“You have to want her.”
“I do want her.”
“You have to want her more than anything.” He goes back to staring out of the window. “Know why Nessa never asked me stay? Never asked me to quit music, and choose her?”
“Because it wasn’t what you did?”
He shakes his head, eyes still cast out at the world going by. At the past already gone. “Because she knew I would have if she’d asked. She was always my first choice. And she always knew that.”
KENLEY
It’s been twenty-four hours since we left Knox at the airport. Twenty-four fucking hours. I’ve hated every second of it. Not because I can’t stand being away from the man for even a day. I can. I could do three hundred and sixty-four days a year without him, if I knew that one day of the years was all ours. That even apart, we were together. And he was offering that, offering a life together built out of the lives we created apart, practically begging me to let him give it to me, and I just couldn’t accept.
Because I was too fucking scared.
I’m still scared. But now my fear is shifting. Now I’m starting to fear I did the one thing I was trying so hard not to do, I went and fucked it all up.
I’m still mid internalized panic attack when Sloan comes strolling into the kitchen, grinning about something she’s looking at on her phone.
“Entertainment via memes this morning?” I ask, getting down a bowl for her. She’s been on a cereal kick the last couple of days.
“No.” She sets down her phone to open the fridge and get out the milk while I pull the box of puffed chocolate rice from the pantry for her. “It’s just a text from Grandma Bean.”
“Who?” Last I checked, she has a Grandma and a Nanny. Grandma Bean is no relative I’m familiar with. And since she’s my kid, I kind of think I ought to be.
“Grandma Bean,” she repeats, as if I’m having a hearing issue. When I’m clearly still not getting it, she adds, “Knox’s mom.”
I almost drop the box of cereal, and the way my kid seals (doesn’tseal) bags and boxes, that would not have gone well. “Why is Knox’s mom texting you?”
Sloan shrugs. “Because she checks in with all the grandkids once a day. We have a group chat going too that she posts in withupdates about the annual backyard glamping weekend. Did you know Knox has seventeen nieces and nephews?”
“I did not.” Apparently, I didn’t know a lot of things. “What is backyard glamping and why does it happen annually and why do you need to know about it?” I’m working my way back from my most recent questions. I have more.
“Grandma Bean does this whole thing where she sets up a crap load of tents in her back yard and invites over all the grandkids for the weekend. She makes a bonfire where we cook everything and roast marshmallows. Plus, there are crafts and games. But it’s glamping and not legit camping, because we can still go inside the house to shower and use the bathroom.”
“That’s encouraging,” I mutter dryly. “And just to be clear, you’re being counted as a grandchild? Of Grandma Bean’s?”
Her eyes go sideways, like she’s suddenly worried she made a mistake somewhere. “Yeah,” she says hesitantly.
“And this was established when?” The amount of self-control I’m exerting to not start shrieking should come with an award.
“While you were at the dance mom meeting.” She takes the box of cereal from my hand. Apparently, she’s too hungry to deal with my craziness without also making herself breakfast. “Knox said he had a chance to invite you into his world and he wanted to do the same with me. So, we called his mom. And I met Grandma Bean on FaceTime.”
“Oh.” And then, a few hours later, I told him I didn’t want to commit to anything. Because I didn’t trust either one of us to know what we were doing. I’m an asshole. And an idiot. “So, you’ve been talking to her ever since?”
“Uh-huh.” She scoops up her first bite and guides it to her mouth. “She texted me the night of the show too. Asked how it went. Told me she couldn’t wait to come and see me dance.” She grimaces. “I almost feel bad. I barely know her and it’s already easier to keep a conversation going with her than it is withNanny. Plus, I talk to her every day, and I can’t even remember to call Nanny once a week.”
“Are you texting Grandma Bean, or is she the one checking in with you?”
“She’s checking in with me.”
“Right.” And there’s the difference. She’s not depending on the teenager to make contact and keep their relationship on track.
“I see how that’s different now.” She grins. “Want me to FaceTime her and introduce you? I bet she’d like texting you too.”
I shake my head. “No, I think I’ll wait until Knox introduces us. Might be weird having you do it. Besides, I think it’s kind of special that he wanted you to be a part of that piece of his life like that. That he shared it just with you for now.”
She shrugs, picking up her phone in one hand and grabbing her bowl of cereal with the other. She starts back for the stairs, heading up to her room and back to her schoolwork. “Oh. I totally forgot to tell you,” she calls back just as she reaches the steps. “Check your shoes.”
