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“You would do that?”
“Of course, I would,” I say with a yawn.
Grayson kisses the side of my head and shifts us so we’re lying down again. “Sleep, my sunshine girl,” he murmurs into my hair, flicking off the TV. “You must be tired.”
“I don’t want to,” I protest sleepily.
He laughs, tightening the hold he has around my waist, my back tucked perfectly against his chest. “I won’t let go. I promise. All night.”
“Gray?” I whisper as I’m on the brink of sleep. “I’m sorry it isn’t easy with your dad. And I’m sorry it isn’t easy with me either.”
“You’re worth it, Sierra. And it won’t be like this forever.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
I slip into sleep, and at least for tonight I forget about everything else.
* * *
Grayson is clearlyanxious on the way to his parents’ house for dinner. I’ve never seen him like this—fidgeting with his hair, tapping the steering wheel with his thumb, hyper-focused on the road. It breaks my heart a little.
“You okay, babe?” I ask him. “Wanna talk about it?”
He glances at me for a brief moment before turning his focus back to the road. “Nah, I’m fine.”
He’s definitely far from fine.
“It’s okay if you’re not fine, you know,” I say, resting a hand on his thigh. “I’m not going to judge you if you aren’t. I havenot finedays sometimes too.”
He glances my way again with a half-smile on his face, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. There’s no mistaking it when Grayson smiles at you— you feel it deep within your chest. That smile felt all wrong.
“You’re so good at never letting the tough stuff get you down,” he says quietly. “You never let life get to you. I don’t know how you do it.”
I’m not sure what to say to that, knowing it isn’t true. I have bad days like everyone else. But I choose to ignore it, not wanting to talk about me. This dinner isn’t going to be easy on Gray and I want to do what I can to be there for him.
Ten minutes later, Grayson parks in front of a yellow two-storey home. It’s small but well-kept, with a row of gorgeous white rhododendrons underneath the front window and a large oak tree in the yard.
“You ready for this?” he says, putting the car into park.
I run my palm over the stubble of his jaw. “I am. I’m here, Gray, because I want to meet your mom. I also really want to meet your sister, and your dad too.” I smile. “I want to see where you came from, the people who loved you first. I’m here because I want to be here, for you, and hopefully to make tonight easier.”
He smiles at me, and this time it’s a real one. It makes my heart race in my chest. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you but I’m not going to question it, sunshine. My mom is going to love you.”
And all of a sudden, it’s me who’s nervous. But I’m not going to let it show. If it means Grayson gets through this night unscathed, I’ll gladly take on some of the anxiety.
Grayson
My mom is goingout of her way to make everyone feel at ease, talking a mile a minute and buzzing around the kitchen putting dinner together. I know she’s trying to impress Sierra, the first girl I’ve brought home since Layla. That was six years ago. My mom is obviously excited, and I can’t blame her. She’s been waiting a long time for me to have someone special in my life.
My dad on the other hand is quiet, which works for me. The less he says, the more likely it is that he doesn’t embarrass me. I’ve glanced in his direction more than a few times to check that he’s sober. It’s usually a roll of the dice whether he’s lucid or whether he’s high as a damn kite, stoned and nodding off from the painkillers.
Today he looks presentable in a button-down shirt, his face cleanly shaven and his hair freshly trimmed. If I had to place a bet, I’d say he’s clean, but I’ve bet wrong in the past. Thankfully he isn’t being obnoxious like I’ve seen him so many times before. My mom and my little sister Kyla are more than making up for his silence, asking Sierra a million questions, smothering her with kindness.
“Grayson said you love to bake,” my mom says, once we’ve sat down for dinner. “Do you have a specialty?”
Sierra is in the seat beside me and I squeeze her thigh under the table, where my hand is firmly placed on the fabric of her dress.
