks before I left for college. Heart attack.”
She turns fully toward me now, one arm along the back of the couch. “Saint …”
“He was only forty-four. One minute, he was in the garage, helping me organize my gear, and the next …” I pause. “That was it.”
Her hand slides over mine. Warm and steady.
I look down at our hands and flip mine to twine our fingers together.
“Savannah was only fifteen.” I clear my throat. “I was all she had, so I didn’t want to leave her.”
Presley’s thumb moves across my knuckles. “What happened then? How did you make it work?”
“A family friend took her in,” I say. “One of my dad’s friends from high school.
They were good people. They had a safe house, good rules, and all that.
” I release a breath. “But she was a kid, you know? And I was across multiple states, trying to act like football mattered the same as it had a month before I left.”
“I’m sure it didn’t.”
“Not until I met you.” I lift a shoulder and give her a soft smile, then let go of her hand and run mine through my hair.
“I think that’s why my sister and I are so close. It’s kind of always been the two of us. She was my purpose, my responsibility, and I never wanted her to feel like I was abandoning her.”
Presley reaches for my hand again. “Because that’s the kind of man you are. You always put everyone before yourself. And you love hard.”
I look at her and see her face soften with understanding. She doesn’t look at me like I’m broken or like she feels sorry for me. I don’t want her to feel sorry for me.
“Yeah,” I say quietly, “I do.”
She gives me a gentle smile, but her gaze is still focused on me. “You’ve never told me any of this before. In all the years we’ve known each other, I never knew the full story. And when I met you your freshman year, I would have never guessed you had just lost your father.”
I shrug half-heartedly. “It was my way of coping, I guess. It hurt too much to talk about, and the guilt over leaving my sister would have eaten me alive if I’d thought about it too often. It was safer for me to compartmentalize it and focus on football.”
“I can understand that. I’m just wondering why you never told me.”
I turn my head to look at her briefly, then at our joined hands. “I’m not really sure. Maybe, deep down, I thought if you knew the whole story, it might change the way you saw me. You have a family with strong bonds, not to mention your wealth. We come from very different worlds.”
“Saint,” she sighs.
“And because you matter to me, and I care about what you think.”
I let the words hang. Honest and close.
Her breathing changes slightly.
And then I see it. I know she cares about me as much as I care about her. I can see it in her eyes. But she’s not ready to admit it to herself yet. She still lives in a little place of denial, where she can pretend like this connection we have is purely friendship.
“Thank you for telling me. For trusting me,” she says quietly.
“I should have told you a long time ago. I guess it just feels raw tonight because I talked to my sister and she brought him up,” I say, my lips tilting up on the side.
“I get it.” Her eyes hold mine. “And I know I didn’t know him, but, Saint … I think your dad would have been proud of the man you’ve become.”
I look away, jaw clenched, trying to hold back my tears because there’s no way in hell I’m gonna lose it in front of her tonight.
But she wasn’t done.
“He’d be proud of the way you love your sister,” she continues. “The way you show up for her. Her kids. You help carry people, Saint. Even when you think you’re not.”
I let out a slow breath. “I’m not sure about all that.”
“I am,” she says simply. “I know you.”
That lands deep.
Because she says it like it’s a fact.
And she might be the only person who really does know me.
We sit in silence, our hands still linked, the TV flashing blue and gold across the room as someone saves the world from bad guys. In my world, my gaze narrows to the woman beside me. And the impossible ache of wanting something I can’t have.
Or maybe what we have is supposed to be friendship. Maybe she knows something I don’t.
I clear my throat. “Well, tonight went in a direction I hadn’t intended. I’m sorry for bringing the mood down.”
She smiles and shrugs. “Eh, we go through these things together. That’s what I’m here for.”
“You’re a really good best friend, Doc.”
“What can I say? I’m a perfectionist in all things.” She laughs.
I watch the way her lips quirk into a smile.
“Saint, you don’t have to hide from me. Stop pretending things don’t matter when they do.”
I laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “Yeah.”
Kind of like we’re pretending that having sex doesn’t matter.
She squeezes my hand. “You called me because you didn’t want to be alone tonight.”
I shake my head. “I called you tonight because I wanted to watch the new Daredevil episode and I knew you would want to see it too. And because I know you love my steaks.”
“Right.” She snickers.
We hold each other’s gaze, neither of us moving.
She lets out a breath and looks back at the TV. “I’m glad you and your sister have each other. I don’t know what I’d do without Alie.”
“You have me too.”
She smiles without looking at me. “That I do. And a very demanding job that’s going to kick my ass if I don’t head home within the hour and get some sleep.”
Maybe this very thing is what’s most dangerous about us. It’s not necessarily the attraction, although that’s part of it. It’s the certainty and intimacy. It’s knowing that if everything else in my life shattered or shifted, Presley would still be here for me. And I, for her.
She releases my hand and stands. “I’m thirsty. Do you want anything?”
“Hey.” I stand to follow her. “You’re my guest. I’ll get you something.”
“Please.” She huffs. “This is my second home. I can get it.”
I follow her to the kitchen anyway and lean my hip against the countertop, watching her grab a bottle of water from the fridge.
“You ready for media day?” I ask.
She shifts her head back and forth. “Yeah, I guess so. I just need to be there to make sure you guys don’t hurt yourselves before the season even starts.” She smirks.
“Right.” I smile. “Hey. Maybe you can come with me to Remy’s next game if I can get there.”
Her face lights up. “Heck yeah. If my schedule allows, I’d love to see Savannah and the kids.”
I smile. “Rhyan might make you join her in her pursuit to be a warrior.”
“I’m totally in. She’s gonna be a little badass.” She laughs.
And just like that, the seriousness of the evening fades.
She stands across from me, leaning against the kitchen island.
“Hey,” I lift my chin. “Thanks for coming over tonight.”
“Saint, you never have to thank me for that.”
I shove my hands in the pockets of my sweats so I don’t do something stupid, like reach for her and pull her into my arms.
She tracks my movement though, then flicks her gaze back to mine.
Neither of us says anything or moves.
Presley breaks first, an almost-shy smile stretching across her face. “Let’s go finish the episode. Then I gotta get back to the city.”
I huff a laugh. “So bossy.”
“You wouldn’t have me any other way.”
She’s right. I wouldn’t want her any other way.
I head back to the living room and hear her following behind me.
And when she drops back onto my couch like she belongs here, I have the strangest, sharpest feeling.
If I’m not careful, Presley Grant could become the only home I’d never survive losing.