Saylor

by Kelsie Rae

  I watch the banquet hall shrink in the distance as my phone buzzes with a text message.

  Owen: Hey. You okay? Where are you?

  Wiping beneath my eyes, I search for a lie that will give me some time to think, then type my response.

  Me: There was a family emergency. I’m catching a flight.

  My phone rings seconds later.

  Hands shaking, I answer it.

  “Hello?”

  “Say? What’s going on?”

  “Nothing. There was just an emergency, but everything’s fine. I just need to fly home and be with my family for a few.”

  “I’ll swing by the hotel and pick up our stuff, then meet you at the airport.”

  “No,” I tell him, my heart cracking at his thoughtfulness. “It’s fine. I promise. The game’s tomorrow. You need to stay.”

  “I’ll cancel––”

  Leaning my head against the window, I breathe, “I can’t let you do that, Owen. Seriously. I’ll just see you when you get home, okay?”

  “Saylor, I’m coming home.”

  “Don’t,” I beg before squeezing my eyes shut. “I don’t want to ruin this for you. It’s two more days. I’m sure I can hold down the fort until then.”

  “What was the emergency?” Owen demands.

  “I-I don’t know. Skye won’t tell me, but she said everything’s fine. She just needs me to come home.”

  “Say––”

  “Go back inside, Owen. Have a good time. Catch up with Johnson. Enjoy your meeting with Lucian. And I’ll see you later, okay?”

  The silence that greets me is bone-chilling, but I know it’s my own doing, and I only have myself to blame.

  “I love you, Saylor,” Owen murmurs.

  Digging my teeth into my inner cheek, I give in and let a tear slide down my cheek. “Love you too.”

  “I’ll be home in two days,” he reminds me.

  “Bye, Owen.”

  “I’ll see you soon, Say.”

  Then, I hang up, hating the way it makes everything feel so damn final.

  26

  Saylor

  “Why the hell are you here?” Skye seethes under her breath as I stifle a yawn and scan the sidewalk full of kids. Each of them is rushing to their classes, anxious to get to their seats before the tardy bell rings.

  “What do you mean?” I ask her.

  “Aren’t you supposed to be with Owen?”

  “There was a change of plans. I took the red-eye.”

  “And came straight to the school?” Skye challenges with her arms crossed.

  I wave my arm over my black pants, purple sweater, and puffy coat. “Hey, I went home and changed first, thank you very much.”

  Unamused, her dainty forefinger wags back and forth, motioning to my face. “Did you consider putting on a little concealer? You look like you’ve been crying.”

  “It’s nothing.”

  She quirks her brow. “Bull crap. Spill.”

  “There’s nothing to spill.”

  “Bull crap,” she repeats, stepping closer as the kids continue hurrying into the school. The tardy bell is going to ring any minute. “Tell me.”

  “It’s not––”

  “Ahh!” a child screams. My neck snaps toward the sound before my hand covers my mouth in shock. Huddled on the ground is Grady. With his arm cradled to his chest, his back and knees curve forward, turning him into a little ball.

  He must’ve slipped on the ice.

  “Shit,” I curse under my breath, racing toward him as fast as my gray snow boots will carry me.

  Nearly slipping on a patch of ice, I catch myself and kneel on the icy pavement next to him. I scan the parking lot, but his grandparents are nowhere to be found. Grady’s cheeks are wet with tears, and his little chest heaves with another sob. One gets caught in my throat as I try to inspect the damage.

  I lift Grady’s chin to make sure I have his full attention. “Hey, bud––”

  “Say!” he cries, his little voice cracking right along with my heart. But it’s the desperation that really does me in. The need to be comforted. The need to be told that everything’s going to be alright. As carefully as I can, I pull him into my chest and rock him back and forth as his tears stain my winter coat. “Shhh,” I murmur into his mop of hair. “It’s okay.”

  “I slipped––”

  “I know, baby. I know. We’re going to get you all taken care of, okay?”

  His head bobs up and down before he winces in pain. One of his hands clutches at the back of his head, while the other hangs awkwardly between us.

  I cringe. “Hey, Grady. Can you tell me what hurts?”

  “My head,” he whimpers. “M-my arm. My butt.”

  “Okay,” I murmur. “Can I look?”

  His fingers are more like little shaking claws as he pries his palm away from the back of his head to show me the damage. Blood soaks it, making my breath hitch. I grab his wrist to keep him from seeing the sticky crimson and wipe it on my black pants.

  Shit.

  “Let me take a closer look, okay?”

  Squeezing his eyes shut, he lowers his head to my sternum as we both sit cross-legged on the cold pavement. I can feel a crowd forming around us, but I’m too distracted by the little boy in front of me to care. His thick, wavy hair is sticky with blood as I gently sort through it. Then, the laceration comes into view. It only seems to be an inch or so long, but that doesn’t stop me from grimacing. He’ll probably need stitches. I pull the sleeve of my sweater down to cover my hand, then press it to the wound in hopes of slowing the bleeding. Grady flinches but doesn’t wrench away from me. If anything, he only burrows closer.

  “Can I see your arm too?” I rasp.

  Still clutching it to his chest, he tries to look brave as he lifts his head. With a wrinkled brow and tear-stained cheeks, he lets me examine the damage. I run my bare hand that isn’t soaking up the blood from his head along his coat-covered arm.

  Grady flinches in pain before a concerned Skye squats next to me, chewing on her lower lip. “Is it…?”

  I tear my gaze away from Grady and nod.

  “Should I call an ambulance?” Skye whispers. I glance up at her and notice the crowd of kids gathered around us.

  “Yup. Get everyone inside too. Wouldn't want anyone late for class, right?” I joke, trying to keep my tone light even though I’m freaking out inside.

  “Don’t leave me, Say!” Grady begs. He wiggles closer to me like a desperate puppy who’s starved for affection.

  I shake my head. “I’m not going anywhere, Grady. I promise.”

  “I want my dad,” he sobs.

  With a quick kiss to the crown of his head, I rock him back and forth in my arms, being careful not to jostle him too much, as I mutter, “I want your dad too.”

  Skye disappears, ushering the students into the building while Ms. Rasmussen calls an ambulance and notifies Owen there’s been an accident. Meanwhile, Grady and I huddle together in the cold.

  His cries turn into whimpers as the minutes tick past us while we wait for the ambulance to arrive. My black pants are soaked through, and my fingers are numb from being out in the cold air for too long, but it’s the little boy in my arms that guts me.

  “Hey, bud?” I whisper, my voice raw from unshed tears.

  He peeks up at me with red, puffy eyes. “Yeah?”

  “I’m going to call your dad real quick, okay? I think he’d probably like an update, don’t you?”

  Lower lip quivering, he nods, so I pull out my phone.

  My hands shake as I push the call button. It only rings once before Owen’s gritty voice filters through the speaker.

  “Shit, Say, I just got off the phone with-–”

  “He’s okay,” I reassure him, his panic nearly consuming me. “He’s here right now. Isn’t that right, Grady? We’re just waiting for an ambulance.”

  “What happened? Did he hit his head? Is he scared? What am I thinking? Of course, he’s scared.�
�� Owen’s anxiety is screaming at me with every word as he continues rambling. “Are you taking care of him, Say? He needs you right now. Shit, he needs me, and I’m halfway across the country. What can I do? I’m on my way to the airport––”

  His voice is drowned out by the ambulance’s sirens echoing down the street. “Owen,” I interrupt. “The ambulance is pulling up right now––”

  “Stay with him, Say. My parents will meet you at the hospital but just…stay with him. Even after they get there. He needs you. I’m begging you––”

  I sniff but try to keep my voice from trembling as I choke out, “You don’t even need to ask me that, Owen. I’m not going anywhere. You know that.”

  A beat of silence follows, and I can almost see him running his fingers through his hair, tugging on the roots as guilt and anxiety threaten to eat him alive. “I know, Say. Just…please watch over him for me. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  A stretcher is pulled out of the back of the parked vehicle before the EMTs surround us from both sides.

  Grady’s eyes are wide and petrified.

  “Say,” he whimpers, burrowing into my lap.

  “Hey, I gotta go,” I murmur into my cell. “I’ll keep him safe. I promise.”

  “Tell Grady I love him,” Owen rasps.

  “I will.”

  “Love you, too, Say.”

  Chest tight, I look down at the little, vulnerable boy in my arms. The little boy I’d do anything for. The little boy I’d love to call my own if he and his dad would have me.

  With a deep breath, I whisper, “Love you, too, Owen.”

  Then, I hang up and become the rock Grady needs me to be. Because even though it’s only a broken arm, even though I know he’s going to be absolutely fine, and even though I know I’m not Grady’s mom and Owen’s on his way, it doesn’t stop my heart from pounding, or my palms from sweating, or my mind from going to the darkest places of what if’s imaginable.

  I’m here.

  And I’m not letting Grady out of my sight.

  27

  Saylor

  “See? You’re all better,” I whisper as the nurse busies herself around the room. When we pulled up to the hospital, they did a quick exam, confirming that Grady’s arm is most definitely broken in two places and that he’d need a cast, fourteen stitches in the back of his head, and some pain killers for the massive headache he’ll be battling for the next couple of days.

  But he’s okay, and he didn’t suffer a concussion. Which means he can get some sleep. He certainly needs it after the hell he’s been through.

  “Thanks, Say,” Grady tells me in that same quiet voice that makes my chest tight.

  “You’re welcome, buddy. I’m happy I could be here.”

  “Me too.”

  “Can I get you anything?” I ask, assessing him for any other bumps and bruises even though I know there aren’t any.

  He shakes his head, then winces before searching for my hand with his good arm.

  Once our fingers are woven together, he answers, “No. Just…don’t leave.”

  I laugh. “I’m not going anywhere. I promise,” I repeat for what feels like the thousandth time. “Can I ask you something?”

  He nods.

  “Why do you keep asking me not to leave you? Do you really think I’d go anywhere?”

  “It’s just….” He closes his eyes and turns away from me.

  “What is it?” I prod.

  His little shoulders rise and fall in a noncommittal shrug. “My mom left me.”

  Well, shit.

  “That’s not true,” I argue.

  “Yes, it is.” He takes a deep breath and looks up at me. “She didn’t like me.”

  A tear slips down my cheek before I can stop it. “Grady––”

  “It’s okay, though,” he interrupts, squeezing my hand as though I’m the one that needs to be comforted. “I didn’t like her much, anyway.”

  I muffle my pathetic laugh with a cough.

  Out of the mouths of babes.

  “Is that right?” I ask before wiping away the evidence of my sadness from my face.

  He sighs. “Yeah. She wasn’t nice.”

  My heart cracks all over again before I lean forward and push some of his hair away from his forehead. Then, I cup his cheek, wishing I could take away the pain of rejection he feels no matter how hard Owen has tried to make up for it.

  “I’m so sorry, Grady.”

  “You’re nice, though,” he tells me.

  “Aw.” My mouth curves up as a blush spreads into my cheeks. “Thank you. You’re a sweetheart. Did you know that?”

  He beams up at me.

  “And I’m glad you think I’m nice,” I add.

  “My dad thinks you’re nice too.”

  Is this kid trying to play matchmaker again or something?

  Maybe he knows we’re on shaky ground right now. That I’m insecure as hell when it comes to his dad, and Grady’s just trying to throw me a bone. But that isn’t exactly fair, either. How the hell is he supposed to know what his dad thinks and feels? I know Owen loves me. But does he love me enough to stay if I asked him to?

  “I think your dad is nice too,” I return carefully.

  “My mom didn’t like my dad.”

  “She didn’t?”

  “Nope. She didn’t like anyone,” he says. “But you like me, don’t you?”

  I squeeze his little fingers tighter. “Grady, I don’t just like you. I love you, kiddo. You’re the sweetest, most kind, and thoughtful little boy that I’ve ever met.” I lean a bit closer and drop my voice low. “Just don’t tell any of your classmates that.”

  He grins. “I’m gonna tell Turner.”

  “Don’t you dare!”

  “I am. I’m gonna tell him you’re stuck with me.”

  I laugh. “I’d be okay being stuck with you.”

  “Yeah. Turner’s mom is alright, though, so I don’t think he’ll mind.”

  “Well, that’s good, at least.”

  “Yeah. He got a good mom.”

  “Mandy’s pretty awesome,” I agree.

  “Yeah,” he repeats. I’m pretty sure the painkillers are making him a little loopy, or maybe it was the hit to his head that did him in. Regardless, this is one of the most interesting conversations I’ve ever had.

  His little lips pucker for a minute as he stares at me before he decides, “You’d be a good mom.”

  My heart pinches, and I swallow back the lump in my throat. “Thanks, Grady.”

  “I wish you were my mom.”

  I bite my lower lip, praying for the discipline to keep these damn tears at bay, but it’s no use.

  “You don’t have to be,” he rushes out when he sees my watery gaze.

  The tang of blood explodes across my tongue from biting it so hard.

  How the hell does he expect me to keep my cool during a conversation like this?

  Releasing a trembling breath, I rub my thumb along his hand and explain, “That’s not why I’m crying, Grady. I promise. I’m just pretty sure that’s the sweetest, most kind, and thoughtful thing anyone has ever said to me.”

  “Oh.”

  “I always wanted to be a mom. Did you know that?”

  He shakes his head.

  “Yup. And any mom would be lucky to call you their son. Your mom just didn’t understand what she had or how amazing being a mom is. That’s on her. Not on you.”

  Chewing on his lower lip, he shrugs again. “I dunno.”

  “I do. Trust me, Grady. I know it. I want you to know that I really love your dad, and if he’d let me….” I swallow back the lump in my throat. It’s not fair to make promises that I might not be able to keep. Not until I know where Owen and I stand. Not until I know whether or not Owen is planning on moving away and if he’ll be adamant about leaving me again or if he’ll be willing to let me tag along this time.

  Tag along.

  The words taste bitter.

  Because I don
’t want that. I don’t want to tag along while he lives out his dream. I want to build a dream together. With me. And Owen. And Grady. And maybe a dog too. A big, fluffy one named…Fluffy, or Chewy, or Frodo, or some other nerdy reference to one of my favorite movies. But that means Owen needs to start communicating with me instead of making decisions without considering how they might affect those around him.

  Me.

  And Grady too.

  Because Grady has a life here now. He has friends. He has a home. Doesn’t he deserve to have a say in his future? But it’s none of my business.

  And it’s Owen.

  Owen Daniels.

  The man who could rule the world. The man who deserves to rule the world because he’d be great at it. And I’d let him if he’d simply let me be part of it instead of leaving me as an afterthought.

  Lost in my own thoughts, I flinch when a deep voice interrupts our conversation from the hospital room’s entrance.

  “Hey.”

  With my hand still tangled with Grady’s, I glance up and smile tightly.

  Speak of the devil.

  How long has he been standing there, and how much did he hear?

  I lick my chapped lips and take him in. “Hey.”

  Owen looks like shit. There are bags under his eyes, and his hair is sticking out in a dozen directions, but it’s the relief in his gaze that makes me melt. He really is the best dad despite his absence today. I know he’d do anything for Grady.

  Anything.

  “Your parents left a few minutes ago,” I add, unable to take the silence any longer.

  “I know. I just saw them. They said you had everything handled.”

  With a tight smile, I look back at Grady and squeeze his hand.

  “Hey, Grady,” Owen rasps, striding toward the hospital bed before sitting on the edge of it. “How are you feeling?”

  “I’m okay. I got a cast.” Grady raises his broken arm to show his dad.

  “I can see that.”

  “It’s green. Your favorite,” Grady announces, his chest puffing up with pride.