"It's better later in the day. Mornings are absolute hell."
"Do you need to stop to get anything? Ginger tea, crackers, those wristband things?—"
I open my eyes and look at him. "You know about morning sickness remedies?"
He looks slightly uncomfortable. "Victoria had horrible morning sickness when she was pregnant with Samantha."
Despite everything, I smile. "I’m sure you tried to help."
"I did my best."
The car pulls up outside my building—a shabby walk-up in a neighborhood that's "up and coming" which really means it's still affordable. Grant looks at it like he's evaluating it for structural integrity, and I brace myself for comments about my living situation.
But he doesn't say anything. Just gets out and offers me his hand.
I let him help me out and we stand on the sidewalk together. I look up at him and have that feeling of awe I’ve always had around him. He’s just so damn gorgeous.
"Get some rest," he says, flashing me his patented Grant Cross smile.
"I will."
"And Emma?" He waits until I meet his eyes. "We're going to be okay. All of us. I promise."
I want to believe him. Want to trust that somehow, despite all the impossible logistics and complicated feelings and explosive family drama waiting in our future, we'll find a way through this.
But standing here, exhausted and pregnant and more uncertain than I've ever been, all I can manage is a nod.
He walks me to my door, and before I can retreat inside, he frames my face with his hands. His touch is gentle, careful, like I'm something precious.
"You are not alone in this, Emma," he says, his gaze intense. "Get some rest. I'll call you tomorrow."
He leans down and gives me a soft kiss on the lips. Then he's gone, heading back to the waiting car, and I'm left standing in my doorway with my heart doing gymnastics in my chest.
I open the door and relock it behind me. I drop my bag and immediately sink into the couch.
I’m finally a little hungry and I’m just about to get up to warm up a bowl of soup when my phone buzzes. A text from Grant.
Grant:Thank you for today. For trusting me with this. Sleep well.
I stare at the message, my thumb hovering over the keyboard.
Me:Thank you for not running.
His response is immediate.
Grant:I'm not going anywhere.
I set the phone down and press my hand against my stomach.
Two babies. Grant's babies. Growing inside me right now, completely oblivious to the chaos their existence has caused.
The terror is still there. The fear of losing myself.
But alongside it, fragile and terrifying and impossible to ignore, is something else.
Hope.
Maybe Grant means it. Maybe he really will try to be a partner instead of a savior. Maybe I can have help without losing myself.
