“Do you understand why I didn’t want to be the one to tell you?”
“Yeah. It needed to come from him. It also explains why he sheltered me my whole life. He was afraid he was going to lose me. After my mother, I was all he had left, and he almost lost me too.” Grant nods, agreeing with my assessment. “Can we change the subject now?”
“What would you like to talk about, Madison?” Grant replies in a playful tone.
“Nothing. I don’t wanna talk anymore. The question is, can you handle that?” I arch my eyebrow and give him my best come-get-me look.
Popping the door open and unbuckling my seat belt, I try to make a mad dash for my dorm. I’m lifted off the ground and wrapped in his arms only a few feet from the car.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Grant asks as he spins me around.
“Nowhere without you, I hope. I’m right where I want to be,” I reply, laughter bursting from my chest as we spin around and around.
It takes me a moment to catch my bearings once Grant stops, and places me on the ground. Looking up, I have to blink a few times before Grant’s gorgeous face comes into view.
“You don’t have to worry about that, Madison. I’m never letting you go again.”
As his lips descend upon mine, I breathe a sigh of relief, knowing that after all we’ve been through, we made it back to each other. Again. We always will.
Epilogue
As I walk down the aisle, I keep my eyes trained on Grant’s. He looks delicious today. If I thought no one would notice, I’d take him back inside the house and lock him away in our bedroom for the rest of the day. The problem is, everyone would notice. After all, we are hosting the wedding.
My father’s eyes are staring past me, waiting for Lucy to appear. The music changes as I approach the gazebo Grant build me last year. It’s almost as beautiful as the one in the park. That one will always have a special place in my heart and so will this one, for different reasons.
I turn to watch as Lucy appears in the door, a smile on her face. Moments ago, before walking down the aisle myself, I wiped away tears of joy and fixed her makeup. When my father proposed to her last summer, she was taken completely by surprise. Grant and I both knew it was coming, even though he didn’t tell us. After retiring from the Marine Corps, he decided to move in with Lucy instead of helping at the Foundation. That was our first clue as to how serious they were. When Grant and I got married two years ago, my father’s toast to true love was our next clue. We knew it was coming, we just didn’t know when. His spontaneous trip for the four of us to Italy earlier this year was the final clue.
An hour before he proposed, he pulled Grant aside and asked for his permission. I thought that was the sweetest thing. Then I was pissed off. Grant and I had planned to announce that we were expecting our first child that night. My father’s proposal overshadowed our announcement.
When we got back to the states, Grant and I made our announcement to family and friends. Libby, already seven months pregnant, cried like a baby for hours after we told her. I heard Chester in the background of our video chat, trying his best to console her. He was smart enough to stay out of her reach as she yelled at him for making her fat and hormonal.
It took Lucy and my father four months to finalize her divorce from Grant’s father, something Lucy had never done for fear of giving away her location. He refused to sign the papers at first. As a final attempt to reason with him, my father paid him a visit in Raleigh. He returned with the papers, signed in all the right places.
Rubbing my growing belly, I watch as Lucy slowly makes her way down the aisle toward my father. They’re both glowing, entranced by the stare of the other person. I remember that feeling. When I was walking toward Grant on our wedding day, I couldn’t think about anything else but saying those two little words. “I do.” I was ready for him to be my husband, and to start the next chapter of our life together.
As my father kisses his bride, making her officially a Thompson, I feel pressure building between my legs and then something pops. A gush of water rushes down the inside of my legs, causing me to inhale sharply as a pain shoots up my spine. Looking over at Grant, attempting to get his attention without causing a scene, I find him staring at me, smiling from ear to ear.
“It’s time,” I mouth the words to him. He scrunches his eyes in confusion so I point to my belly and mouth the words again.
“Oh my God!” Grant doesn’t care if he disturbs the ceremony as he screams and rushes to my side. “Are you sure?” All eyes are on me as Grant kneels in front of me, rubbing my stomach. I’m not sure what he’s doing, but it’s not helping.
“We need to go,” I whisper loudly, unable to bend over to where only he can hear me.
“Madison, are you okay?” my father asks, standing behind Grant with a concerned look on his face.
“Fine, Dad. My water just broke,” I say as calmly as I can. I’m freaking out on the inside, knowing what comes next. The hard part, according to Libby.
“Grant, I think that maybe you should take her to the hospital now,” my father replies, nudging Grant on the shoulder. I follow his line of sight to the small pool of water looking substance that’s around my feet. “Grant.”
“Yeah,” he replies, standing and grabbing my hand. “It’s time.”
The look of worry that was previously on his face vanishes and is replaced by a radiant smile. Excitedly, Grant tugs on my hand, wanting me to follow him faster than my feet and aching back will allow. When he realizes that I’m in pain, he bends down and lifts me effortlessly.
Libby is waiting for us at the end of the aisle, Keegan on her hip, and my bag in her hand. “We’ll take care of everything here,” she promises at Grant snatches my bag out of her hand, continuing into the house and out the front door.
As he sets me in the passenger seat of his truck, a sharp pain registers in my lower back again and lasts a little longer than last time. They’re closer together and more painful each time they come, so I tell Grant to drive faster. The hospital is about thirty minutes away from our house, but it feels like it takes much longer to reach it.
The doctor is waiting for me at the entrance when Grant pulls up. They help me into a wheelchair as another contraction comes on. By the time I’m in my room, I’m fully dilated and they can see the baby’s head. I’m told to push and so I do. It’s a pain like no other. I can feel it through my entire body, from my fingertips to my toes.
Four hours later, when I finally hear my baby scream, the pain seems to disappear and a feeling I can’t even begin to describe that takes its place. As they lay her on my chest, I begin to cry. She’s breathtaking; ten perfect little finger and ten perfect little toes. There’s a small tuft of blonde hair on her head and she’s staring at me with soft blue eyes.
“You did so great, Madison. I’m so proud of you. She’s perfect,” Grant praises as he plays with her little hand. “What are we going to call her?”
“Celia,” I say with confidence.
We decided not to find out if we were having a boy or a girl. I wanted it to be a surprise and I’m thankful that it was. That also means that we didn’t have a name picked out for our little bundle of joy. It only took one look at her to know that she deserved a strong and beautiful name.
“Your grandma would be honored,” Grant says, kissing Celia’s tuft of hair.
She would. I can only hope that we raise her to be as strong and beautiful of a woman as Grandma was.
Everyone is waiting to hear the news and to meet the newest addition of our little clan. Grant goes out to the waiting room to announce Celia’s arrival while the nurses get her cleaned up, and give her back to me for a little bonding time. I hear my father shout with joy from down the hall just as they’re placing her back on my chest, wrapped up nice and tight in a blanket. She’s smiling up at me, as if she can feel the love that I have for her already.
One by one they all come in to visit with Celia and me. She falls asleep in my f
ather’s arms as he rocks her softly, tears of joy in his eyes. Grant is holding Lucy as she watches my father stare at Celia with love and admiration. When our eyes meet, she smiles at me and mouths the words Thank you.
I’ve given her, her first grandchild and the love of her life. She doesn’t have to have to thank me for anything. I’d say we’re even; she gave me the same in return. I have the love of my life because she was strong enough to take a stand and leave her abusive husband. Had she never found the courage, Grant and I would have never met. My life would be completely different.
By the time we arrive home, and get Celia to sleep the next afternoon, I’m exhausted. Grant and I cuddle on the couch, his arms able to completely wrap around me for the first time in months, and turn on the television. The news is announcing the birth of Celia, wishing us all well. I giggle as I listen to the news anchor.
“What’s so funny, Mrs. Gipson?”
“The fact that anyone cares that we had a baby,” I admit.
“I’m an important man, remember,” he replies, sounding hurt by my words.
“You’ve always been an important man to me; it’s the rest of the world that loves you now.” Turning over so I can look in his eyes as I answer him, I find Grant fanning himself and batting his eyelashes.
“I can’t help that I’m so lovable.”
“Way to stay humble, Mr. Big-shot.”
I slap him against his chest which stirs something inside me. The doctor said to wait six weeks. It’s barely been thirty-six hours and I want to jump my husband. This is going to be the longest six weeks of my life.
“I am humble and thankful and incredibly blessed. I have the most gorgeous wife,” he says, pausing to lean down and kiss me, “a beautiful daughter, an amazing family, and a wonderful career. I’m a lucky man.”
“A very lucky man,” I reply, my emphasis on the word lucky.
“Don’t start that again, please,” he begs.
“What? I wasn’t the one who started it to begin with.” I try to sound as innocent as possible, but I take too much joy in teasing him about his nickname.
“That was a long time ago. You can’t use my words against me.”
“I’m not the one who decided to wear the number thirteen and tell everyone it was my lucky number.”
“It is my lucky number. I met you when I was thirteen, on my thirteenth birthday, and I married you on our thirteenth anniversary. I would say it’s been a very lucky number for me,” he replies, defending himself.
“Well then, I say you need to quit bitching about it every time someone hollers Lucky Thirteen when you run out onto the field.”
Grant scrunches up his nose at the mention of his nickname. I’m normally that person hollering at him when he runs out of the tunnel and he knows it.
“Are you going to be able to come to the game next weekend?”
“I don’t see why not. I might even bring your daughter to her first NFL game if you’re lucky.” I giggle to myself.
“Ha ha.” Grant’s smiling at me at he pretends to be irritated. “You’re lucky I love you so much.”
“Yes. Yes, I am.”
Celia starts to cry just as Grant’s lips brush against mine. I push out of his embrace before things get hot and heavy and make my way to her room. She stops crying the instant I open her door and starts cooing at me.
“What are you trying to say, baby girl? Did you miss me?” I ask as I pick her up.
“I think she missed me,” Grant says, coming up behind me and wrapping his arms around us. I lean back into him and stare at our daughter.
“We did good, Mr. Gipson.”
***
The announcer’s voice is louder than normal, causing Celia to cry. Grant’s having an amazing game, crushing the other team as usual. It’s the fourth quarter and there’s only about five minutes left in the game. He’s about to take the field again. All they need to do is run the clock out to claim the win.
I hate watching his games sometimes. In this game, he’s been knocked down and sacked more than usual, his offensive line failing to protect him on too many occasions. As he drops back, I see the line fall apart again and close my eyes, knowing that he’s going to be taken down again.
“Gipson goes down, but this time he’s not getting back up,” the announcer reports.
My eyes pop open and immediately find Grant’s lifeless body lying on the field. The trainers are rushing to his side. About the time they reach him, I’m throwing my bag over my shoulder, and Celia and I are headed to the locker room.
One of the trainers is standing outside the room as I approach with a grim look on his face. “You need to wait out here, Mrs. Gipson.”
“The hell I do. I need to see my husband,” I reply, pushing past him with one hand. “Grant,” I holler as soon as I enter.
“I’m fine, Madison,” I hear him say, his voice echoing off the walls.
Rounding the corner, I see Grant lying on a table, one of the trainers looking at his shoulder. Without warning, he pulls and Grant clenches his teeth, letting out a growl as I hear it pop back into place.
“I thought you said you were okay?” I ask, sarcastically.
“I am. I’m out for the rest of the game because I was hit in the head and knocked out for a second, but I’m fine. I promise.”
I look to his trainer for confirmation and he nods his head.
“We’ll have to do another concussion test tomorrow. For now, hit the showers. Coach will want to talk to you before you leave, so don’t go far.”
Grant looks at me and says, “See. You can stop worrying now. I’m fine.”
Celia and I decide to head home, knowing that Grant is still going to be a while. As soon as she’s tucked in for a nap, I hear Grant come in the front door. Making my way to the living room, I expect to find him in good spirits after hearing that the team still pulled out a victory. Instead, I find him looking defeated.
“What’s the matter? I thought you guys won,” I say as I settle into the couch and pat the cushion next to me.
“We did,” he replies, solemnly.
“Then why the long face?”
“My mother just called. My father was killed last night.”
I cover my mouth as it drops open in shock. “What?”
“I guess he’s been drinking more and more since my mother filed for divorce, realizing that she was never coming back to him. He’s always been stupid when he drinks, running his big mouth, causing trouble. My mom said that it sounds like he picked a fight with the wrong person at the bar last night and went down,” he explains, no emotion behind his words.
I try my best to console Grant. I’m not sure what to say. I know that he’s never respected him for the way he treated Grant and his mother. He was an awful person, but he was still his father. The one thing Grant has always wanted was answers from his father, and now he’ll never have that opportunity. He won’t get the closure he desperately needs.
***
Libby and I stand on the front porch and wave to Chester and Grant as they back out of the driveway. After we put the girls down for their naps, we head to the back porch for a much-needed girls’ days. It’s been months since the two of us have been able to sit out here and enjoy the river.
After moving back to New Bern, Grant and I have tried to lay low. Chester and Libby are among the small handful of people that we socialize with. Taking over the Thompson Foundation has kept me busy, and now with Celia’s birth, I’m thinking about handing the reign over to someone else and staying home full time. I need to talk it out first, and Libby will be honest with me.
“Have you talked to Grant about it yet?” she asks.
“Everything has been a whirlwind since Celia’s been born. First we were adjusting, and then he got injured. He found out his dad died, and now the funeral. It’s not a matter of making a decision together, it’s more about letting him know what I’m thinking.”
“He’s not going to care, but she will,” Libby
replies, pointing to the sky.
Knowing what I need to do, I make a plan for when Grant returns, and try to enjoy the rest of the time Libby and I have together before the girls wake up. It’s not long before Keegan wanders out onto the patio and Celia’s cries come moments later. It’s as if she realized that she was the only one not out here.
We spend most of the afternoon sitting in the grass playing with the girls. Grant and Chester should be home soon so we head inside and start to prep dinner. Right on time, I hear the truck pull in as Libby is pulling the chicken Parmesan out of the oven.
“In here,” I holler when I hear the front door close.
“What smells so good?” Chester asks, taking a seat at the bar.
“Chicken parm,” Libby announces.
“Where’s Grant?” I ask when he doesn’t appear behind Chester.
“He went upstairs to check on Celia. He heard her on the baby monitor when we walked in.” She probably heard her daddy's truck and woke up.
“Go ahead. I got this,” Libby states, shooing me out of the kitchen with a towel.
“Grant,” I say as I push Celia’s door open. Sitting in the rocker by the window, I take in my strong, football playing, handsome husband as he gently rocks our daughter.
“She’s almost out,” he says softly.
“Dinner is almost ready, too.”
“Fantastic. I’m starving.”
“Are you doing okay?” I’m hoping that burying his father helped him settle some of his demons.
“I am. In fact, I think it was a good thing that I went. I got to see my grandparents and a few old friends. My father was a good man once. It’s the booze that turned him into an asshole.” Looking up from our sleeping daughter, Grant makes eye contact with me before he continues. “I promise to never be like that. I’ll never let something like alcohol change who I am.”
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