The Virgin Replay by Lauren Blakely
Chance
Back at my hotel, I call Grant on video. This is an in-person convo, but it can’t wait, so FaceTime will have to do.
Grant answers after a couple rings, his face appearing on the screen, his hair a mess. He’s in his living room, stretched out on his couch. A pair of feet rests on his thighs, just at the edge of the screen. Declan’s feet.
“Hey. What’s up . . . brother-in-law?” Grant asks, a little wary, but still his usual affable self.
“Hey, Grant. Hello, Declan’s feet.”
“Hi, Chance,” Declan says from off-camera. “Proceed.”
I laugh nervously. “Thanks. I guess you guys know what this is about?”
Grant scratches his chin. “I’m not really a mind reader. But I suspect it’s about what went down in Vegas?”
No time to waste. I dive in, taking TJ’s advice, owning it. “Listen. I feel like a jackass. I know I violated the golden rule—don’t hook up with a teammate’s sister.”
Declan laughs. “Is that a rule?”
Grant looks at his guy. “Not for you, sweetheart.” Then he turns back to me. “Okay. I mean, I’m not sure that’s a rule per se. But go on.”
“It’s a rule I wanted to follow,” I say, emphasis on the past tense. I take a soldiering breath. “I didn’t want to create problems with the team or the chemistry or anything like that. And that’s why I avoided the reality that I’ve been falling for your sister over the last year. I didn’t want conflicts, or for anything to be awkward.”
Grant nods.
“And the thing is, I’m done with that.”
“You are?” he asks carefully.
This is what I learned tonight when all the lights went on in my head. It’s crystal clear now what has been holding me back.
Me.
My rigid adherence to a code.
But some rules need to be bent. Some need to be broken. And some, you just have to let go of entirely.
I’m done with getting in my own way.
Goodbye, code. Hello, life.
“I was focused on the wrong thing,” I tell Grant, feeling lighter already, like I’m shucking off the regret that stymied me the last few days. “I was worried about the team. I didn’t want to rock the boat. But you know what was happening?”
Grant chuckles softly, shaking his head. “No, clue me in.”
Declan pops into view. “I kinda want to hear this too.”
I can’t believe I’m about to say something so damn obvious. I should have it emblazoned on a T-shirt. “It was never about you,” I tell Grant.
Grant wags a finger at me as he smiles. “Aha, Sherlock. You figured it out.”
“I was using you as an excuse because I was terrified of getting involved again. Of seeing my life dragged through the online mud again. Of getting hurt. Of everything.” I serve up all my fears on a silver platter. And I own them, finally, which means, I hope, that I can change what I do about them. “I didn’t realize I was doing it, but I held tight to that code. Clutched it like I was dangling from the windowsill of a thirty-story building and I didn’t want to die. But I learned something today.”
“Go on,” Grant says, enthused.
“You were never the problem. I was. I was afraid of falling in love, of wanting to be with someone. Of caring about someone so much I might get my heart broken again.” I swallow roughly as emotions rise in me. “And I’m done with being afraid.”
“Sounds a lot like the real thing,” he says, and his arm shifts, maybe to hold hands with Declan.
“It is.”
Grant turns to Declan. “Am I the relationship oracle today, or what?”
Declan laughs. “Seems so.”
I tilt my head. “What does that mean?”
“Don’t worry about that. So, what next?” Grant asks.
It’s a good question. But I’m pretty sure I know the answer.
And it lies in San Francisco.
