"Can I? She can't find me here. Can she?"
I was pretty sure I hadn't seen him this drunk since boarding school. Nan had done a number on him. "You would think by now you would have learned your lesson about messing around with Nan. She's poison. Why even go near her?"
Grant let out a loud sigh and leaned forward.
"Do not puke on the damn brick. It's a country club, dickhead, not a bar."
He lifted his head and his eyes were glassy. "It ain't Nan that's making me drink. It's her. She's so damn . . . so damn . . . hell, I don't know what she is. She messed up my head. She f**ked me over, literally. She won't see me. Won't talk to me. Nothing. She's guarded like the damn queen. Bunch of damn rock stars act like I'm a problem. I'm not a problem. I just want to see her. I need to explain."
What the hell was he talking about? "I'm lost, dude. You're not making sense anymore. Come on, let's get you a room."
"She's got these legs that go on forever. Lots of legs . . . lots of 'em. They're soft. So f**king soft," he muttered as I jerked him up and walked him over to my truck.
"Nan?"
Grant spit. "Fuck no. I told you this ain't about Nan. She's the evil bitch that f**ked it up. She f**ks up everything."
I put him in and closed the door, then got in on my side and rolled down the windows. "If you need to hurl do it outside of my truck," I told him before cranking the engine.
"She's got these legs," he said again.
"Yeah, you told me."
"You don't understand, they're like legs from f**king heaven."
Someone had done a number on him. I was thankful it wasn't Nan. That was the only thing I was thankful for at the moment. If I could get him out of my truck without his puking, I'd be thankful for that, too.
"She was a virgin," he whispered.
Wait . . . what? "Now I know we aren't talking about Nan."
Grant leaned his head back on the leather seat. "A virgin. She didn't tell me, either. Now she won't talk to me. I need her to talk to me."
So Grant took a virgin and some rock stars are holding her captive. That doesn't make any . . . oh shit.
"Grant, are you talking about Harlow?"
"Yeah, who the f**k did you think I was talking about?"
That might just be worse than Nan.
Yeah . . . it's definitely worse than Nan.
He was in deep shit. Nan would never let that happen. Ever.
Two months later . . .
Della
Braden was pregnant. I had hung up with her over ten minutes ago but I hadn't moved from the swing on the porch. I continued to swing. I needed to let this process. Braden . . . a mommy. My Braden. Wow . . .
The door to the house opened and Woods stepped outside. "You off the phone?" he asked as he walked over to the swing.
"Yeah," I replied, scooting over so he could sit down with me.
"What is Braden up to?" he asked as he put his arm around me and pulled me over to his side.
"She's . . . she's pregnant." It was hard to even say it. I had always imagined Braden as a mom. She would make an excellent one, but just knowing that she was about to start another new step in life was a surprise.