Lessons in Heartbreak: Chapter 20

“I need to hit something,” I announced as soon as Griffin opened the door.

“I’ll volunteer as long as you don’t break my jaw.” He moved aside, tweaking the back of my ponytail. “I almost came to see you yesterday. I’m out of books. The cowboy one was steamy. I think I learned a few things.”

The teasing joke went straight over my head. He was shirtless and I hardly noticed, and if that wasn’t an indication of my foul mood, I don’t know what was.

With a sigh, I brushed past him, about to sling my gym bag onto the couch when I stopped short. Marcus was sprawled out on one section, hand on his chest and his eyes glued to the TV. He was shirtless, too, but I really didn’t care about that.

“Shhh,” he said. “This is a really good part.”

In theory, I knew what I was seeing, but I was wide-eyed and slack-jawed all the same.

“I know,” Griffin said. “I’m shocked he’s still here too. Can’t figure out how to get rid of him.”

“What the fuck?” I breathed.

“I’m trying to watch here!” Marcus yelled. “Do you mind?”

Griffin whistled. “She does swear when the situation warrants it. I like that more than I should.”

“Shut up,” Marcus hissed. “Go somewhere else. She just saved Rochester from the fire, and they’re in their pajamas. If I miss something good, I’ll never fucking forgive you.”

Griffin wrapped a hand around my elbow and gently steered me down the hallway off the kitchen, leading us toward Steven’s home gym. I lifted a hand and pointed dumbly back in the direction of the family room. “He’s . . . he’s watching Jane Eyre.”

“You’ve got us well and truly trained in finding period-appropriate seduction techniques, birdy. He views it as a learning opportunity now.” Griffin smacked my ass and grinned when I let out an indignant squeak. “Oh, don’t pretend like you don’t love it.” He crowded behind me as we walked, using my hips as handles to steer me into the room, dipping his head down to speak closer to my ear. “If you’re a good girl and do all your exercises, I’ll spank you in the shower after I clean all your sweat off.”

Turning my head to look up into his face, I arched my brow haughtily. “I walked into the house saying I needed to hit something, and this feels like the best course of action?”

“Workout. Sweat. Shower. Naked spanking.” He booped my nose. As much as I wanted to, I couldn’t actually dredge up a shred of annoyance when he did it. “Can’t think of many other things that would turn my frown upside down quite like that.”

I rolled my eyes, but his mood was undeniably persuasive.

“Not even football?” I asked, easing myself onto the rubberized floor to go through some stretches.

Griffin joined me, his legs together in a straight line. Quite easily, he hinged forward at the hip and wrapped his hands around the bottom of his feet, bringing his head down while he groaned through the hamstring stretch. “Sometimes,” he said. “I love playing the game, but all the other shit that comes with it can be pretty overpowering.”

“Like what?”

“The press—they’re the worst.”

I hummed, taking the stretch deeper. “Lauren showed me an article from the fair. They totally skewed what you guys were doing.”

He laughed. “Yeah, they love doing that.”

My brow furrowed. “Doesn’t that bother you? I got so mad, and it wasn’t even about me.”

Griffin shrugged, his face carefully blank. “Every once in a while, yeah. But trying to fight is like that guy with the rock going uphill. What do they call that?”

“Sisyphus,” I answered. “Pushing the boulder up the hill. They’d call that a Sisyphean task.”

“That’s it. Not that I remember the story; I think I slept through that class a lot in college.”

“It was a punishment,” I said. “He was a horrible ruler. Sisyphus angered the gods by killing his guests as a show of power, and by cheating death. Once he was with Hades in the underworld, they cursed him to push a boulder up the side of a hill, only to have it slide back down every time it neared the top. He was doomed to repeat the same task for eternity as a consequence for his choices.”

Griffin eased out of his stretch and gave me a thoughtful look. “Yeah. That. Sounds pretty fucking miserable, doesn’t it? Doing the same thing over and over and never achieving what you want?”

“It does,” I agreed quietly. To varying degrees, we all fought that battle. The literal definition of insanity—doing something the same way over and over and expecting different results. With Griffin, for the first time in my life, I was choosing a different course of action, something wildly out of character. And because of that deviation, because I broke a pattern formed by myself, I was finally getting the things I’d always wanted.

“I was like that in college,” he said, eyes firmly trained on his hands where they wrapped around his feet as he bent his legs in another stretch. “Wanted one thing. Never acted in the way that would get me what I wanted, over and over and over, and I could never figure out why it wasn’t working.”

“What did you want?” I asked.

He let out a quiet breath. “Respect.” His eyes landed on mine briefly, then moved away again. I opened my mouth to respond, but he kept talking. “I hate the league dynamics too. Constantly changing rules, even if they’re for a good reason, affects how we train and how we’ve been playing for years.” He sat up, crossing an arm over his chest and holding it down with his other, his eyes focused elsewhere. “My body can’t recover like it used to either. I’m thirty-two, and most days after a game, I feel twenty years older than that.”

I thought about all the times I’d changed the subject, unwilling to open up the neatly compartmentalized box where I’d kept the topic of my hand-me-down heart. Was it the healthiest way to go through life? Maybe not. But sometimes, it was also the only way you felt like you could move forward. Coping mechanisms came in a million different shapes and sizes, and I was the last person to judge what his were. I chewed briefly on my bottom lip, trying to decide how far I wanted to push.

Griffin had pushed me—gently, which still surprised me for the great big oaf he could be sometimes. He didn’t bulldoze through my reserves; he simply listened and let me know how important it was that he didn’t make anything worse. For a hard-to-define relationship, he’d stepped into that space in the absolute perfect way. Perfect for me, at least.

So I took a deep breath and held his gaze for a moment. “And you hate that your brother is there too.”

His eyes stayed fixed on mine. “And I hate that my brother is there too.” Griffin swallowed, his jaw flexing briefly. “Feels like pushing that fucking rock up the hill, you know? Everyone’s waiting for it to fall right back down to the bottom.”

“When’s the last time you saw him?” I asked.

Griffin blinked. “A couple years ago. We played his team. They won by three points after a bullshit holding penalty set them up for a last-minute field goal, and I wasn’t particularly gracious as a loser.”

“And before that?”

The dry, unamused laugh Griffin let out had my brows lowering.

“Before that,” he said slowly, “is not a very fun story.” He nudged my foot with his own. “We only have a couple days left, birdy. My brother’s ruined a lot of things, but I don’t want him ruining this.”

Right then.

It wasn’t a harsh reply, but I chewed on my bottom lip, brain churning over the possibility that I’d overstepped while we moved through a couple more stretches in companionable silence. I moved into another position, noting the way his eyes tracked over my new sports bra. It was another high-necked number—I wasn’t sure I’d ever feel comfortable putting my scar on display—but it left my back almost bare underneath a black mesh shirt, two straps crisscrossing in the middle of my spine.

Only a couple more days left, I thought, with a slight pang in my chest.

There were a dozen reasons why I should be thrilled at how this all had played out. More than that, even. And I still somehow found myself wanting.

I’m not ready, I wanted to yell, but I didn’t.

Can’t we have just a couple more days past that? I almost asked.

But I didn’t do that either.

There’s more to be learned here, I almost told him. Not just the sex, but other things too. Just once, I wanted to know what he looked like when he was sleeping. What his voice sounded like first thing in the morning. What the skin on his chest smelled like when he wasn’t fresh out of the shower. It was more than those superficial details, if I was being honest.

What was he like during a game? Was he sad after a loss? Who took care of him when he was sick? What made him and his brother hate each other so much? Maybe if I knew those things, then I’d feel more at ease with his whirlwind presence in my life.

What a mark he’d left on me, and he wasn’t even gone yet. A scar whose existence would be known only to me.

If I knew Griffin—the real, honest version of him, not what the press would have me believe—then I could make peace with only having him for a short time. Already he’d shown much more than he might have intended, and each glimpse simply amplified my desire for more.

More of everything, really.

I let out a slow breath, standing up and swinging my arms back and forth to loosen my back, then dropping my fingertips down to brush the floor. Griffin joined me, and it was my turn for lingering glances in the general vicinity of his chest and stomach too.

The smattering of dark-golden hair on his chest was somehow the most visually appealing thing I’d ever seen, because it matched the shade of the thin line of hair that split through the bottom of the stacked muscles on his stomach and disappeared beneath the waistband of his athletic shorts.

He clicked his tongue. “None of that, Miss Tate. We have work to do, and you’ll not distract me with sex eyes.”

Face hot, I blinked up. “I don’t have sex eyes.”

“You sure do.” He ambled toward me, and I stumbled back, almost tripping on the weight bench behind me. With a laugh, Griffin wrapped an arm around my waist to keep me upright. His skin was warm on mine, and my fingers curled around the waistband of his shorts as he held me against his chest. “Now, why did you want to hit something?”

The playful mood burst like a pinprick, and my shoulders deflated in an instant. How easily I’d been able to forget, even just for a moment. That was his superpower, I realized. He helped me forget everything. When I lifted my face to his, he must have seen the gloss of tears in my eyes.

“Are you okay?” he asked, brow wrinkled in concern. He cupped my face in both hands, thumbs sweeping gently over my cheekbones. “What happened?”

I sighed. “We lost the land next door to the library. A developer from Fort Collins put in a much stronger offer, so the sellers accepted it.”

“Shit. I’m sorry, birdy.” His hands moved up and down my back, a motion meant to soothe, and it actually helped. Sort of. Lauren and I had already had our rage-texting earlier, and that certainly hadn’t calmed me down. “How much more did he offer?”

I shrugged. “Not sure, exactly. We came in well above asking price.”

“Want me to go break his kneecaps?”

I emitted a shaky laugh, then caught sight of his face and sobered. “Oh my gosh, Griffin, no.”

He grinned, tugging me close for a hug. He was big, and warm, and with all those muscles up against my body, it was incredibly easy to succumb to the way my brain responded. We’d uncapped something between us, and even though the mood had swung wildly since I’d arrived at the house, I found myself melting into yet another shift.

My hands grazed the hot skin on his back, dipping beneath the waistband of his shorts to knead the hard muscle there. Griffin let out a low rumbling sound and nuzzled the side of my head, his hands tightening where they were wrapped around my waist. The edge of his fingers dug into my ribs, and I sucked in a sharp breath, dragging my nose along his chest, laying light kisses over his skin. It was like he flipped a light switch, all the bells and whistles screaming in the back of my head.

Prepare your vagina, they said, clear as day. Because he is big and you are not, and if you keep half-naked hugging, then it’s a fairly easy step toward sex on the gym floor.

I would’ve done it too.

He smelled incredible like this, with no barrier between me and his flawless body. I reached the skin over his heart and kissed him there, a light brush of my tongue against his skin, and his hands tightened, one sliding up to anchor at the base of my neck, where he exerted just enough pressure that I looked up.

“You trying to start something again, baby?” he murmured, a feral glint to his eye that lit a spark deep in the pit of my belly. Heat coiled through my veins at the way he looked at me—because there was a heady sort of power in this interaction.

“N-no,” I lied, but my hands traced over his stomach, and I thought about how it would be if I were anchoring them there, if I were on top of him, writhing in his lap like he’d said he wanted. Using that as my balance while he wrenched his hips up underneath me.

Griffin registered the change in my expression, his gaze heating as he stared at my mouth.

“Shit,” he breathed, his hands pushing around my hips, filling his palms with my backside, and the impatient flex of his fingers had me pinching my eyes shut against the relentless wall of heat. This couldn’t possibly be normal, right? How did people function in normal society—working and sleeping and eating and doing yard work and . . . doing taxes or whatever—when they could be doing this all the time? “Not yet,” he said. “Workout first. You need to do more strength training, okay? It’s good for you.”

“So is sex.”

At the pleading tone in my voice, he let out a pained laugh. “God, you’re gonna be the end of me, aren’t you?” He leaned down and kissed me with a low groan, and I rolled up to the balls of my feet to push closer while his tongue brushed lazily over mine.

“Is that a yes?” I asked against his mouth.

He hummed, cradling my face while he deepened the kiss. “Will it make you feel better, baby? If it made you smile, I’m pretty sure I’d do any fucking thing you asked.”

This was so much bigger than anything we’d done, and yet I couldn’t find a single shred of reservation. My lifelong role of the responsible girl was nothing but a wispy, insubstantial thing in the back of my mind.

Just as I began to nod, a pointed clearing of the throat came from the doorway. My eyes slammed shut.

“I really, really don’t want to intrude,” Marcus said.

I deflated into Griffin’s chest, and he growled low in his throat. “What is it?”

“You, uh, got some visitors.”

Griffin’s head snapped up. “You didn’t invite more people here, did you?”

Marcus held his hands up. “Trust me, if I was inviting people, it would not be two little kids who look like your brother.” He tilted his head. “Or look like you, I guess.”

“What?” Griffin yelled. He snatched a shirt from the weight bench and tugged it over his head, and I followed both of them back down the hallway, almost running into Griffin’s back when he came to a dead halt in the kitchen.

“What are you two doing here?” he said incredulously.

“Uncle Griffin!”

I’d hardly peeked around him when two tall, gangly kids with the exact coloring of their dad and uncle threw themselves at Griffin.

He gathered them up in a tight hug. “Holy shit, how did you get here, and how the fuck did you know where this house was?”

The boy—he couldn’t have been older than thirteen—hitched a thumb at his younger sister when Griffin released them. “You said you were at your agent’s house outside of Fort Collins. She searched the sale records on the county website once she had his name.”

My eyebrows popped up as the girl grinned devilishly. She had the exact same smile as Griffin and Barrett, and deep dimples on either side of her mouth.

“Maggie,” Griffin said in a low warning tone. “How did you get plane tickets? Because I know your dad didn’t agree to this.”

She blinked innocently. “Those consent forms for an unaccompanied minor are incredibly easy to forge. Honestly, it’s like they’re not even trying.”

Griffin swiped a hand over his mouth and stared at his niece and nephew. Marcus and I traded a quick, panicked look.

“He’s gonna kill me for this,” Griffin said. “Does he know where you are, Bryce?”

The boy shrugged. “I left a note in the kitchen. He’ll figure it out when he gets home from work.”

Griffin tipped his head back and stared at the ceiling, muttering things under his breath that none of us could understand. It was probably best for the kids that they couldn’t.

Maggie glanced at me, tilting her head. “Who are you?”

Marcus cleared his throat. “Don’t you want to know who I am?” he asked, laying a hand on his inked chest.

Maggie rolled her eyes. “I know who you are. I watch SportsCenter every morning.”

“Nice,” he said.

Griffin rubbed the back of his neck, looking a little bit like he might pass out.

“But she’s new,” Maggie said. “I know Uncle Griffin’s single because it’s all over the internet.”

My mouth was dry as the freaking Sahara when I opened it to speak. “I—”

“She’s my friend,” Griffin said, “and you don’t get to be nosy right now, young lady. You’re in so much trouble.”

“Technically, we’re only in trouble once Dad catches us,” she pointed out.

Marcus snickered. “I hope I have a kid like you someday.”

Maggie beamed.

Her brother rolled his eyes. “Don’t encourage her.”

Griffin pulled out his phone. “As much as I don’t want to do this, I have to call your dad.”

“No!” both kids wailed.

Indecision was stamped all over Griffin’s face as Maggie tugged on his arm. “Please,” she begged. “He’ll make us leave, and we haven’t seen you in so long. Just . . . just send him a text and let him know we’re okay and that you’d love to have us stay for a while. Please?”

Her chin started wobbling, and Griffin sighed, tugging her in for a hug. “I missed you, kid.”

She flung her arms around his waist and lost her battle with her tears. “We missed you too.”

My own eyes burned as I watched him extend an arm to a suspiciously red-eyed Bryce, and he joined them in the hug. Griffin sighed, kissing the tops of both of their heads, his eyes falling closed as the two kids cried softly in his arms.

Oh, this was dangerous.

Griffin showing sweet paternal energy was like a rallying cry for my ovaries, and I actually pressed a hand to my stomach to instruct those little jerks to calm down. Not once had I heard the ticking clock, or even a whisper of wanting to have kids. For years, I’d been so consumed with just . . . staying alive that procreating was so far off in the distance I couldn’t even squint to see it.

But the sudden image of Griffin holding a baby almost knocked me down to my knees.

I pinched my eyes shut and turned toward the kitchen, bracing a hand on the counter until I could ruthlessly banish that picture into the depths of . . . I don’t know . . . mental purgatory, where it belonged.

Marcus gently touched my arm. “I think I’m gonna go see what Lauren’s up to,” he whispered, with a quick glance at where Griffin was talking quietly to the two kids. “Give him a little space.”

I nodded, wondering if I should do the same.

Marcus exited without fanfare, sneaking out down the hallway through the garage. Griffin straightened with the kids still holding him tight, eyes briefly locking on mine. He looked so lost. My hands itched to hug him. Hold him. Do something. Maybe this was why he always threatened violence when I was upset about something—because then he could do something to make it better. Make it go away.

In that moment, I would have done anything to give him an anchor. Make him feel safe, like he wasn’t alone. It was the same thing he’d been doing for me this entire time. What a dangerous game we’re playing, I thought. And yet, nothing could’ve dragged me away from him before our time was up. Nothing.

I’d take every minute, every second that he gave me, and soak up this sweet torture for as long as possible.

After a moment, Griffin told the kids to go check out the pool, and they ran off into the background with an excited whoop. He turned to me, blowing out a slow breath, that lost quality seeping back into his expression. “What the fuck?” he whispered.

I let out a small laugh. “So,” I said. “Those are Barrett’s kids.”

He nodded, eyes flitting between me and them. A soft, adoring smile played around his mouth as he watched them, and it was so unbearably attractive that I almost screamed.

“They’re so big. I haven’t seen them in a couple years.” Griffin pinched his eyes shut. “He’s gonna kill me when he finds out they’re here.”

“Should I go? I can give you guys some time alone.”

“No way,” he said immediately. “If Barrett shows up, I’ll need you to protect me.”