26. Griffin
Chapter 26
Griffin
W ith Andi still sleeping in my bed, I fit a quick workout in then pop out to the store for a few items. It doesn’t take me long, and when I get back and check on her, she’s rolled over to her stomach, face mushed in the pillow, so I place a glass of water, Gatorade, and two aspirin on the night table for when she wakes up then head downstairs to fry up breakfast.
By the time I finish the hash browns, bacon, sunny-side-up eggs, and toast, she’s made her way downstairs, still in my T-shirt, with a pale face and pillow crease across her cheek. I greet her with a kiss on her temple. “You look good.”
“Yeah, feel great too.” She folds her arms on the table and places her head down on them, moaning something about a headache.
“Did you take the pills I left out for you?” She answers with a hum that I assume means yes, and I set the plate of food in front of her, along with a fork and napkin. “Eat, Andi. You need some protein.”
That gets her to sit up, a half-coy, half-still-waking-up smile aimed in my direction. “Yes, Captain.”
“It would be more effective if you weren’t hungover.”
She aims a cute little growl at me then digs in, and I join her with my own plate. I wait until she’s gotten through most of her breakfast to ask, “So, what happened yesterday?”
I’ve been over this a few times this morning while jumping rope, and I don’t think she went and bought herself a bottle of wine because of my love you slip, especially when I know she feels the same for me, so I can only guess whatever is bothering her is something big. Maybe something with her family or her friend back in LA.
But with how she won’t meet my eyes now, I think maybe I’m wrong.
She scratches the tines of her fork in the egg yolk smeared on her plate, and the longer it takes her to answer, the itchier my skin gets.
All these fucking feelings .
I’ve had so many since meeting Andi, but none like this…dread.
She’s safe, whole, and unhurt in front of me, and yet there’s a pit in my stomach. A whisper of foreboding, like right before my SEAL team walked into that operation in the mountains, the silence heavier than a loaded gun, filled with the weight of the unknown and the loss that could come from it.
That’s what it feels like now, sitting across from her. Waiting for the axe to fall.
She puts me out of my misery when she takes a deep breath and pastes on a smile that isn’t her real one. “Dahlia called me yesterday, and the record company wants me to come out to LA with her as soon as possible. They’re willing to bring me on to her team to write the album.”
This is it.
Her dream.
And the last thing I want to hear.
“Wow,” I finally spit out. “Congratulations. That’s…huge for you.”
She nods, setting her fork down to use her hands while she talks, though her eyes stray around the room. “I spoke to the A&R rep yesterday, and she really believes that Dahlia needs me on the album with her. She said our songs have something special that she’s not sure Dahl would have with someone else since I already understand who she is as an artist, you know?”
No, I don’t know, but I nod anyway. “Yeah. Sure. Of course.”
“After I got off the phone with Cynthia—that’s the A&R person—then I talked to someone in HR about payment and contracts, and it’s not a huge amount of money, but it’s…a good amount. Plus, I’ll have my name on the album and writing credits.” Andi tucks her hair behind her ears, rambling now. “Dahlia said she would push for me to get producing credits, but I’m not sure about that. I mean, I’ve been in a recording studio before, but I don’t have a ton of experience. Besides, like, working with her for all those years. So, I mean, I guess I am the person who could advocate for her or whatever, if she needs it, but when it comes to actually making the decisions with the songs, I’m not sure they’d let me. And that’s a lot of pressure.”
Her nervous energy is palpable, and I stop her by reaching over to catch her hand, holding it in mine, stroking my thumb over her knuckles. “Are you happy?”
This offer is her dream. I want her to be happy.
And yet, all I can think about is how much I want her to stay here with me, with us. I’m a selfish bastard, plain and simple.
She licks her lips and finally meets my gaze, her brown eyes the tiniest bit bloodshot and watery. “I don’t think I should go.”
“ What ?” I don’t think I heard her right and shake my head. “You aren’t going to go?”
Did I say all my inner thoughts out loud? Does she know my most selfish, awful hopes?
Oh my fucking god. I swallow past the giant rock stuck in my throat—the one threatening to bring up my breakfast—as she shakes her head.
“Andi, sweetheart.” I take her hand in mine. “What are you talking about?”
She shrugs, face crumpling. “I don’t know what to do.”
“Come here. Come here.” I drag her chair next to mine and wrap her up in my arms, letting her soak my T-shirt with her tears. It’s a long time before she catches her breath and quiets enough for me to ask, “Talk to me. Tell me what’s going through your head. I thought this is what you wanted.”
She rakes her teeth over her lower lip. “This is what I’ve always wanted. But I also don’t want to leave you.”
I’m such a fucking asshole for the relief I feel.
Just the absolute worst kind of garbage person.
So I resolve to make sure she does not sense one ounce of hesitation from me. “No, no, you have to. This is your dream.”
She gazes up at me with such tenderness, my heart breaks. “But what about you? What about the kids?”
“This isn’t about us. It’s about you .”
“But I lo—I can’t leave y’all.”
That’s not exactly what I wanted her to say, but I see the genuine worry in her eyes, and it tugs at something deep inside me. I don’t want her to be concerned. At least, not about this. About us.
I know I have to be a fucking man about this and put her needs and desires ahead of my own, even though I really don’t want to. It’s easier to pout and growl and fucking stomp away. Hell, it’s easier to never even get involved in the first place. To not feel anything to begin with, but the day I met Andi shot those plans to shit, and now I have to face this.
With a goddamn smile on my face.
Or…you know…not a glaring frown.
“If this is what you want, I’ll figure something out,” I say, making my voice as steady as possible. “But do you still want to be with me?”
She nods, and I press a quick kiss to her forehead. One of reassurance, though everything in my body fights me. I don’t want her to go. Who wants the love of their goddamn life to go across the country?
I don’t, but I know she’ll regret this forever if she doesn’t. I’ll regret it forever if she doesn’t.
With some quick thinking, I sputter out a few ideas for a plan. “School will be out soon, and maybe it’s time I give the kids more responsibility. They can stay home by themselves for a few hours after school since they’ve been begging me to let them anyway. I can ask my brother or sister to take them overnight or something. Or maybe one of Ian’s kids can sleep here on nights I’m not home. Clara or Marianne.”
She wrinkles her nose as if she doesn’t like the idea, but I don’t know what else to do. I’m certainly not going to hire another nanny. That just feels wrong. As if Andi is replaceable. She is not.
“I will figure it out,” I say again, more forcefully this time, and she inhales a shaky breath, her eyes going watery again, and I might throw up for real. “What is it, sweetheart?”
She sniffles and rubs the back of her hand across her cheek, catching a tear. “I was nervous to tell you. I was scared about what you might say.”
“Is that what last night was about?”
When she nods, I expel a rough breath of my own and pull her to me, sitting her on my lap. Knowing about her past and how she’s been on her own in terms of support, I hate that she might have thought I wouldn’t encourage her. Or worse, hold her back.
Obviously, I want her to go. I only ever want her to be happy, but I am happy having her here with me in our home.
Though I don’t tell her that.
I couldn’t.
Instead, I comb her hair back, holding it into a ponytail at the nape of her neck before tugging the elastic off her wrist to tie it in place. Then I drag my knuckles over her wet cheeks and wipe my thumbs under her eyes, drying her off before holding her jaw.
“You’re amazing at what you do, and the world will be better if you’re able to use your talent. You deserve this chance.” I kiss her, speaking my next words against her lips because she has to know the truth. “And I do love you, Andi. I love you and want you to be happy. I want you to follow your dreams.”
That sets her off on another round of crying, and our kisses turn salty, her whimpers coming on so strong that she has to pull away to breathe properly. She slips off my lap to get a tissue, and I use the time to retrieve the photo I framed this morning. After all the pieces of herself she’s left around the house these last few weeks, I suppose I should give it to her instead of hanging it up on the wall like I planned.
It’s the four of us—Andi, Logan, Grace, and me—at Hershey, all smiles and laughter, and I’m actually glad to gift it to her since she’ll be leaving.
I set the picture down on the counter in front of her and then, without a word, stagger out of the kitchen, needing space to process everything.
Upstairs, I turn on the shower and step under the hot spray. I let the water run over me, washing away the tension in my muscles, but it does nothing to ease the turmoil in my mind. I can’t stop thinking about Andi, about her leaving, about how much I want her to stay. I turn our conversation over and over in my mind, trying to figure out how I can make this work without her. I don’t even know how long she’ll be gone and she hasn’t left yet, but already, I feel myself battening down the hatches, returning to old habits.
Rebuilding my wall.
The idea of her not here sends pain straight through me, but I have to endure it for her. Or rather, lock it down so I can continue on. Do what I need to do for my family. For my kids. For her.
I finish my shower and roughly dry off before wrapping the towel around my waist. When I step into the bedroom, Andi’s there waiting for me on the bed. She doesn’t speak.
She doesn’t need to.
Not with how her face gives everything away.
She’s nervous and scared yet still hopeful, and I can’t do anything besides give her what she wants.
She stands up and strips my shirt off herself. I barely have time to acknowledge what she’s doing before she pulls off her underwear and closes the distance between us, loosening my towel until it falls to the floor. Then she clings to me, arms tight around my neck, her breasts to my torso, her cheek against my shoulder, like she wants to be as close as possible to me. Nothing between us.
I bend and her lips find mine, our tongues tangling in their usual dance. Everything is instinct with Andi, like I hadn’t been fully turned on until she came around and flipped the switch, and now I live for her.
My hands are hers. They were useless before I was able to touch her. My arms, they were made to lift her up and carry her to the bed. My breath, it’s for her, to exhale into her lungs and keep her alive.
Lying on top of Andi, our bodies flush, I feel her heart pounding against mine. I memorize this feeling, her skin pressed against mine, the way she sighs when I skim my hands down her side and back up to her breast. I take my time, exploring every inch of her, committing it all to memory. I tell her I love her, whispering it into her skin, hoping the words will seep into her pores, into her blood, into her heart.
I scrape my teeth over her nipple, and she arches, digging her fingernails into my shoulders, and I hope she does it again. Sinks deeper. Leaves a mark.
Like I do to her. I move down her body and latch on to the soft flesh of her inner thigh, sucking on it until she squirms away, groaning, hips roaming. I refuse to give in to her, even as she grabs at my head because I’m too busy pressing on the bruise I left, wishing it were permanent. Something to remember me by.
“Griffin,” she whines, and that’s all I need to kiss the needy spot between her legs. Her responding cry is one of relief, her legs wrapping around my head. When I focus on her clit, her sounds turn shameless, and I curl two fingers inside her, stroking where she needs it. Taking her higher and higher, and my girl isn’t so shy anymore. There is no blushing or hesitation.
No.
My perfect girl tells me, “I’m coming. Griff, I’m coming.”
“I know, baby.”
She rides my face and fingers through it, and when she quiets, muscles relaxed once again, I hold myself above her. “I’m so proud of you. For everything. I’m so fucking proud.”
Her smile is tremulous, and she coasts her hands up my chest, around to my neck, tugging me down to her. She doesn’t care about the mess she left around my mouth and jaw, licking into me like she’ll never have another chance. And that’s what it feels like.
Like maybe this is all we’ll ever have.
I hate it.
Because I love her.
I pause only long enough to get a condom from the nightstand drawer and put it on. Then I’m over her again, burying my face in her neck, inhaling her scent, tasting her skin. I tell her I love her again and again and again. I can’t stop saying it. I can’t stop feeling it.
She holds tight to me, her legs around my waist, arms around my back as I push into her slowly, withdrawing even slower, not wanting to lose any connection to her. I lower to my forearms, so there is absolutely no daylight between us, and sink all the way into her, every part of her body welcoming me in. I couldn’t pull away from her even if I wanted to.
I find a rhythm that is good for both of us, massaging her clit with every shallow thrust of my hips, and there is no heaven like being between Andi’s legs, feeling her wet heat bearing down on my cock, bleeding me dry as I try to burrow further and further into her.
The closer we fly to the edge, the sloppier our kisses get, more searching tongues and biting teeth. Andi trembles and gasps beneath me, her thighs squeezing me, nails scoring my back, and I can’t hold it anymore.
I release with a shudder as she cries out, and I collapse fully onto her.
We stay like that, wrapped in each other, our bodies still joined, as our heartbeats slow and our breaths even out. I press a kiss to her shoulder, her neck, her cheek. Then I tell her I love her one more time as I turn us on our sides, the bedroom that I thought would be ours going quiet once more.
She is slipping away, even as she lies here in my arms. I can feel the distance growing between us, the inevitable goodbye looming over us.
I want to beg her to stay. I want to tell her I can’t live without her. I want to promise her the world, the moon, the stars, anything to make her stay.
But I don’t. I can’t. I won’t hold her back. I won’t keep her from her dreams.
So I commit to memory what her slow, sleepy exhales feel like against my chest, the flutter of her eyelashes against my shoulder.
And then we sleep.