Page 62 of Glitz & Goals

I rub my hands across my face. Darn my friends for making valid points. I roll back my thoughts and try to make sense of them. “He can’t have kids,” I blurt. “He told me so.”

“Oh.” Jaime crosses his arms. “Okay. So you are into him, and that scares you.”

“Did you hear me?” I demand.

“Sure I did. You want kids, he can’t have kids—allegedly—and you’re using that to make excuses.”

“But—!”

“You, of all people, should know that family doesn’t necessarily mean the people who gave you life.”

Jaime might as well have smacked me. The truth hurts, but damn it if he isn’t right.

Mia hops aboard the rational-thinking train. “What does it mean that he can’t have kids, anyway? No sperm? Low sperm? Bad motility? And when was the last time he looked into it? There are so many options now, and there are advancements all the time. He was probably divorced well over a decade ago.”

“If you want to be a mom, fertility issues won’t stop you,” Jaime adds. “And if your only complaint about Grady is his sperm, then you’d be crazy to throw that away.”

“Don’t let this keep you from happiness with someone who clearly makes you so happy!” Mia pumps her arms over her head like a cheerleader.

My friends are a lot, but that doesn’t mean that they’re wrong. I think about how much time I spent last night wanting to run away, even though a larger part of me wanted to stay. Grady makes me happy. I’m not sure I love him yet, but I’m pretty sure I could. I’ve met guys I click with sexually and guys whose personalities align with mine, but very few who fall into both categories.

And I want a family. I do. But I’m afraid of throwing my whole heart into something with the knowledge that I could lose it at any time.

I lick my lips. “Do you think I might have commitment issues?”

Jaime groans and lifts his hands in the air. “I’m not going to dignify that with a response. Come on, Mia, the choreographer said she has notes.” He spins on his heel and stalks away.

Mia giggles and gives me a big hug. For such a tiny person, she’s strong enough to make them count. “Don’t talk yourself out of a good thing, Viv. You deserve to be happy, okay?” Sheturns and trots off after Jaime to join the rest of the performers. “And don’t hate me for saying this, but maybe a few sessions with your therapist might help. You could work through whatever’s holding you back.”

I spend the rest of the morning in a sort of fever dream, wandering around like a Roomba and bouncing off things.

If I was more attentive, I would have seen that Jaime and his performance partners are practicing their banquine timing. But I’m not, which is why I walk face-first into the path of Jaime’s flailing arm. His elbow collides with my face, and before I realize what’s happening, I’m on the ground.

“Oh, my God!” Jaime says from someplace faraway. I blink a few times in an attempt to get my bearings. My head is ringing, and I’m not entirely sure how I got here.

“Vivian? Are you okay?” The flyer kneels beside me and peers into my eyes.

“Yeah, I just…” I struggle up onto my elbows. “Sorry, guys, that was my fault.”

Jaime looks like he’s about to burst into tears. “Are you hurt? Are you concussed? How many fingers am I holding up?”

I roll my eyes. “It helps if you actually hold up your hands when asking that question. Come on, give me a boost.” I hold out my arm, and Jaime and the rest of the trio pull me to my feet. I dust myself off and take stock of my person. My cheek hurts, but not so much that I’m worried about it. I should probably ice it when I get home, but it’s nothing to get worked up about.

“See?” I pinwheel my arms and spin in a circle. “All good. And I’ve learned an important lesson about situational awareness.” I grin at Jaime, who isn’t fully convinced, but at least he doesn’t look like he’s going to carry me to the Mona Lisa’s on-site medic.

True to my word, I find a seat and spend the rest of the morning staying out of the way. When Grady texts to ask if I’m available for a late lunch, I reply with a thumbs-up. Not to jinx it, but for once, nothing seems to be going awry in the costuming department.

The ache in my face has dulled to the point that I’ve almost forgotten about it by the time Grady walks in. But the moment he sees me, his expression shifts. His stride lengthens, his jaw tightens, and before I can say a word, he’s standing in front of me, cradling my face like I’m something fragile.

“Who did this to you?” His voice is low, dangerous. And the look in his eyes flips my stomach.

I try to play it off with a wave of my hand. “It’s not a big deal. Jaime just—”

“Jaime!” As his voice raises, his eyes narrow, scanning the room like a predator looking for its next meal. “Where is he?”

“Grady, no.” I grab his wrist, feeling the tension coiled beneath his skin. “It was an accident. I wasn’t paying attention, and—”

“What kind of accident leaves a mark like this?” His thumb brushes over my cheekbone, and I flinch—not from pain, but from the intensity in his touch. His voice drops even lower, rough and barely controlled. “You could have been seriously hurt, Viv. And that is something I won’t accept.”

---