“Do you?” He tilts his head. “What is it?”
I open my mouth.
He waits.
I close it again.
“That’s what I thought.” His voice isn’t unkind, which somehow makes it worse. “It’s one thing to have a plan and move forward. You don’t even have that. You’re just surviving day to day.”
The words land harder than they should because they’re not wrong and I know they’re not wrong, which makes me want to argue with them more.
“You’re letting your pride get in the way of actually solving the problem,” he continues calmly now. “And I understand pride. I respect it. But pride doesn’t pay off loan sharks.”
“I know that,” I say tightly.
“So then what?” His eyes stay on mine, steady and direct. “I’ll tell you what you’re going to do. You’re going to use a rental car that I will provide so you can get to the hospital and to the rink to fulfil your obligations. You will not complain about it because you can give the car back when and if you are able to buy another one, but until that time, you will use the car that I provide. It will be at your apartment building in the morning. Don’t say yes or no. Don’t say anything. We need you to be able to get to practices and this is the only way you’ll be able to do that reliably.”
I look away, toward the play area where Ethan is hanging upside down from the jungle gym. The tight knot in my chest that has lived there for the past year presses harder.
“I don’t understand why you even want to do this,” I say, quieter now. “You don’t know me that well, Grayson. You don’t know me at all.”
He’s quiet for a moment, and my gaze flickers back to him.
His expression shifts, the easy teasing replaced by something more honest. “No,” he replies after a moment. “You’re right. I don’t. But Ethan is attached to you for some reason. My son is my whole world, Miranda. No matter what you may think of me, everything I do is for him.”
The knot in my chest loosens just enough to ache differently.
“Grayson—”
“I’m not done.” He leans forward slightly. “You are also about to be working directly inside my pack’s—” He stops and adjusts. “My team’s inner circle. That means your problems become visible to people I care about protecting. Those men coming after you in that parking lot is not something I can just ignore.”
Before I can respond, the food arrives. It’s a pizza the size of a small table, steaming and fragrant, and from somewhere across the play structure comes the shriek of a four-year-old who has apparently been monitoring the situation.
Ethan hits the table at full speed, slightly out of breath, foam block still clutched in one hand.
“Is that the pizza?” he demands, climbing into his chair with great urgency.
“Sit properly,” Grayson says automatically.
Ethan sits properly. Then immediately reaches for a slice.
“It’s hot,” I warn him.
He freezes, hand hovering, and looks at me.
“Give it one minute,” I tell him. “Or you’ll burn your tongue and then you won’t be able to taste any of it.”
He withdraws his hand and folds both in his lap with the gravity of someone making an enormous sacrifice, staring at the pizza with absolute focus, like he can cool it faster through sheer force of will.
Grayson is watching me from across the table.
I pick up a slice, check the temperature, and set it on Ethan’s plate.
“Now?” Ethan asks.
“Now,” I confirm.
He takes a bite, and his entire face transforms into pure joy.
