CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
HOME SWEET HOME
Elise
I’m crying into Grant’s shoulder, and I can’t stop.
They bought a house.
For us.
All of them rearranged their lives—their careers, their futures—so we could be together.
“I’m taking that as a good sign,” Jordie says behind me. His voice is nervous. Hopeful.
I pull back from Grant and look at all three of them standing in this empty room in this empty house that’s—
That’s ours.
“You’re all insane.”
“Yeah,” Wyatt agrees. “We’ve established that.”
“You can’t just—careers don’t work like that. You can’t just—”
“We did, though,” Grant says. His hands are on my waist. Steady. Sure. “We called our agents. Made the moves. Signed the contracts. It’s done.”
“But what if—what if you regret it? What if being closer makes you realize—”
“Realize what?” His voice is gentle. Patient. “That we love you? That’s not gonna change because we’re in the same city, Elise.”
“But the distance thing—we were managing—”
“We were surviving,” Jordie corrects. “There’s a difference. And I’m tired of surviving. I want to live.”
My chest feels too tight. Too full.
“Show her the rest,” Wyatt says quietly.
Grant takes my hand again and leads me down the hall to the master bedroom.
It’s huge. Windows on two walls. Space for—for all of us. Actually, all of us.
“We figured we’d need a big bed,” Jordie says. “Like, custom-made big. Because fitting four people in a king was—”
“A nightmare,” Wyatt finishes.
“I was gonna say cozy.”
“You were not.”
I’m laughing and crying at the same time. “You really did this. You really—all of this—”
“We really did,” Grant confirms. “There’s more. Come on.”
The tour continues. The basement gym where Wyatt’s already planning our workouts. The backyard where Jordie wants to build a fire pit for Sunday pasta nights. There are several guest rooms too.
We end up back in the kitchen. The four of us standing in the middle of this empty space that’s somehow already starting to feel like home.
“I can’t believe you did this,” I say again.
“Believe it,” Grant replies.
“We’ve been planning it for months,” Jordie admits. “Since—God, since January? Had to time everything perfectly. The trades, the call-up, the house hunt—”
“You’ve been planning this since January and didn’t tell me?”
“Wanted it to be a surprise,” Wyatt says.
“I’m surprised. I’m very surprised. I’m—” I don’t know what I am. Overwhelmed. Grateful. So full of love I might actually explode. “What if I’d said no?”
The three of them exchange glances.
“We didn’t consider that option,” Grant says.
“That’s very presumptuous.”
“Is it though?” Jordie’s grinning. “You love us. We love you. This makes sense.”
“This is insane.”
“Best kind of insane.”
I look around at the empty kitchen. At the three of them watching me with expressions that range from confident (Jordie) to cautiously hopeful (Wyatt) to trying-not-to-panic (Grant).
“I have so many questions.”
“Ask them,” Grant says.
“What about money? Houses are expensive. I can’t—I’m still in school; I can’t contribute—”
“Already handled,” Wyatt says. “We split it three ways. Your contribution is dealing with us.”
“That’s not fair—”
“It’s absolutely fair,” Jordie argues. “Do you know how annoying Grant is? You deserve compensation.”
I’m laughing again. Can’t help it.
“What about furniture? And utilities? And—”
“All handled,” Grant says. “Furniture’s being delivered next week. We’ve got a moving company scheduled. Utilities are already on. We just need—” He stops and looks at me. “We just need you to say yes.”
“Yes to what exactly?”
“To this. To us. To—” He gestures around. “To coming home.”
Home.
The word sits in my chest, heavy and warm.
I’ve been living in that tiny studio for eighteen months. Studying alone. Eating alone. Sleeping alone except for the rare weekends when one of them could fly in.
And now they’re offering me—this. A real home. With them. All of them.
“I need to finish med school first,” I say. “I’ve got two more years.”
“We know.”
“And I’ll have rotations. Clinical hours. I won’t be here all the time.”
“We know that too.”
“And you’ll have your seasons. You’ll be traveling. Gone a few nights a week.”
“That’s why we got five bedrooms,” Jordie says. “So when we’re all here together, we have space. And when we’re not, you have the place to yourself.”
“You’ve really thought this through.”
“We’ve thought about nothing else for months,” Grant admits.
I walk to the window and look out at the backyard that needs work, at the fence that needs repair, at the space that has so much potential.
Behind me, I can hear them breathing. Waiting.
“There’s one more thing,” Wyatt says quietly.
I turn around.
He’s holding something—an envelope.
“What is that?”
“Open it.”
I take it with shaking hands. Inside is—
A key.
A house key.
With a tag that says: Home
And underneath, in three different handwritings:
Grant: For when you need someone to overthink with
Jordie: For when you need someone to make you laugh
Wyatt: For when you need someone to just be
I’m crying again. Full-on ugly crying this time.
“You guys are—you’re—”
“Say yes,” Grant says. His voice is rough. Desperate. “Please. Just say yes.”
I look at all three of them. At Grant with his ice-blue eyes that aren’t cold anymore. At Jordie with his dimples and terrible jokes that make everything lighter. At Wyatt with his quiet strength and careful hands.
They rearranged their lives for me.
For us.
How do you say no to that?
“Yes.”
The word comes out choked. Barely audible.
But they hear it.
Jordie lets out a whoop that echoes through the empty house. Wyatt’s grinning—actually grinning, teeth and everything. And Grant—
Grant crosses the space between us in two strides. Picks me up. Spins me.
“Say it again.”
“Yes. Yes to all of it. The house, the commute, the insanity—”
He kisses me before I can finish. Deep and thorough and full of two years of wanting and choosing and fighting for this.
“Okay, okay,” Jordie says. “Save some for the rest of us.”
Grant pulls back but doesn’t let go. “She said yes.”
“We heard.”
Wyatt’s next. He hugs me carefully and tight, like he’s still not quite sure this is real. “You’re sure? Because once you move in, you’re stuck with us.”
“I’m sure. I’m—” I pull back to look at him. “I’m so sure.”
Jordie’s practically vibrating. “Group hug. We’re doing a group hug.”
“We are not—”
Too late. He’s pulling all of us together into this tangle of arms and bodies and laughter.
“We’re gonna make this work,” Jordie’s saying. “All of us. Together.”
“Together,” I repeat.
When we finally break apart, Grant’s watching me with something soft in his expression. Something vulnerable.
“What?”
“Nothing. Just—” He shakes his head. “I spent two years running from you. I’m still not sure I deserve this.”
“You don’t,” I tell him, then smile. “Lucky for you I love you anyway.”
His answering smile is small but real. “Lucky me.”
“Lucky all of us,” Wyatt corrects.
We spend the next hour walking through the house, making plans, arguing about furniture placement, and wallpaper.
Jordie insists the kitchen needs bar stools.
Wyatt wants blackout curtains in the master.
Grant’s already planning where to put his hockey equipment so it’s “accessible but not intrusive.”
By the time we’re standing in the driveway again—me by my car, them by their rentals—it’s past nine.
“I still can’t believe you did this,” I say.
“Believe it,” Grant replies. “You’re stuck with us now.”
“When’s move-in day?”
“Furniture arrives next Friday,” Jordie says. “You can move in then if you want.”
I’m smiling so hard my face hurts. “Next weekend then.”
Grant pulls me against his chest one more time. He kisses my forehead and steps back.
I get in my car and look at all three of them standing in the driveway of our house.
Our house.
I drive back to my tiny studio, and it feels even smaller now. Emptier.
Seven days.
In seven days, I get to come home.
Really home.
With them.
I fall asleep that night still holding the house key, the metal warm against my palm, and dream about Sunday pasta nights, early morning workouts, and late nights studying with Grant overthinking beside me.
Seven days.
I can wait seven days.