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Sloane: He’s going to meet Ernie fucking Winters. Enough said.
Me: Right? Let’s hope Dad keeps his sense of humor in check. Grayson isn’t the kind of guy who’s going to LOL just to make Dad feel funnier.
Sloane: Did you bring wine?
Me: Duh.
Sloane: Then, open the bottle as soon as you get there and all will be good. Have fuuuun.
Sloane: And text me after, of course.
Me: Of course.
I tucked my phone into my purse and reached across the front seat of Grayson’s sports car, placing my hand on top of his. “Are you doing okay?”
We were nearing the Brockton exit. The apartment complex where my parents had lived for the last twenty-four years was seconds from the highway, so we were close.
Maybe too close.
He quickly glanced at me before focusing on the road. “Yeah, why?”
“I don’t know ... because this is a mega milestone for our relationship and you’re about to ask my dad an extremely important question and things are now going from zero to a million.” I squeezed his hand. “And if this scenario were normal, I wouldn’t know that you’re asking my dad today, but I do, and that’s nuts.”
He let out a sigh.
It could have come from me, that was how hard I felt it.
And how I sympathized with the gesture.
“It’s going to be all right,” he said.
My heart froze for a second as I processed his response. “You really think so?”
He was quiet for a moment, downshifting as he turned at the exit. “We have no other choice. This is the process, whether it feels fucked up or not.”
I pointed right, so he knew which way to turn.
“Most fathers, I assume, want to know that their daughters are going to be taken care of—even if they can take care of themselves.” He gazed at me. “Which you can, we all know that. But it’s what I’m going to promise him, and that as long as you’re with me, nothing is ever going to happen to you. And that I’m going to care about you—always.” He’d moved our hands to the gearshift, his thumb rubbing over my knuckle. “Those aren’t lies, Jovana.”
“I want to say buuut, but I’m melting so hard, I can’t.”
He came to the first light and left my hand to graze my cheek. “I’ve thought a lot about this. Shit, it’s kept me awake almost every night this week. I’ve even talked to the guys about it.”
“I didn’t know ...” I pointed to the left, having him turn into the complex.
“Fucked up is the only way I know how to describe it, but we can’t tear up the contract—I tried suggesting that to the fellas, and it got shot down. So as strange as this all feels, we’ve just got to move forward.”
The last thing I pointed to was the building just past the dumpster, the one directly before the pool, which no one ever used since the water was green more than it was blue.
He parked and turned the car off.
That was when I turned to him, a smile tugging across my mouth. “Look at you being Mr. Positive. I like this side of you. It needs to stick around.”
He chuckled. “You wouldn’t have said that if you were in my office the day I brought it up to the guys. I wasn’t exactly soft and gentle about it.”
“Mr. Wicked is allowed to rear his roaring head when he needs to.” I slipped my hand around the back of his neck. “In all seriousness, you’re right about moving forward. I’d rather do that than move apart.”
Forward was the direction he’d been taking me since our late-night walk, but it was still a relief to hear him suggest that.
