GRAYSON

Lillian Laurent was raised by two French parents on the outskirts of New York City, and even though she'd lived in America for her entire life, there was a little bit of France in everything she did. In everything that she was.

After graduating from a private bilingual school in the city, she sought to escape the east coast and took off for the Rocky Mountains. There was no way she'd known what she was getting herself into when she signed up for that whitewater rafting excursion; I would have loved to see her expression when she saw that little inflatable raft and the Colorado River rapids.

There was also no way she'd expected to start pining over her rafting instructor, Grace Everett.

But that was how the story went. After they met on the Colorado River, Grace and Lillian were inseparable.

I didn't really care to know the specifics. Like really didn't care to know. The only thing that mattered was that a whitewater rafting adventure landed me with one adrenaline junkie, granola mom, and a sharp-tongued, bright-eyed maman.

And all I could think about right now as I watched the two of them tango in the kitchen, cooking up some dish I couldn't pronounce, was that they would absolutely love Nessa Elez.

Goddamn, if that didn't mean there was something wrong with me.

"Earth to Gray!"

I gave my head a shake, glancing up into my mom's green eyes. She waved a cucumber at me, and I snatched it out of her hands to slice it up.

"Sorry," I muttered. "Just a lot on my mind."

There definitely was. And even though Nessa currently consumed a lot of my thoughts, it went beyond her and the text conversation we had last night.

Maman paused her stirring. Her icy blonde hair had curled around the edges of her face from bending over the steamy pot, and she pushed it back.

"Did something come up at your doctor's appointment?"

I grimaced, waiting for the onslaught of questions that always followed an appointment with my cardiologist, Dr. Martinez. Maman stared at me expectantly, and I knew today would be no different.

A shake of my head. "No."

Nothing beyond the usual shit, anyway. But visiting the clinic always put me in a mood. I didn't really know how to describe it, but there was something about being reminded of your mortality that really set the tone.

"Thank goodness football season is over," Mom said with a sigh. "That's all I have to say."

I pursed my lips, hating that one of my favorite things in the world caused her—both of them, really—so much stress. They barely ever watched my games because of it.

"Football season was fine. I'm fine. It's all fine, mom," I grunted.

"And what did Dr. Martinez say about next football season?" Maman asked, her body still stiff even though she'd continued to stir the sauce or whatever was in the pot.

I focused on slicing cucumber, trying to keep the edge out of my voice as we broached my least favorite topic. "Dr. Martinez didn't say anything about next football season because that's like nine months from now, and I'll see her at least five more times before then."

One of them gave a little sniff, and I could guess who.

"I'm heading over to Brodie's tonight after dinner," I said to switch the topic. "He invited a few guys from the team over."

There was a long pause, and I was sure they were both trying to decide whether to backtrack to the previous conversation or let it go.

Finally, my mom spoke with a forced sort of lightness. "Do a lot of them live in the area?"

"Yeah, not too far out anyway."

Brodie Thompson had been my friend since kindergarten. Little league games, elementary school musicals, we'd been through it all. We always dreamed about playing college ball; we just never thought that we would get to play together. Ending up at Oakland State with him had been beyond anything we'd imagined while lying on the trampoline in his backyard.

Mom nodded in response, and I slid over my cucumber so she could do...whatever it was that she was planning to do with it. I didn't ask too many questions when we cooked together as a family. I just sat there with my cutting board and sliced up whatever they put in front of me.

A long sigh caught my attention, and I looked up to find my mom staring out the window above the kitchen sink. She tucked a piece of dark, greying hair behind her ear.

"It's good to have you home, honey," she said without looking at me. And I knew it was because she didn't want to cry again like she had when I'd first walked into the house on the night before Thanksgiving.

Smiling, I stood and crossed the kitchen to plant a kiss on the side of her head. "It's good to be home. And it won't be long before I'm back for a whole month over Christmas."

That seemed to make her grin. And my shitty heart lurched a bit.

***

Brodie's mom was nothing like mine were. She was quiet and sweet. Unassuming.

Which was why I was surprised to walk in his front door to find Marcia Thompson with her head thrown back in laughter, perched on a man's lap in the living room.

"Grayson!" she cried as soon as she saw me. "God, you keep getting taller."

Popping up and running across the room, she enveloped me in an out-of-character hug, which I returned despite my confusion.

"Hi Mrs. T," I murmured in her blonde, hairspray-heavy hair.

"Mrs. T? Please. It's Marcia."

I smiled as she pulled away, gesturing toward the man sitting on her couch. He had a dark, bushy beard, beady eyes and wore a suit that looked at least one size too small. There was this suave facade to him that I never would have imagined Brodie's mom falling for.

"This is my boyfriend, Ethan."

Giving the dude a nod, I walked past both of them into the kitchen, searching for Brodie.

"He's in the basement with the other guys!" Marcia called after me.

After tossing her a tight smile, I flung open the door in their hallway that led into the finished basement and disappeared through it.

Brodie had his arm tossed on top of the leather couch when I got down there, watching with absent intensity as two of our teammates, Jonah and Owen, played Call of Duty or some shit.

"Hey, man," I called, jerking him out of his trance.

"Hey," he said after clearing his throat.

"I met your mom's boyfriend," I commented. "He seems...interesting."

Brodie's dark gaze met mine. Red-rimmed eyes stared back at me. "He fucking sucks."

Well, that was a stronger reaction than I'd been expecting.

"I can't wait to get out of here tomorrow," he added, muttering before taking a swig of his beer.

I nodded in agreement, a bit eager to hit the road, too.

Brodie swiveled his gaze from the game back to me. "What time are you heading back?"

That was a good question, one I should probably figure out. I planned on taking Nessa back to Oakland tomorrow, although we hadn't set any plans. She never really said if she needed a ride, but she also hadn't said that she didn't need a ride when I dropped her off earlier this week.

"I'm not sure yet," I replied, making a mental note to ask Nessa in a bit.

Or hell, why wait. Pulling out my phone, I shot her a text.

Me: Hey, question.

I tossed my phone on the cushion next to me before glancing back at Brodie. Shit, he looked like he hadn't slept in a week. I opened my mouth to ask him what the hell was going on when the basement door banged open, and a whole slew of guys tumbled down the stairs.

I made out the distinct voices of Max, Jake, and Quinton, and the way they were shouting made me wonder if they were already wasted. Whatever, their choice. I certainly didn't plan on taking care of them later if they got too fucked up to function.

My phone chimed next to me.

Nessa: At least you're texting me at a decent time tonight.

A smile spread over my face. Considering how annoyed she always seemed with me, she sure did text back quickly.

Me: I take notes.

Nessa: What do you want, Everett?

I grimaced.

Me: I thought we talked about the Everett thing.

Nessa: Did you have a question for me or not?

I couldn't help a laugh from leaving my lips as I typed my reply.

Me: I want to know what time you wanna head back to Oakland tomorrow.

After a minute passed, it became obvious that Nessa wasn't going to send an immediate reply, and I leaned back into the couch, sighing. Max had pulled out a speaker and set it up in the corner, getting ready to blast some shitty music. Part of me wished that Julian was here; he'd keep these guys in check. I had this weird feeling that shit was going to get out of hand tonight, and I didn't feel like being a part of it.

My phone vibrated in my hands, drawing my attention back to it.

Nessa: Actually, I went out of town with Beau to meet up with some friends. He's going to drive me back to campus tomorrow.

Well, fuck. Beau was a lucky little shit, and I couldn't help the jealousy that crawled up the back of my neck. How the hell had he wormed his way onto Nessa's good side?

Looking around, I groaned. Honestly, it probably helped shitloads that he wasn't an athlete—a trait that most girls loved.

And Nessa hated.

Me: Guess I'm going to have to find someone else to talk to about Sherlock then.

Nessa: Guess so.

The conversation seemed to die off at that, and I slouched further into the couch, irritated. I scanned the guys, watching as Quinton and Max shotgunned a beer, getting it all over Marcia's new carpet. For fuck's sake.

I thought Quinton was supposed to be back home, in counseling or some shit. I'd heard rumors that he left campus after our last game, and no one had seen him since. But here he fucking was, making a mess of everything.

I supposed it was no wonder that Nessa didn't like jocks.

With that thought, I frowned and picked up my phone again.

Me: I need to know who your ex is. You never actually told me.

Nessa: Why do you want to know so badly?

Me: Because I'm at a friend's. And there are some guys from the team here.  I need to know whose ass needs kicking.

I was feeling squirrely tonight. Wouldn't mind kicking someone's ass. Maybe the weird feeling I had about shit getting out of control was because I would be the one who fucked shit up.

Nessa: Don't worry about it, Grayson.

Nah, that wasn't going to happen. Snapping a picture of the group of guys standing at the bottom of the basement stairs, I sent it to Nessa.

Me: Give me a sign if it's any of these guys.

She didn't reply.

The entire night, she didn't reply.

And I definitely took it as a sign.

💗
dropping lil hints
thanks for reading!
xoxo