Page 53
forty-six
MIRA
Every day for the first two weeks post Michigan, Griffin shows up to Maddy’s door with coffee, pastries, or flowers.
Every day, he asks me to breakfast, and despite desperately wanting to say yes, I decline.
He sends me lunch deliveries, texts me every few hours to tell me he loves me and always will, and sends me random GIFs and links to things he thinks are funny.
Every night, he shows back up, hazel eyes full of hope, to tell me goodnight before he hands me a love note or a new romance novel with his favorite passages highlighted and annotated.
It’s killing me. I miss him so fucking much it hurts, I’m not sleeping well, and I can’t seem to eat anything.
I’ve lost enough weight that Isla noticed and has started to worry.
To her credit, she hasn’t pushed me to talk about more than I’m ready to discuss, even though I know she’s dying to hear what happened.
The thing is, I’m worried that if I tell her everything, I’ll lose my nerve and what little resolve I have left. Because two weeks without Griffin has made a few things painfully clear.
One, he’s my best friend. And I don’t just mean he’s one of them—I mean he’s the best friend I’ve ever had in my entire life. He gets me in a way no one else ever has, sees me more clearly than even my mom and my brother, and has always been one hundred percent in my corner.
Two, I’m hopelessly in love with him. Although our marriage and romantic relationship started from a drunken night, I’d been fighting my attraction to him way before Vegas.
And, yes, I know I told him that our marriage was a mistake and that one day he’d see the truth of it, but how can he believe that’s the truth when I don’t even believe it?
And three, I’ve been really fucking selfish.
I meant what I said when I told Griffin he should have asked more of me.
I’ve spent every single torturous night in bed thinking back on all the things he did to try to prove he was right for me while I, what?
Marked off little tic-marks on some imagined list of requirements for a perfect partner?
What did I do to prove my worth to him? What did I sacrifice for him?
I’m the reason he and Maddox have barely been speaking. I’m the reason he’s playing on the second line. Because I’m the one who demanded we keep this relationship a secret, and look at how that ended up? I goaded him into drinking more that night. I brought up chapels and marriage.
Griffin has every right to be pissed at me. He’d have every right to blame me for the rift between him and his best friend, and the fact that he’s not playing on the first line in the last weeks of the regular season like he deserves to.
I almost wish he was mad. Maybe it would distract me from the absolute misery I’m wallowing in.
Maddox and Isla are both gone and I’m alone in their apartment when the doorbell rings.
Looking down at myself, I cringe when I realize I haven’t changed out of my pajamas or brushed my hair yet today.
At least I’ve brushed my teeth, so I won’t knock out whoever’s at the door. That is, if I answer it.
Tiptoeing through the apartment, I look through the peephole to find Griffin standing there, a book in his hand.
Since he can’t see me, I allow myself a moment to study him.
He’s still as golden and gorgeous as ever, but there are signs of stress on his face that weren’t there before.
The little crease between his eyebrows seems deeper, and his jaw is tighter.
His hair is messy, and not in that artful way it normally is.
After a few moments, he looks directly at the peephole, a slow grin curving his lips as he says, “You gonna stand there and stare at me, or are you gonna let me in, sunshine?”
“Shit.”
His chuckle floats through the door and embeds itself in my heart, like fuel for my soul. I hurry to open it and step aside, allowing him to come in.
It’s the first time we’ve been alone in weeks, and I have to fight my body’s urge to throw myself in his arms, bury my face in his neck, and refuse to let him go.
A similar urge plays across Griffin’s face, but to my dismay, he doesn’t act on it.
I wish he would. If he made the first move, I could let myself sink into him and still tell myself I held my ground.
“Hey, baby.” Griffin openly drinks me in, those hazel eyes I know so well—every striation and fleck of color mapped over our months together—scanning me from head to sock-covered toe. “How are you?”
Miserable , I want to say. Missing you. I don’t want to do this anymore. Please ask me to come home. Please tell me you hate this as much as me.
“Good,” I lie.
His lips twitch, forming into a frown before he catches himself. Like he knows I’m lying but has the grace not to call me on it. “Good. That’s good.”
We stare at each other for a moment. “What are you doing here?”
My words snap him out of whatever trance he’s in, and he shakes his head, handing me the book.
“Brought this for you. I thought maybe we could read it together while I’m out of town for this away series like we did before. I’ve heard nothing but good things.”
God, I hate the tentative way he asks. I want my confident, cocky husband back. This is my fault.
“I’d like that.” I take a step toward him, my lower lip between my teeth. “Maybe we can FaceTime and share our favorite parts?”
Griffin’s lips curve again, this time into a smile, as he moves a step toward me. There are mere inches between us now. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” My voice is breathy as I respond, and my breathing grows shallow when he reaches out and tucks a lock of hair behind my ear, his fingers skimming along my cheekbone before dragging along my lips.
“It’s a date.”
Leaning into his touch, I close my eyes as a pained sound tears from my lips. “Griffin.”
“Yeah, baby?” Hot breath ghosts over my lips, and they part without a conscious thought.
“I…”
“I know, sunshine. I know.”
Then, for the first time in two weeks, he kisses me. It’s soft, tentative, hopeful . As he pulls away, my lips chase his, seeking his warmth, needing his breath, needing him. He gives me what I need, but only briefly, before he pulls back and rests his forehead on mine.
“Fuck, baby. I miss you so fucking much.”
I want to tell him I miss him too. But my head is still a mess, and if I give voice to how much I miss him and how broken I’ve felt without him, he’ll take that as me giving in to this thing between us, and I’m not there yet.
Though I’ve done some real soul searching, and I’ve been meeting with a therapist twice a week since moving in with Maddy, I need more time.
Griffin deserves to have someone be as all in as he is, and I want that person to be me.
But I’ve realized that, despite living for twenty years without my dad in my life and thinking I was over his abandonment, that’s not completely true.
I don’t expect therapy to heal me. I know that’s not how this works.
But I want to make sure I can give the man I love the love and commitment he so desperately wants and deserves.
And that’s going to take longer than two weeks.
He doesn’t wait for me to say it back, which breaks my heart but is also a relief.
He just kisses my forehead and steps back before saying, “I wanted to stop by before the series to give you the book, but I also wanted to give you this.” He reaches into the inside pocket of his coat and withdraws an envelope.
There’s an address on it, along with a name that sounds an awful lot like a law firm.
“What is this?”
He runs a hand through his sandy blond hair and won’t meet my eyes. “It’s the deed to my place.”
“What?” I’m so confused. Slipping my finger into the envelope, I pull out a packet of papers. The first is on official letterhead, and my heart picks up speed as I read the words there. He didn’t…
“I’m not giving up on us, baby, so don’t for a second think that’s what this is.
But I want you to know that whatever happens, you’re taken care of.
I moved my clothes and stuff out yesterday.
Everything else is exactly where you left it.
Bash is letting me stay with him for as long as I need to.
I figured you won’t want to live with your brother and Isla once they’re married, and you deserve to have your own space and a place to do your work.
The apartment’s yours. It’s completely paid for, and so are the next two years of property taxes and insurance. ”
My throat is so tight, I can barely force words out, and when I do, they come out in a croak. “Why would you do this?”
There’s not a trace of hesitation or doubt in his eyes when he smiles at me.
Only so much love that I have to fight back tears.
“Because I love you, Mira. Because you’re my wife, and I promised to take care of you.
I told you I wouldn’t walk away, and I won’t.
But I realized that when you walk back into my arms, I want to know that you’re doing it with no hesitation.
I don’t want you coming back because you don’t have a place to stay or because you feel you don’t have any other options.
I want you to run back into my arms because there’s no other place you’d rather be. ”
He trails his fingers over my cheek one last time before stepping away. I feel cold without him.
“Will you come to our home games next week? There are seats for you, Isla, and Lexi.”
It’s the first game of the conference quarterfinals. Despite the tension between Maddox and Griffin, the Rogues have played their way into the playoffs. It’s a huge deal, and to say that everyone is excited would be an understatement.
“Of course I’ll be there. I wouldn’t miss it.”
Table of Contents
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- Page 53 (Reading here)
- Page 54
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