Page 122 of Combust (Everyday Heroes 2)
“Grady.” I can’t speak over the emotion clogging up my thoughts. “I—”
“I’m not asking to be your whole world, Dylan, I just want to be a part of it. I want to be the part that revolves around you. I want to be the one who grounds you so we’re forced to come home to each other, even when we’re mad. I want to provide the arms that hug you and the hands that hold yours through whatever adventure awaits us. I want you and whatever the two of us decide we want for our future.”
I press my lips to his as my tears fall. There is the taste of salt in our kiss. The sweetness of love in it. The sprinkle of hope mixed in.
“Can I talk now?” I laugh.
“Mm-hmm.”
“I love you. Plain and simple. I love you, Grady Malone,” I murmur against his lips.
“Why didn’t you say so?” He laughs.
“Because you never asked me to stay.”
“I’m asking you now. Stay with me, Dylan. Please stay.”
“I never thought you’d ask.”
“I love you too. More than you’ll ever know.”
How in the hell do they do this every day?
How?
I look at my brother’s twins asleep on the couch—at Tessa, who less than an hour ago had spaghetti smeared all over her face, and then to Mia, who I’m sure still has noodles somewhere in her hair. Then I turn my attention to Grant and Emerson’s daughter, Gwen, who’s in her swing, and I repeat the thought, how in the world do they do this on a daily basis?
And why in the hell did I think I could handle watching all three of them at the same time?
The inadequacies of my mothering skills are clear.
But the chaos that was a cacophony of squealing and refusals to go to bed was worth it now that they’re asleep.
Now they’re so peaceful and sweet that I want to stare at them for hours on end so they don’t grow bigger during the night.
I continue to sing little lullabies that my mom used to sing to Damon and me. Songs I’ve written for others. The song I wrote for myself that’s still on the Billboard Top 100.
I think about how all of this started with needing to write a set of songs and how much has changed since then. I’m now signed as an artist to the same label that let Jett go. My mom is going on ten months sober—the longest stint she’s gone yet. And I now live in Sunnyville where I get to live with my best friend, who just so happens to be the man I love.
I wouldn’t change any of the heartache because it all led me here. To Grady.
Just as I begin a new song, I shift, catching sight of Grady standing there with his arms crossed and shoulder leaned against the doorjamb.
“Hi.” His smile is wide and eyes full of amusement.
“Hi.” I walk toward him and hold a finger to my lips for him to be quiet.
“How’d it go?”
I laugh. “Crazy. Chaotic. Exhausting. Incredible.” I smile and lean in to press a kiss to his lips. But once my lips are there, I don’t want to leave his just yet, so I draw out the kiss a bit more.
He leans back and smiles. “You have spaghetti in your hair,” he says as he reaches out and pulls a noodle from the top of my head.
“I’m sure that isn’t the only place I have it,” I say and then catch the humor in his eyes the same time I think back to him using the same phrase the first time we met. My smile widens and I shake my head a beat before I step away to begin picking up the tornado of toys.
But Grady puts his hands on my arms and keeps me put. His eyes hold mine with an unspoken intensity I don’t understand.
“What is it?”
