25. Griffin
Chapter 25
Griffin
I pull into the garage at a quarter to eight and practically fling the door open, anxious to see Andi and explain… What? I’m not sure.
I didn’t mean to blurt out “Love you” like a fucking idiot, but it’s not untrue. I do love her. I just wish I was a bit smoother about it. Tell her in a moment when she could really hear it, feel it.
I toss my things down, uncaring about where they land, and kick off my boots when I hear it, Andi’s singing voice.
Following it from the kitchen to the living room, I find her laid out on her back on the floor, one leg draped over the other, her foot keeping time, wiggling back and forth. Her eyes are closed, headphones on as she sings about being young and reckless. Her voice is slightly off, but it doesn’t surprise me because of the glass of red wine on the table, next to the open bottle.
I suspect she’s a bit tipsy.
And I can’t take my eyes off her.
I love watching her play guitar. Love hearing the words she wrote, a window to her soul. I would guess she needs music to live like she needs oxygen in her lungs and blood in her veins. There is something about her connection to music, and even when she’s simply lounging around, getting drunk, and listening to songs, she makes it come alive. Even to a casual observer.
Or not so casual.
I do love her after all.
Everything she does interests me. But watching her make music, inhabit it, is like watching a sunrise. Magic. It’s light and color and beauty.
“Hey.”
She doesn’t rouse or hear me, so I sink down on the floor next to her, drawing a line down the slope of her nose with the tip of my index finger. She jerks away, eyelids flying open, surprise quickly melting to my favorite smile of adoration. “Griff.”
“Hi, baby.”
She tows me to her, all arms and legs like an octopus, and I chuckle into her mouth. Her kiss is all over the place, scraping teeth and uncoordinated lips and tongue, but I let her at it, rolling so I’m on my back. I push her headphones off and unplug them from her phone, and the music plays as she picks up where we left off.
Soon, both of our shirts are off, and I’m pretty sure I’m going to have a hickey on my chest. I hold on to her wrists when she attempts to go for my belt. “How much have you had to drink?”
She shrugs, though I can tell from the color of her lips and her loose limbs that it’s enough for me to press pause. At least, for now.
Setting her aside so I can stand up, I tell her, “I’m going to get you some water.”
“I don’t need any. I have this.” She holds up her glass of wine in my direction then takes a healthy gulp.
“Maybe a snack too,” I say and fill a cup with water before finding the bag of cheddar popcorn in the pantry.
In the living room, Andi’s moved to the couch in only her bra and jean shorts, her stomach bare, belly button ring on display. I sit next to her, and she settles her legs on top of mine, smiling at me from where her head rests on a pillow.
She’s adorable. And clearly drunk.
“You need to soak some of that up.” I hold out the bag to her, and she takes a handful, but it’s like she can’t figure out what to do with her hands, both of them full with the wine and popcorn. She lets me take her glass so she can remember how her body works, and I can’t help my laugh. “You’re a mess.”
“You like it.”
I love it.
I run my hand up and down her shin. “I see you had fun by yourself today.”
“Stopped for wine on the way home.” Her smile fades, and she turns her head toward the blank screen of the television, eating pieces of popcorn one by one.
“You all right?” I ask and don’t believe her when she offers me a quiet, “Mm-hmm.”
But Andi is not one to keep secrets. I know she’ll tell me eventually, so I give her space to process whatever it is she needs to. The song on her playlist changes to one I’ve never heard before. It’s romantic yet melancholy. I point to her phone. “What’s this?”
Her eyes find mine, and she sits up. “‘Poison & Wine’ by the Civil Wars. Good, right?” She continues right on, not waiting for my opinion as she helps herself to another fistful of popcorn and tosses some into her mouth. She’s got terrible aim, and a few end up on the couch, so I eat those. “They broke up a few years ago. Tragic for me. They won a coupl’a Grammys and were at the height of their popularity, but one day, they up and quit.”
There is something about the way she won’t meet my gaze that I don’t like, but I listen as she goes on and on about different songs, ordering me to listen closely to certain lyrics she plays for me. Before long, she’s polished off almost the whole bag of popcorn and appears a tad more sober.
When she asks if I want to finish the rest of her wine, I put the cork back in the bottle. “I don’t drink.”
“You don’t?” She tips her head, face pinching in thought, like her brain’s been pickled in merlot. “Haven’t I ever seen you drink a beer or something?”
I shake my head.
“Really?”
I shake my head again, and she shrugs.
“Huh. So much for my skills of observation.” She picks up her glass of water and downs the whole thing before asking, “Why not?”
I sink back against the cushion, stretching my arm out to invite Andi closer. She cuddles into my side, her head resting on my chest, and I curl my hand around her bare shoulder. I should put her shirt back on her, cover her with a blanket, but I don’t. Instead, I situate her on my lap, wrapping my arms around her, holding her close.
She tucks her face against the side of my throat, fingers gently scratching at the nape of my neck. It’s a minute until she remembers. “So, why don’t you drink?”
I trace random patterns on her thigh, hearts and stars and my initials. “My dad was an alcoholic.”
She lifts her head. “You never talk about him.”
“There’s nothing really to tell.”
She hits me with a glare full of attitude, but it doesn’t have the same force when she’s tipsy.
I like to pretend it hasn’t affected me. That my dad’s behavior didn’t leave an indelible mark on my life, but his leaving was my first real heartbreak. Like all things, I don’t think or talk about it because I don’t want to remember.
Andi waits patiently until I eventually nudge her face back down to my shoulder and soothe myself with skating my hands up and down her spine. “When he was sober, he was fine, but that wasn’t very often. Supposedly, he was an athlete in college when he met my mom, but he couldn’t deal with never making it to the pros, and he never recovered. Blamed his shortcomings on my mother and all that bullshit. There was a period before I was born when he was gone for a few years. The story goes that my mom had kicked him out for drinking, and he went and found steady work and got sober and came back eventually, getting her pregnant with me. Then Taryn and Roman. My earliest memories of him are good.”
I recall a night in winter and tell her, “There was this one Christmas, I must’ve been six or so, and he packed us all up in the van, took us to the drive-thru for donuts and hot chocolate, and we drove around to look at all the lights and decorations. I remember feeling like it was for hours, but now… I guess it was probably only thirty minutes, but it felt like forever. Listening to Christmas music on the radio, singing and laughing, the four of us kids and Mom and Dad. It was nice.”
Andi makes a sad sound and kisses my pulse point once before settling again.
“But when he’d drink, he’d get mean. Unpredictable.” I pause, remembering the tension that would fill the house when he’d stumble in late at night. “I saw what it did to him, to my mother, to our family. I never wanted to be like that.” I exhale a loud breath, expelling the pent-up rage and resentment. “My mom taught full time, raised four kids, and still took extra work tutoring and teaching summer school for money because Dad spent it all. Then he’d scream and yell that we never had anything, when he was the one pouring it down his throat.” I shake my head, jaw tight. “He left eventually. One morning, we woke up, and he wasn’t there. Never came back.”
“That’s why you’re afraid,” Andi says so quietly I almost don’t hear it. “You expect everyone to leave, either by choice or by nature.”
Well, hell.
When she puts it like that…
Yeah.
That’s exactly where my fear comes from.
She sits up and turns to straddle me, but there’s nothing sexual about it. She hugs me, crossing both of her arms behind my neck, pressing us together. I squeeze my arms around her middle and keep the confessions coming. “It’s why I get so frustrated with Roman. I’ve seen him spiral, seen him push everyone away.” I pause to brush my lips over Andi’s shoulder. It’s so much easier to talk when I can comfort myself by touching her. “It’s infuriating. He had everything, more than Ian, Taryn, or I ever had, and he threw it all away. Every opportunity and offer of help, he fucking wasted it.”
“I can understand, but I think people can only accept help when they’re ready.”
“I fucking know that,” I say, harsher than I mean to, and she unwraps herself from around me, and I’m instantly regretful.
“Did I make you mad when you came home and saw me drinking?”
“No. Not at all, and I’m sorry for snapping at you. I just get…”
“You love your brother,” she fills in for me. “And it’s hard to see someone you love mess up.”
I nod.
She nods too, and smiles sleepily, moving to lay her head back on my shoulder, and I know I’ve got to put her to bed. “Let’s get you upstairs.”
“I have to clean up.” She shifts as if to get off me, but I stop her.
“I’ll do it tomorrow,” I say, bringing her back in close to me, so I can lift her up, one arm under her back, the other under her knees, and she yawns, loud and long, then mumbles something I don’t catch.
“What was that?” I ask, amused, and she relaxes into me when I start walking, completely at ease with me. Like she knows she doesn’t need to worry about anything.
This time when she repeats her words, they’re clearer, though she keeps her eyes closed, half asleep already. “You take such good care of me. That’s why I love you.”
My heart clangs inside my rib cage, and I hope she doesn’t hear it or feel it.
Andi Halton loves me?
Andi Halton fucking loves me.
I look down at her, but she’s already asleep, her lips slightly parted, her lashes dark against her cheeks.
She’s perfect and beautiful and mine.
I carefully carry her upstairs to my bedroom. She doesn’t stir when I lay her down but does wake up for a few seconds mumbling about taking her bra off. I silently laugh as I admire her, the golden color of her skin next to her soft pink bra and underwear, then carefully remove it for her so she’s comfortable and get her into one of my T-shirts. She’s a rag doll in my arms and seems to be in a deep sleep by the time I pull the comforter around her.
In the bathroom, I fumble with my toothbrush like a kid getting ready for his first date, but Andi’s drunken confession has made me feel that way.
She loves me .
She chose me .
And I can’t move fast enough to finish up. I slip into bed in my boxer briefs and wind myself around her. She sighs and yawns and makes a cute smacking noise with her lips before settling again, and I place one last kiss on her shoulder.
“I love you too, Andi,” I whisper, even though she can’t hear me. I’ll tell her again tomorrow when she’s fully awake, and I drift off to sleep, knowing she won’t be leaving me.