by K. Bromberg
It isn’t Claire’s dad standing on my porch. Far fucking from it. It takes a second for that to register and then another for it to hit. The resemblance is there. He may have silver hair at his temples and a hulking figure that makes the porch seem tiny, but his eyes are brown and the same almond shape as Sidney’s.
Relief flickers momentarily and then falls flat as memories come back. Claire’s dad at the door. His threatening words. His condescending voice. The way he wouldn’t even look at his own goddamn grandson.
“Can I help you?”
Why are you here?
He’s going to ask me to leave Sidney alone.
He’s going to tell me to go to hell.
“Grayson Malone?”
His voice. Aristocracy lilts in his tone, and I square my shoulders.
“Can I help you?” I repeat. We stare at each other. Measure each other. Judge.
“Frank Thorton. Nice to meet you.”
I stare at the hand he extends and hear my father say, “Never look a gift horse in the mouth.” Yet, all I want to do is look. All I want to do is stare.
All I want to do is question.
Reluctantly, I shake his hand, leery and cautious as I wait for whatever shoe might drop.
“Likewise, Mr. Thorton,” I murmur.
“Call me Frank,” he says with a definitive nod.
The expensive suit is something Claire’s dad always wore, but the warm smile that slowly spreads across Frank’s face is anything but.
“Frank,” I say.
“I’m sure you’re curious as to my sudden appearance on your doorstep.”
“You could say that.” I should invite him in, but I hesitate.
“It seems to me you’ve made quite an impression on the readers of Modern Family . . . and on my daughter.”
Every part of me tenses as I wait for the words. She’s too good for you. You’re not the type of man we have picked out for her. And on and on. The Hoskins’ comments ring in my ears all this time later.
“I assure you it was unintentional.” I laugh, nerves suddenly running side by side with my caution. Is he going to tell me I can’t see his daughter? Is he going to warn me away from her just when I’ve realized I don’t want to live without her?
“May I ask you what your intentions are?” He shifts his feet, but his eyes hold mine.
“My intentions?” I sound like an idiot, but fuck if I don’t feel like I’ve been brought back to ten years ago. This time, though, I know just how brutal the fallout is. I know just how devastating the woman you love leaving is.
“Yes. How are you going to win the contest and end up with Sidney without it looking as if the contest was rigged?”
I stare at him for a beat, blinking and trying to work out what he’s saying. He has the look of a father who wants answers, not a businessman wondering about the integrity of his business, so I know where this conversation is headed.
“I already dropped out of the contest.”
“You what?” He’s a man used to being in the know, and that little tidbit just knocked him off his stride.
“Yes, sir. I dropped out of the contest earlier today.” I think of the shocked look on Rissa’s face when I told her and then the knowing grin that followed.
“Why’s that?”
“Because your daughter is more important to me than any prize I ever could win. That’s why.” The words are a challenge thrown out, daring him to question me and tell me I’m wrong.
His eyes harden. His lips purse. And then they slowly spread into a smile. “Is that so?”
“Yes, sir. That’s so.” I cross my arms and lean my back against the door, more than aware that I still haven’t invited him in. I’m ready for the fight. “If I stay in and win, then it taints the contest she worked so hard on. The last thing I want is questions about her dedication or accusations of a rigged contest to be angled her way. I made a deal with her that I’d participate to help make the contest a success. I fulfilled my end of the bargain, but now her success may be questioned if I stay in . . .”
“So, you’d give up the money and prizes?”
“It was never about the money or the prizes.” I take a step toward him. “Like I said, Sidney means more to me than that . . .”
He purses his lips again. “You are talking about my Sidney, right?” And when that smile breaks on his face, I feel like I can breathe for the first time. His laugh echoes around the porch as he cuffs the side of my shoulder while I stare, trying to absorb all of this. “Stubborn? Always right? Fiery temper?”
It takes me a second to believe that this is real. That Frank isn’t here to tell me I can’t see Sidney. That he is nothing like the Hoskins.
“That’s the one,” I murmur.
His laugh is a bit louder this time. “God help you. You’re going to need it.” Then he winks. “But she’s worth every argument and compromise you’ll have to make.”
I nod, hating the emotion in my throat. Hating that I never realized how much I needed this, but now that Frank is here and has expressed his approval, I know that I did.
“That she is,” I say, wondering how exactly I’m going to prove to her that I know that. How I’m going to prove to her I love her after letting her walk away. How I’m going to prove to her that I know she isn’t Claire and that I’ll never make that mistake again.
Because I won’t. This time spent without her and how goddamn horrible I’ve felt is enough of a reminder of what life without Sidney is like . . . and I don’t want to live like this.
I want her.
Plain. Simple. Complicated. Her.
“And how do you plan on making this work?” he asks in a way that should have my back up, but as a father, I recognize a parent only wanting the best for their child.
“We’ll figure it out,” I say. When I sent her the text this morning, I knew I was going to fight for her, but how much so just became so very apparent. “I know she needs her city, so we’ll have to make long distance work for the time being.”
“Do you think that will work?”
“It will have to. All I know is that my life is better with her in it . . . that much has become obvious since she left here . . . so making it work is the only option we have. It’s the only outcome I’ll accept.”
“That’s a big compromise, son.”
I shrug. “She’s worth the risk.”
It’s like déjà vu, standing in the back of Hooligan’s.
So many faces are the same as last time, but the buzz is a lot bigger this go ’round. Sunnyville is anxious to make one of their own Modern Family’s Hot Dad of the Year.
There’s a live band playing. Someone from Modern Family has placed signage in optimal spots for photographs, and there are red and white balloons tied to the ends of the booths to add a splash of color.
From where I stand in the back, I’ve managed to catch a glimpse of four of the five contestants. All but the one I crave to see—Grayson.
For the first time since I stepped foot back in Sunnyville months ago, I feel completely out of place. Strangely enough, my place has kind of been beside Grayson, and to be so uncertain of how he’s going to react to seeing me again is nerve-racking.
“Look at you! It’s only been a week, and I already miss the hell out of you.” Rissa grabs me in the tightest of hugs, which makes me wants to cry.
“It does feel like forever, doesn’t it?”
“See? It’s all that clean air talking and messing up your thinking.” She laughs and squeezes my hand.
“Not hardly.”
“When you didn’t respond to any of my texts, I didn’t think you were coming.”
“You texted?” I ask. “My damn phone is acting up. I did that update, and I’m not getting any of them. It’s been frustrating as hell.”
And, of course, that says nothing about how it feels wondering if Grayson has been trying to text to me too.
I doubt he has, though. My hoping that he has, and I just haven’t
been getting them, is nothing but wishful thinking.
“Have you seen him yet?” Her voice lowers, and her eyes soften as the bar buzzes around us.
I don’t trust my voice, so I just shake my head.
“Hmm. Neither have I.”
“But I saw Braden . . . and while he’s more than gifted in the looks department, he isn’t my Gray—he isn’t Grayson.” It’s easier to slip into this banter between us than to think about the nerves rattling around inside me.
“Girl, don’t be dissing my Braden. He’s fine as fuck.”
“He is, but he’s no Grayson.” I wink. “I’m sure the people of Sunnyville would agree with me.”
“Of course they would. That’s who they’re all here to see.” She looks around and gauges the crowd. “Speaking of Grayson . . .”
I follow her gaze, and everything about me freezes, melts, wants, and needs at the sight of him. I’m sure my breath catches. I know my hands tighten. I know I rise onto my toes to get a better view.
Grayson is flanked by his brothers. Both Grant and Grady have smiles on their lips that seem to widen with each and every person who greets them, but it’s Grayson who owns my attention. He’s wearing a button-up dress shirt and jeans, which makes him look impossibly more handsome, and yet the smile on his face is more cautious than anything. The look in his eyes as he scans the crowd more pensive than at ease.
And for the briefest of moments, our eyes meet. His feet falter. My breath hitches. Hurt. Longing. Need. Want. Desperation. It’s everything I tell him in the simple glance. Everything I can think to say with a look, since when I say it with words, it doesn’t seem to matter.
“Lawd have mercy. What I wouldn’t give for a man to look at me like that.”
He’s looking at me, all right. But he looked at me the exact same way the last time I saw him . . . right before I climbed into my car and drove away after Luke’s date night for us at the hangar. Looking at me that way didn’t make him chase after me, and it definitely didn’t make him fight for me.
Will he now?
“Now that he’s here, we can get this show on the road,” Rissa says and pushes my back so that I move toward the front of the room. I want to stop her and tell her that I have no business even being a part of this anymore, but she doesn’t let me.
I suddenly have the sinking feeling that my conversation with my dad was a huge mistake. Each step I take toward Grayson—toward the front of the bar—only serves to solidify it.
It isn’t as if I was envisioning that he’d walk into the bar, stride over to me, and kiss the breath out of me. Well . . . maybe I was. But he could at least make a move toward me instead of standing there, frozen in place, stoic as can be.
Before I can steer his way or catch his eye again, Rissa is pulling me with her onto the makeshift stage where the band’s gear is set up. She holds a microphone out to me, and I stare at it without taking it.
I can’t do this.
I can’t announce Grayson as the winner.
I can’t stand here and smile and congratulate him without breaking down and crying. It would make me look like a complete fool and call even more attention to our rumored relationship.
“No. You do it,” I murmur, hating the feeling of so many eyes leveled on me.
“This is your baby.”
“No, you’re the one who got the ball rolling . . . you should see it through.”
Rissa gives me a curious look and then shrugs. “Ladies and gentlemen, on behalf of Modern Family, I’d like to thank you all for coming out tonight to celebrate the culmination of a joint effort between Sidney here and myself. We wanted to find a way to celebrate fathers. To give them the praise they deserve for being hard-working and good-loving. What better way than to have a contest and involve America in helping us find someone to celebrate? So Sidney thought up this contest, which I normally would have said didn’t fit our model, but when people started applying, I realized it could work. And it did. After four rounds and millions of votes, we have our top four contestants!”
Four? I look at her. How much has she had to drink?
“Tonight, we will crown the first ever winner of Modern Family’s Hot Dad contest.” The crowd cheers, and no matter how hard I try to see through the stage lights blinding me, I can’t find Grayson. “So, without further ado, let’s announce the winner. Coming in fourth place, we have our dad of adorable twin girls! He is an executive by day but doesn’t hesitate to pull diaper duty at night. Give a round of applause to Gideon McMaster!”
A cheer goes up, and everyone claps as a strikingly handsome African American man makes his way to the stage, smile wide and fist pumping to the cheers calling out his name.
“And in third place, we have Christian Oliver. Christian is the father of five—FIVE, people. He’s a navy officer, helping to protect and serve as well as being a devoted dance dad.” Another round of applause erupts as Christian makes his way through the crowd, giving high fives as he goes.
“The runner-up, folks . . . what can I say? He is a man who I have a little crush on,” Rissa says, and I nod subtly, knowing that she’s talking about Braden and that Grayson won. “He’s a high school teacher, educating minds and I’m sure causing a few crushes among his students. He’s a father of one super adorable little boy and a triathlete on the side. Congratulations, Ethan Elliot! You are the esteemed runner-up of the Hot Dad contest.”
Ethan makes his way through the crowd. His hair is a little long around the ears, his glasses are slightly askew, and the blush on his cheeks is damn adorable. It makes me like him on the spot.
While I’m watching him, it dawns on me that he isn’t Braden. And Braden should be second place since I know Grayson was solidly in first the last time I checked the numbers.
Rissa meets my eyes ever so fleetingly, and there is something there I can’t register before she turns back to the crowd. “Now . . . for the moment you’ve all been waiting for—the Hot Dad of the Year! The winner of the ten-thousand-dollar cash prize, a trip to anywhere in the continental United States, and the man who will grace the cover of next month’s issue of Modern Family. He isn’t only fit and sexy, but also, he’s one hell of a dad. And by day—and sometimes night—he saves lives for a living. Let’s welcome your Modern Family Hot Dad of the Year, Braden Johnson.”
There is a cheer across the room, but I’m too stunned and more than a little confused to participate.
Something is going on.
The next few minutes are a blur—Braden gives a cute little speech, Rissa thanks everyone for their support and then tells them to stay tuned for the next contest coming soon. My mind spins as I try to figure out what the hell just happened. How did my go-to guy not win? How did the face of my contest not even place?
How is Grayson going to face Luke and tell him there is no vacation?
I look for Grayson in the crowd at the same time the crowd breaks out in a chant of his name.
“Gray-son. Gray-son. Gray-son.”
In much the same unassuming fashion he used the night of the other party at Hooligan’s, Grayson ambles to the stage, not wanting the attention but getting it nonetheless. When he steps up, our eyes meet, and he gives me that shy smile of his that curls up at one corner and makes every part of me need privacy. To talk to him. To tell him I’m here to stay. To beg him to choose me.
He waves a hand up to everyone and shouts out a thank you without bothering to take the microphone. And the whole time, all I can focus on is him. The scent of his cologne. The curl of his hair over the collar of his shirt. The strength in his hands. Simple things I’ve missed.
The crowd cheers, they take a drink to toast their hometown boy. How can they all look so relaxed while my confusion over the contest and my want to connect with him surmount everything?
“Speech. Speech. Speech.”
Oh my God. Leave him alone because I want him. I need him.
I don’t have to hide it anymore. He’s mine.
Rissa ho
lds out the microphone again, and Grayson gives an exaggerated sigh before accepting it.
“You should’ve won!” I think it’s Grady who yells it, but all the patrons echo his sentiment.
“Nah. None of that,” Grayson says into the microphone. “Congratulations to all the men who were a part of this contest. It was so nice to be a part of something that paints fatherhood as sexy instead of the down-and-dirty job it can be most of the time.” He looks at his feet for a moment and twists his lips in a way that tells me something is on his mind. He looks out into the crowd, and I’m thrown for an even bigger loop when I see him meet my father’s eyes and nod. My dad nods back before looking at me, smiling softly, and then stepping back into the crowd like he isn’t even here. I don’t have time to process his presence or his exchange with Grayson because when Grayson speaks, his words knock all thought process from my mind. “I didn’t place in the contest because I pulled myself from it this morning.”
“What?” My response is just as loud as the rest of the crowd’s.
“Yep.” He nods through the ocean of boos. “I did.”
“Why would you do that?” another person yells. I think it’s one of his crew from work, but I can’t tell.
“I did it because there’s this girl . . .” he says, and then laughs softly. The sound weaves its way into my body and wraps around my heart. “There’s this girl I met, who, uh . . . well, she blindsided me. Point blank. She walked her heels up to my front door a few months back to let me know I was one of the top twenty of this contest, and even though I slammed the door in her face, she persisted.”
He looks back at me, and the emotions swimming in his eyes unlock every single part of me that I didn’t know was still guarded. He reaches back and takes my hand, linking our fingers together and squeezing gently. It’s that gesture that tells me this is going to work.
I just know.
“I dropped out of the contest because I wanted this on my terms. I wanted her on my terms. We’ve tried to pretend like something wasn’t going on between us. We denied the ridiculous rumors in the Gazette. We did everything we could so no one would think she rigged the contest if I won . . . and even with all that, I went and fell in love with her. Love. Scary shit for me . . . but it’s true.” His nerves are more than adorable as my heart riots against my rib cage. He meets my eyes again. “I love her.”