Page 45 of The Curveball
“Griffin, I’m sorry.” My heart squeezes. A look of genuine pain darkens his face.
“It was rough, and the treatment was intense. A lot of surgeries, a lot of radiation. Want to know what helped her?”
I brace for what’s coming, nodding slowly.
“Books. Not Netflix, not movies, it was books. If she didn’t have the energy to hold the book, I’d read to her, or she’d listen to audiobooks. Care to know the book she was reading during her last round?”
“Griff—”
“Yours. She finished the day she rang the bell for the end of her chemo, Wren.”
Silence gathers like a new physical entity between us. I’m stunned, honored, and a little terrified of this big feeling blooming in my chest.
“So,” he says, slowly dragging his hand off mine. “Don’t think your little romance book doesn’t make a difference. It made all the difference for my mom.”
I don’t know what to say, but I don’t have to. Griffin seems as unsettled by the change in tone as me, and quickly returns our questions to the lighter, Google-inspired first date list.
This is a ruse. A game we’ll play for a minute in time. But after he walks me back to my side of the house, I’m afraid I’ve given Griffin Marks half the strings to my heart, and he knows just how to tug them.
CHAPTER15
WREN
“Birdie!Are you decent? I’m coming in if you are.” There’s a pause. “I might come in even if you’re not.”
I pinch my lips together, trying not to laugh. “Totally naked and walking around the living room. Enter at your own risk.”
I pause folding the blanket on the back of the couch and listen. It takes maybe ten seconds before the shuffle of big feet fills the hallway. No doubt Griffin had to weigh the risk factor before he entered.
He rounds the corner. I rarely see the man in jeans, and it should be a crime. Those tight, tattered blue jeans show off the strength of his lower body as devoutly as his plain black T-shirt shows off the upper half.
He beams the moment he sees me, and flips his baseball cap backward as if he needs to keep his hands busy or he might touch me. After our date last night, I’ll admit to no one but my own pituitary gland, that I wouldn’t mind if he did.
For hours we talked about nothing, but it meant something.
I slid into my new bed, after insisting Griffin did not need to spoon me again, and fell asleep almost the moment my head touched the pillow. Most nights I toss and turn, dredging through my active brain, my anxieties. Time with Griffin left me calm and settled.
“You’re really making this place your own.” Griffin takes a moment to look around. It’s cute, but he genuinely seems to like my things scattered around the room. After a minute, he turns his grin back to me. “Listen, I’m heading to help my mom for a few hours. We’re the morning after the forty-eight hour mark of concussion-town, so according to our friend Anna you should be good to start living again.”
“Finally. I felt like a hostage.”
“Good. That was all part of my evil plan to imprison you.” He chuckles, then holds up his phone. “But I thought I’d let you know you might want to interact with your readers. We knew it would happen, but word is out that Marci Grey was the one hit by drunk Griffin Marks. There’s some fallout.”
My stomach drops. Blood drains from my face. “Fallout? What do you mean, fallout?”
Griffin helps himself to a handful of chocolate raisins Alice had brought and put in a bowl on an end table. He pops two into his mouth before answering. “Someone posted a video on TikTok of the ambulance, then people tweeted it, and there is thing called Bookishgram, Bookstergram—”
“Bookstagram.” My voice is too shrill. Too forced. “Didn’t Alice make a statement?”
He shrugs. “If she did people are either ignoring it or they’re focused on the video. A lot of your followers are shooting off Marci Grey hashtags trying to find out if you’re alive.”
“How do you know?”
“I follow you.” He says it as if it should’ve been obvious.
“What?” I stumble a bit over the leg on the couch, but strong hands are quick to catch me around the waist.
Oh, goodness. Griffin’s big palms hold my hips; his fingers dig into my skin.