Page 34 of Second Position (Astor Hill #2)

“Jesus christ,” Grant says, his eyes wide at the sight of the tattered fabric I used to protect my toes.

I let out a tired laugh, finding the horror written across his face rather charming.

“It’s honestly not that bad. Probably because I was pretty lazy today.” At least, not nearly as bad as it usually is when I forget my practice shoes. I had to grab new ones and they weren’t properly fitted.

Grant raises his eyebrows. “Lazy? Gen, I’ve never left practice with my feet bloody. Pretty sure lazy is not the word for whatever you had going on today.”

“Do you practice on the tips of your toes?” I challenge with a smile and one eyebrow raised.

“Fair.” He sidles beside me, taking my foot in his lap and carefully unfurling the fabric wrap that binds and protects my feet. His face is planted in a firm scowl as he stares at the wrap, making me giggle. He looks up at the sound, confusion and concern swirling across his face.

“Grant, I swear to you—this is normal. It would actually be kind of odd if my feet didn’t look like this after hours of technique training in new shoes.”

He rubs his lips together, still unhappy, but taking my word for it.

“How can I make it better?” His face is like a puppy dog’s and I can’t help but smile at him.

I grab some Neosporin and band aids from my bag and he takes them from me before I have a chance to object.

Rolling my eyes, I settle into his side, resting my head on his shoulder, my exhaustion coursing through my bones now that I’m seated.

I inhale the scent of him, finding the salty sweat of his basketball clothes mixed with his deodorant and laundry detergent weirdly comforting, and I can’t help but feel the intimacy of the moment.

Grant gets to work rubbing the ointment on my feet and carefully bandaging every blister.

“I get the sense your relationship with your mother is…” he trails off like he’s contemplating if he should finish the sentence.

“Strained.” I finish for him and nod against his shoulder.

“Wanna talk about it?” His voice is gentle, eyes trained on the bandage he’s currently unwrapping.

I shut my eyes, thinking of all the things I want to tell him, need to tell him, like my mind won’t stop reeling until I’m able to let him see every part of me.

I don’t know if it’s the intimacy of him taking care of my wrecked feet or the immense pressure I continue to put myself under, but something about this moment with him feels important.

Like the past, which has always felt like a dark cloud threatening to take over everything good that I’ve built, has finally met a worthy opponent.

Like somehow Grant, with his soft eyes and easy smile, will protect me, keep me safe from every bad thing the world could throw at me.

Exhaustion, and this realization, cause my vision to cloud and I nestle my head deeper into his shoulder, taking a deep inhale.

“Gen,” he says and his voice is like a caress, his concern for me causing hope and grief to bloom in my chest. He’s caring for me the way one should be, in a way I never have been.

“Growing up, it was usually just me and my dad,” I start, my voice quiet. I can tell he hears me, his fingers trailing gentle circles up my leg.

“I honestly don’t really have any memories of my mom before, other than at dance.

She never missed dance. Everything else though—that was with him.

” I sniff, shifting my head back to look at his hand which now is reaching for mine.

I let him take it and watch as his thumb grazes my knuckles softly, begging me to continue.

“When he died, instead of my mother and I coming together, it felt like we were at warring ends, an entire universe between us. She moved on so quickly, it was hard for me to wrap my head around any of what was going on. We were already in a new house; I was at a new school. It’s like she wanted that part of her existence to simply disappear.

The part that was my dad. In some twisted way, it felt like she left me behind, too.

” I sigh, knowing I’ve never talked to anyone but Will about this and even with him, it wasn’t really a conversation but a myriad of moments that allowed him to piece it together.

With Grant though, I want to share this part of myself. I want to share every part of myself with him. There’s a long silence and the light circles on my leg stop. I feel Grant tense and for a second I wonder if I shared too much.

“I’m sorry you ever felt so alone. You don’t deserve that. You didn’t then and you don’t now.”

I let out a defeated breath and I feel his rough palm caress my face.

He lightly directs me so I’m looking up into his eyes.

Instead of indifference, I’m met with a swirl of emotion.

Anger, grief, and sympathy reflect in his gaze, his sincerity pulling me toward him like a siren call directed at my heart.

In his eyes are a vow, one he’s silently making to not leave me behind, to not ever make me feel like an afterthought.

My lips slowly part and I watch as his gaze turns to longing, shifting down to my mouth. I feel the heat of his breath and just as my body is anticipating what I know will be the most explosive kiss of my life, I hear a loud slow clap in the background .

“FINALLY,” Jean croons, his voice completely obliterating the mood at hand. Grant closes his eyes, clearly trying to recenter himself, and his hand gently squeezes my leg as if to say ‘we’ll finish this later’.

“Ever heard of knocking?” My voice is rife with irritation which only seems to amuse Jean more.

“Ever heard of a communal space?” He rolls his eyes.

“Can we pleeease get food on the way home?” He gives me a pouty face before dropping his shoulder in defeat, like he’s remembering something.

“You’re taking her away from me, aren’t you?

Wait—how about we all grab food together ?

” He looks between us, clearly not above inviting himself.

We both begin to stand up and Grant reaches down to assist me, his face concerned, still thinking of my blistered feet. I give him a small smile to soothe his worry.

“Sure. But we have to go somewhere quick, if that's okay? I have to catch a flight to Atlanta pretty early.” He’s peeking at me shyly which causes butterflies to stir in my stomach and I can’t help but smile at him. “I was actually going to see if you had plans this weekend…”

He looks at me, unsure if he’s putting too much pressure on whatever this is between us.

I give him a sad smile, not because I don’t want to go but because my mom may have been right.

I do need to practice. Before I can tell him that I should probably stay back and land the turns I’ve been working on all day, Jean speaks for me.

“She’s going,” he says, with such authority, I almost believe he can make that choice for me. I roll my eyes at Jean before directing my gaze at Grant.

“I actually have to work on this number over the weekend. My turns were a mess today and—” Again I’m met with Jean’s intrusion.

“Your turns were a mess because you need a break. Your legs are cooked. Besides, Molly needs understudy time, and I need you to go do whatever it is I interrupted.” He gives me a knowing wink and even though I know his excuses are half baked I decide to let myself believe them, because not only do I deserve to go on a weekend trip with Grant, I want to.

“You know what? Let’s do it.”

His smile is so broad you would’ve thought I just handed him a one way ticket to the NBA and suddenly, my fouettés are the last thing on my mind.