Grip Trilogy Box Set - Kennedy Ryan Page 0,328

leans over to see me and Dr. Hammond, who sits to my right. “What the hell are you two talking about?” he asks. “You do realize this banquet is to honor us, right, Iz?”

“Do you feel honored?” His dark brows crest over the rims of his glasses. “If you honor me by holding me hostage to a bad speech for an hour and serving me rubber chicken, I’ll pass.”

A laugh, along with a little water, snorts through my nose. Grip does his damnedest to chastise me with a look, but he can’t hold back his smile. It’s brighter than I’ve seen in weeks. We needed this—to get out of LA, away from home. We can’t escape the pain. I carry that with me. Even the little joys, like feeling the first kick, will be overshadowed by the inevitable outcome, but something about packing a bag and flying out here to DC lightened things for us some.

Grip and Dr. Hammond are being honored for their work with community bail funds. I wasn’t going to come, but I haven’t seen Dr. Hammond—he keeps telling me to call him Iz, but I’m not quite there yet—in such a long time, only a few times since the wedding. He and Grip haven’t really revisited his views on interracial relation- ships, but it’s obvious that his perspective has evolved, at least as far as Grip and I are concerned.

An hour later, the three of us are in the hotel suite Grip and I booked. Iz does the honors behind the bar because apparently he put himself through college bartending. He makes a Godfather for him and a vodka martini for Grip. Meanwhile, I’m sipping yet another water.

I miss liquor. I mean, liquor has been good to me in hard times.

Hello, vodka, my old friend.

I take a deep inhale from the bottle behind the bar, and Grip looks at me like Don’t even think about it.

“Just sniffing.” I laugh and reluctantly replace the bottle.

“Since you can’t drink, did you at least make Grip give up weed?” Iz asks from the leather couch in the suite’s sitting room.

“I volunteered, thank you very much.” Grip settles onto the couch facing Iz with his drink in hand. “No easy task in my line of work where you get high walking into every studio.”

“Well Bris has the hardest part.” Iz offers a sympathetic smile.

“And then even after delivery you still can’t drink for a while. I assume you’ll breastfeed? Hope it’s not awkward, but I’m in the daddy club. Ain’t no going back after being in the delivery room.”

He chuckles, not noticing that my smile and Grip’s have slowly faded to ash, burned by reality crashing back in on us. I won’t breastfeed. My breasts are the biggest they’ve ever been, and my milk will come in . . . then dry up. It will come and go, just like this baby.

“I’m gonna . . . um . . .” I stand, adjusting the neckline and the hem of the dress I wore to the banquet, keeping my hands busy while my heart recovers. “I’ll be back. Just need to . . .”

I can’t. I speed walk faster than a woman six months pregnant probably should, going back to the bedroom and flopping onto the bed, spread out like a starfish on the luxurious comforter. I stare up at the ceiling, hot tears flowing freely from my eyes and puddling in my ears. The sadness hovers over me. I’ve never lived with a constant promise of heartbreak, and many days, it’s too much. I often slip away to indulge in something my mother-in-law encouraged me to do when she first heard the news about the baby’s fate.

I count my blessings.

It is a well-documented fact that I’m not religious—never have been, and probably never will be, but I understand why some turn to it. I see why it is such a shaping force in Kai’s life. Believing there is something bigger than you must be comforting when you feel small, dwarfed by circumstances out of your control.

Blessing number one: Grip

Blessing number two: Grip. He’s so good, he counts twice.

Blessing number three: friends and family who love me. Rhyson and Kai and Amir and Shon and Ms. James and even my parents—all have been a source of comfort for us. My mother didn’t understand my decision and urged me to terminate. At first I thought it was the automatic feminist response, that she assumed I was keeping the baby for reasons that