“So, okay,” I say, my tone firmer now, “I get it that you want to go to college and accomplish something and be independent. But, sweetheart, those are things on a list to be marked off. Whether you do them this year or the next, whether you stumble on the way or not, doesn’t matter. You’re already the best daughter and friend that anyone could ask for.”
She nods and wipes the tears from her cheeks.
I know that my words have boosted her morale for now but not healed the wound she’s carrying. And that she has to make that journey by herself. But no matter what tomorrow brings, I vow to be there by her side, every step of the way.
With a strangled laugh, she turns towards me, her hands on my shoulders, our arms holding parallel, as we used to as kids. “Thank you, as always, for attending to my crisis while in the middle of your own.”
I giggle, but the sound is strange to my own ears. It doesn’t morph into a sob but skates the territory. “Any time,” I say, now sounding a little drunk. “It’s not like Mr. Grayson and I were going to last much longer.”
Sophie’s gasp lingers in the air, sharp and incredulous. “Is that what my dad is to you, you… jezebel? A fun fling?”
The sound that falls from my lips is a cross between a snort and a sob. “You know—or have known for a while, I think—how I feel.”
“So what’s the problem then?” she pushes, her hands tightening on my shoulders. “If I hadn’t interrupted with my ill-timed entry, I think Dad would have given you a good birthday present, no?”
My cheeks burn, heat crawling up my neck, but shame doesn’t come. “He didn’t promise me anything, Soph. And whatever was there, I might have cut it short by hiding so many things from him.”
Her eyes sharpen, her voice turning fierce. “The way he looked at you, Jazz… and you’re not even going to fight for him? You’re just going to hide behind my mistakes? Behind fear? God, and here I thought you were fearless.”
My chest caves in. “I hurt him, Soph,” I whisper, the words tearing out of me. “He trusted me, and I failed him. He gave me everything I asked for, and I still kept something back.”
She squeezes my shoulders, her strawberry-blond hair falling in her face, her blue eyes lit with fire. “I’ve hurt Dad too, Jazz. More times than I want to admit. But he always forgives me, because that’s who he is. He’ll get over me. But you?” She leans in, almost shaking me. “You’re the one thing he won’t get over. So don’t you dare walk away. Don’t you dare give up without fighting for him.”
Her words slam into me harder than any lecture I could give myself. I can still feel Mr. Grayson’s disappointment slicing through me like glass, but beneath it, I remember the way he cradled my face, the way his body folded me into him like I belonged there.
Maybe my mistake isn’t unfixable. Not if I want him, truly want him, as my future.
I nod, breath shaky, heart pounding with the beginnings of fragile hope.
Sophie studies me for a beat, then smirks, watery-eyed but teasing. “Guess that means I’ve got to start calling you Mama soon, huh?”
I laugh, the sound choked and messy, but it breaks the heaviness hanging between us. “Thank you,” I whisper, clutching her hand. “For not being weirded out. For supporting me. For being so... kind about this.”
Her grin softens, turning tender. “You make him happy, Jazz. Anyone can see that. You should see it too. Own it. And then—” she taps my bare finger with mock sternness— “ask him to put a ring on it already.”
The laugh that bursts out of me this time is real.
For the first time since he walked out, my chest feels light. Mr. Grayson’s always given me more than I asked for, more than I deserved. Or so I thought.
But there’s no deserving in love. There’s only speaking it, living it and claiming it.
And if I have to beg on my knees for forgiveness, if I have to earn my way into his good graces, then I will.
After all, I’ve never shied away from hard work and this is the man I love.
The man I want to spend the rest of my life with.
Chapter 18
Nathan
By the time I return, it’s well past midnight.
My shirt is damp from the rain still falling outside, the steady drizzle I’d walked through for blocks just to clear my head. The penthouse feels cavernous without the music, without the chatter. Too still.
The quartz island is littered with what’s left of a celebration gone sideways—cake untouched, a glossy chocolate torte collapsing in the middle, jewel-bright slices of dragon fruit and starfruit going limp on silver trays.
I ordered them to give Jasmine something lush, rare, unforgettable. Instead, each wilted piece is a reminder of how easily joy slipped through my fingers tonight.
