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Chapter Twenty-Six

Ivy

“So, how’s therapy going?” I almost choke on the soda I’ve just taken a sip of. Katie is staring at me, her serious expression unchanging.

“Oh.” I clear my throat quickly. “It’s good. Great, actually. Early days but she’s really nice.”

Katie just nods, like it’s exactly what she expected to hear from me. I cock my head, a small smile playing on my lips.

Today is Super Bowl Sunday. It also happens to be Scott’s thirtieth birthday. So we’re having our friends over to watch the game. A few players from the team, Flynn of course, and Katie are all here. Grant is not, surprisingly. I haven’t been able to question Katie about his absence because every time I do, she asks me something else to change the subject.

This time, it is my therapy session.

I have been seeing Dr. Karla for a month now and it’s the best decision I ever made.

Well second best.

“I’m working through everything. It’s a slow process and I cry a lot—”

“A given with you,” Katie interrupts, smirking.

“Shut up.” I hit her arm lightly, taking another sip of my soda. I stare at my friend for a moment, questions about Grant on the tip of my tongue but I decide to hold them back. She will tell me when she’s ready.

“But it’s good. I’m feeling … calmer. About everything.” Katie only nods in response and goes back to arranging the crackers along the edge of the cheese board she’s preparing .

My sessions have been overwhelming for the most part. I’m exhausted after every one and my eyes are always red and puffy. But when I get home, I walk straight into Scott’s waiting arms and I remember exactly why it’s a good idea to go. Not just for him, but for me and the future I know that I want.

The point is I’m finally working through the endless pit of grief I haven’t been able to get rid of since I was old enough to know what grief is. Finally working through my parents’ death and coming to terms with Pops’. I miss them the more I talk about them out loud—opposed to keeping them to myself like I used too—but I also don’t.

It’s weird.

Like now that I talk about them more, now that I am starting to accept that they’re gone in a healthy way, I feel more connected to them than I ever have.

Scott is nothing but supportive. With the season over, he spends his days at the gym and doing odd jobs around the house.

He’s moved in. Officially. That happened not long after Pops’ memorial. He didn’t sleep at his place anyway so it made the most sense. I came home after my first day of leaving him home alone after he moved his stuff in to find a to-do list sitting on the kitchen counter.

Fix the back deck.

Hinges on the shed door.

Retile downstairs bathroom.

Paint the office.

Paint the main bedroom and redo the bathroom.

Hang Matty’s jersey.

One by one, he’s slowly trying to tick things off. The first was painting the office upstairs that hasn’t been used since Nan passed away. The second, hanging dad’s jersey in said office.

The office is mine now. Every evening when I store my work bag, I brush a gentle hand over the glass encasing the Broncos jersey hanging across from my desk. The bookshelves are filled with photos of my parents and my grandparents. All the ones I kept locked away on a hidden album on my phone when I was pretending to be okay without them are on display.

And every day looking at it hurts a little less. Thanks to therapy.

I’m watching Katie strategically place the three different types of cheeses around the board when an arm snakes around my waist. Scott pulls me back into his chest and I sigh, leaning into him too.

“How much cheese does one board need, Katie?” he asks with a laugh. Pressing his face into my neck, he presses a soft kiss against my skin. I shiver.

“Hush. Perfecting a cheese board is an art, Harvey,” she retorts, not looking up from the board. “Don’t distract me.”

Scott’s arm loosens a little around me as his hand starts to play with the waistband of my jeans. His hand dips and I feel the warmth of his palm press against my bare stomach. I only pulled on a sweatshirt this morning because with the amount of people in this house right now, it’s warm enough not to have to layer up. His fingers splay across my stomach, his thumb slowly moving back and forth over my soft stomach. I turn my head toward him, looking up into his gorgeous face. He’s decided to grow his beard out a little and I am more than supportive of the decision.

The feel of it between my legs last night was next level.

The hand on my stomach slips up and I feel his thumb brush the lace of the bra I’m wearing. Heat floods my cheeks and I bite down on my bottom lip. His eyes lock on mine as his thumb takes another swipe, higher this time, closer and closer to my hard nipple.

An ache starts to pulse between my legs and inch my hips back. Scott grunts.

“You two are gross. Get a room.” Katie scowls, gagging as she rolls her eyes at us.

I laugh but Scott’s hand tightens around my waist. He leans down and I shiver when his warm breath coasts over my skin, whispering his quiet words into my ear .

“Should we? Get a room?”

Despite myself, I cock my head a little to give him more room. He presses a gentle kiss to the base of my neck as his other arm wraps around my body. I rest a hand on the forearm that isn’t tucked underneath my sweatshirt.

“No,” I murmur, leaning to look back up at him. “We’re quite literally in the middle of hosting a party. Your party.”

“And for my birthday, I want to fuck you in the bathroom upstairs.”

Katie makes another loud gagging noise, making it known she heard his comment, before she picks up the cheese board and walks toward the dining room table.

Scott doesn’t let up.

“Please,” he begs.

I shake my head but the ache between my thighs is screaming for me to say yes. He brushes a thumb over my nipple, his forefinger coming up to twist it. Just a little. Fucking tease.

I press my hips back and feel the bulge growing behind his jeans and I feel the little willpower I had seep out of me. I turn in his arms, lifting on my toes.

He meets me halfway and kisses me.

Like always.

The word ‘yes’ is on my lips when the front door opens and closes with a slam and I hear laughter coming down the hallway.

“It’s fine, Jason. They won’t mind.” Scott stiffens at the voice before he crumbles against me, burying his face in my neck and reaching down to adjust himself.

I look up just in time to see Annabel and Jason reach the end of the hallway. Holding out her arms full of gift bags and groceries, Annabel’s face lights up in a smile as she sees us.

“Surprise, Sweetheart!”

Scott just groans against me. I laugh, untangling myself from him and spinning toward his parents .

“Hi.” I plaster my best smile on my face and stay in front of Scott a little longer, giving him a chance to calm down. Poor man. Cockblocked by his parents. “I didn’t know you guys were coming.”

“I wanted to call,” Jason says. He places the bags he’s carrying—two small overnight bags—down and moves around the counter. “But your mother wouldn’t let me. She wanted it to be a surprise.” He rolls his eyes as he opens his arms to me for a hug.

“Mom,” Scott grumbles behind me. “You should have called first.”

“It’s fine,” I say as Jason tucks me under his arm. Annabel presses a kiss to my cheek in greeting before moving to wrap her son up in a hug.

Scott hugs her back just as fiercely.

“I wish you’d told us you were coming,” I say, looking from Annabel to Jason. “Scott decided he has to paint the guest room so there’s only my old bedroom to sleep in.”

“That’s okay, love.” Jason squeezes me to his side. “We’re just happy to be here.”

“I’ll take your bags up. Grab a drink and some food.” Scott moves to grab his parents’ bags and head upstairs but Annabel stops him.

“No! Presents first. I found the funniest pair of socks for you.” She starts unloading the bags she is carrying onto the kitchen island. “And I found something I thought you might want to see.”

Jason lets go of me and I move to stand next to Annabel, examining all of the beautifully wrapped parcels she spreads over the island. She pulls out an old shoe box and sets it carefully on the bench.

In the corner of my eye, I see Jason move over and clap his son on the shoulder. Scott turns to his dad and hugs him. My heart thuds against my chest. They love each other so deeply. Thinking about how Jason and Annabel chose to adopt Scott, chose to love him, makes my eyes sting with tears. I’ll be forever grateful to them for raising the patient, kind man that loves me just as deeply as he loves his parents.

“So, did you hear?” Jason asks his son.

“Yep.” Scott holds up three fingers. “Signed for a further three years. ”

Jason smiles so brightly; I can’t help my own blooming. He fist pumps the air, crying out, “Yes! Knew it.”

“So, you’re staying?” Annabel is watching for her place beside me.

“I’m staying,” Scott says, his eyes finding me. “We’re staying. That’s the plan.”

“Oh well then.” Annabel taps my hand gently. “We’ll have to come out here more often. Don’t want to miss any … milestones.”

Scott groans, shooting a playful smile at his mother while shaking his head. My cheeks heat. We haven’t talked about our future much, but when one of us brings it up Scott doesn’t speak in ‘what-ifs’. He talks in definitives. With certainty. After all we went through—all that I put him through—a future with Scott Harvey is the only plan I need.

God, I hope our kids get his eyes.

“What’s with the old shoe box, Mom?” Scott asks from across the island.

Annabel pushes the box to the center of the four of us and peels the lid off. Inside is what must be hundreds of pictures of Scott as a kid.

“Oh my god,” I laugh as I pick up one from the top. Scott is young but his bright green eyes are just as they are today. They must have only just brought him home from Boston because he’s nothing but skin and bones. He sits in the middle of a bathtub, surrounded by bubbles. Jason leans over the tub, a beard made of bubbles on his face, trying to make the younger version of Scott laugh.

The next one is just as cute—napping on a picnic blanket with Annabel.

His first day at school, getting older in each one I pick up.

His life, from the moment they found him, is documented in pictures.

“These are gorgeous, Annabel. Thank you for bringing them with you.” I smile even with the tightness in my chest making it a little hard to breathe. I think—I know—it’s jealousy.

I want this. I want memories with my parents .

I take a breath, inflating the invisible balloon in my chest until it’s close to popping. Then, I exhale, letting go of the negative feelings that started to creep in. Just as Dr. Karla taught me.

“They are.” She shuffles a few photos in the box until she finds one particular picture. “But this is why I wanted to bring it with me.”

She passes me the photo of Scott, dressed in a football jersey much too big for him. No older than six or seven. He’s standing with the game ball held up in front of him, the brightest smile on his boyish face.

And next to him, an arm around his shoulder and a smile just a big, is my dad.

“I don’t … how do you have this?” I ask, looking up at Annabel. The photo falls through my shaking fingers.

“Mom, what is this?” I glance at Scott as he picks up the photo.

“It’s a UCLA versus Boston game. I believe it’s one of the only ones Matty Booker played in. When we saw the video reel from your Pops memorial, I knew his face looked familiar but I wasn’t sure why. So I went looking.”

“That game … you were at that game?” I ask Annabel, looking between her and Jason. Annabel’s brow furrows but she nods.

“We took Scott. He was just starting to show interest in football and we were donors to the university. We got free tickets and thought he would enjoy it. He watched Matty the entire time. Wouldn’t take his eyes off him. So when we were let onto the field after the game I caught him after the media interviews to get a picture of Scott and him.”

“I don’t—I don’t remember that game,” Scott replies quietly, still clutching the photograph in his hands.

“You were just a kid, son.” Jason places a hand on Scott’s shoulder. We’re all silent, just staring at the photo still in Scott’s hand.

“I was there,” I murmur quietly, the memory flooding back in. Scott’s head whips to me.

“What? How? ”

“I was only a baby,” I say quietly, more to myself than anyone else as I pull out my phone from the back pocket of my jeans. I scroll through my photo albums, looking for the private one I kept my parents hidden away in for all these years. I click on the album and unlock it.

There it is.

The very last photo I saved.

The one Uncle Jeff sent me the night of the party at the bar where Scott and I talked in the alley.

It’s from the same day. Sitting on my mom’s hip and staring at my dad. It is my new favorite picture of the three of us.

But there is no mistaking it. It’s the same game, the same day.

“Matty is the reason Scott asked to play football. After that game, as soon as he could he begged us to get him into peewee.” Annabel wraps my hand up in her own. “Scott, pass the picture.”

He does and she holds it up to me.

“You see there?” She points to the figures standing just behind Dad’s shoulder.

A woman in a football jersey and jeans, holding a baby on her hip, smiling gently at her husband taking a photo with a young fan.

It’s a little blurry, a little smudged, but she’s there.

My mom. And me.

“Oh my god.” Tears well in my eyes and blink them away, not wanting to get the photo damaged.

Strong, muscled arms circle my waist again and Scott pulls me back into his chest in this kitchen for the second time today. He rests his chin on my shoulder, staring down at the picture.

“Look at that,” he whispers.

I swallow, closing my eyes. My hand is shaking but I don’t let go of the picture. When I open them again, Annabel and Jason are quietly moving away from the kitchen, giving Scott and I a moment of privacy.

“You were there,” he says .

“I can’t believe this.” I turn slightly, looking at where he’s resting on my shoulder. “What are the odds?”

“Oh, I dunno.” He retreats from my shoulder and spins me in his arm. “Maybe, somehow, your dad had a hand in driving me here. To Boston. To you.”

“What? Like fate?” I scoff, unsure if I want to laugh or cry.

“Yeah, baby.” He drops his lips to mine, pressing a gentle kiss to my lips. “Like fate.”

The tether I felt weeks ago when my head was still waging war against the idea of being a part of his world and dragging up my unresolved grief, tightens and draws us ever closer. I look back down at the picture as Scott’s arms lock around my waist.

Maybe it is fate.

What are the chances of this? Of my dad inspiring a young fan at a game between two teams who hardly ever play one another. Of that young fan taking a picture and my mom and me being in the background. Of that young fan becoming the best quarterback the league has ever seen—and no, I’m not biased.

Scott showed up in my life exactly when I needed him too.

He was drawn to Boston for whatever reason when he had sworn off the city for so long. But he came anyway. He felt like he needed to be here.

Then he walked into the bar.

Into my life.

“I think he sent me to you.” I look up, my lashes wet with the inevitable tears. “I think your dad sent me to you exactly when he knew you were ready. Is that stupid?”

“No.” I shake my head. “Not stupid at all.”

“I love you, Ivy.”

He brushes a tear from my cheek with a thumb. I lean up on my toes. “I love you, too.”