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“No.” Mom shakes her head. “Your grandfather hated your father. He didn’t even want me to marry him.”
My mouth gapes. “You’re kidding.”
“Nope. He made sure that several stipulations went into our prenuptial agreement that ensured the team would stay with the family if our marriage ever dissolved.” She chuckles again. “I was so angry when he pushed me into doing that at the time, you know?” Another bewildered shake of her head. “I guess he knew what he was doing.”
“So…you keep the team?”
“I keep it all,” she clarifies, almost smug. “Your father will leave this marriage with only what he brought into it.”
“Wow. That’s…I feel bad for hating my grandpa all these years now. I thought he was a misogynist prick.”
She reaches to pat my cheek. “I wish you could have met my father. He would have loved you. He was quiet, but so strong. Just like you, really.”
“I don’t feel very strong right now,” I admit.
Her thumb strokes idly against my skin, her smile soft but still enough to pierce through the shadows hovering around my heart. “My dad used to say, ‘Strength isn’t measured by how quickly we pick ourselves up after we’ve fallen…A person’s strength is determined by their willingness to keep going once they’re back on two feet.’ ”
“I…” My eyes sting, and I swallow at the lump in my throat. “Yeah. Okay.”
“You’ll keep going,” Mom tells me. “Even if it takes a while to pick yourself back up.”
I bring my hand to cover hers, the warmth of her palm soothing me. “You think so?”
“Yep.” Her lips tilt into a smile that is actually hers—the one that’s brought me peace since the first time I remember seeing it. “And so will I.”
I leave my mother’s house—not completely free of my guilt, because I know that will take time—but feeling confident for the first time in maybe ever that there will come a time when I’m free of it. When, as my mother said, I will finally recognize this as my moment to start making things right.
Standing on my mother’s porch, it’s overwhelming how much there’s only one voice I want to hear. One person I want to share everything that just happened with. I place the call with a soft smile on my face, and when her voice fills my ears, that same beautiful sensation of being so settled, one that only she brings, fills me up to the point of bursting.
“Ian,” she says with worry in her tone. “Are you okay?”
My smile widens, remembering something she said not too long ago.
The world won’t end if you’re okay, Ian.
“Yeah,” I tell her, meaning it, I think. “Yeah, I am.”
Twenty-Seven
DELILAH
After everything that’s happened today, it feels…nice. Lying here in my bed with Ian, his head on my chest as my fingers card through the thick, red strands of his hair. His arms are wound around my waist, tucked underneath me as his big body rests over mine, and I can feel the scratch of his beard against my collarbone, the tickle of his nose at my throat.
He’s spent the last hour telling me all about his visit with his mother, and I was happy to let him talk through it, to just be here for him while he processes. It was clear to me from the moment he arrived that it was what he needed most, just someone to listen and assure him that it would all be okay. I’m realizing that this is something Ian has been sorely lacking in his life for a long time, and I’m perfectly content to fill that void for the foreseeable future.
“Can we just…never leave this bed?” he mumbles into my skin, breaking the comfortable silence we’ve been basking in.
I chuckle softly. “It’s been a very long day.”
“It has,” he hums.
“How was Abby when you took her home?”
He nuzzles my chest, exhaling slowly. “I think she’ll be okay. Eventually. I told her I would check on her tomorrow.”
“I can come with you, if you want,” I offer.
His lips feather against my shoulder. “I always want.”
