Page 38 of Unrivaled

“Ben,” Mom repeats softly, looking at dad. “We have a grandson.”

Yeah. Yeah, they do.

I swallow hard, watching the unspoken communication between them before Mom meets my eyes again. “We’d like to meet him too.” She lifts her chin, as though expecting me to push back.

But I nod. Because of course they want to meet their grandson. How could they not?

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Tiffany

I can’t quite decide what I’m feeling as I drive home. Some weird combination of relief and anxiety. Relief that Grayson doesn’t expect overnight visits right away, and despite his threat of involving the courts, he seems to view that as a last resort. And having my ability to participate in the decision making process taken away from me … well, that’s my worst nightmare. As much as I hate it, it’s better to cooperate, especially since Grayson appears to be stubborn and insistent that he be allowed access to Ben.

Stupid … man. Couldn’t he just have stayed away? We were doing fine without him. Yeah, sure, I’ve hated him for years because of his abandonment, but that doesn’t mean I wanted him to grow a conscience and decide to be involved. And Iespeciallydon’t need his flirty smiles, his insistence on buying me food, and the warmth of his touch that seems branded on my skin. It’s like he wants to take care of me, and I’m not in the market to be taken care of anyway, and if I were, he wouldn’t be on the list of applicants.

Why’d he come to Marycliff anyway?

That’s actually a really good question. Whydidhe leave what had to be a good thing going for him in Ohio and come back here?

But that’s a question for another time, because I’m home, and I’m going to have to tell my parents that Grayson wants to be involved with Ben now. They’re going to be so pissed. And to make it worse, I need to talk to them without Ben, so I’ll have to wait until after he’s asleep to break the news. Which means I have to stew in my feelings for the next few hours, and they won’t be able to vent their rage out loud when I do tell them.

Actually, maybe it’s better this way.

Climbing out of my car, I make an action plan on my way to the front door. Even though I’m still not one hundred percent convinced, I’m going to go with the story that his coach never told him, he didn’t know, and he just found out and wants to do the right thing.

I have no idea why I feel the need to defend him or put him in the best light. I shouldn’t. I don’t actuallylikehim or anything. Although he was really sweet at dinner with insisting on paying and chatting with me like we’re old friends and standing in the parking lot, watching me drive away, naked longing on his face like he was afraid he might never see me again.

That’s the look you give your girlfriend as she drives off to college in a different state. Or your boyfriend who just enlisted in the military and is leaving for boot camp. Not the kind of look you give the estranged mother of the child you just discovered …

“How was your date?” Mom asks from her spot on the floor where she’s doing a peg puzzle with Ben when I get inside.

Ben looks up, a wide grin on his face. “Mommy!”

I scoop him off the floor for a big hug. “Not a date, Mom,” I remind her over his shoulder. “I just met up with a friend.” The slight hesitation before the last word doesn’t help my case at all, though.

Mom picks up on it, giving me a doubtful look. “Friend. Right.” She passes Ben another puzzle piece when I put him back on the floor. “Is this afriendI’ve met?”

Rolling my eyes at her emphasis, I perch on the edge of Dad’s chair and watch Ben try a few angles to line up the monkey with its slot before getting it right. “No. Where’s Dad?”

“Bathroom.” Mom passes Ben an elephant next.

“El-phant!” Ben crows. Mom makes an elephant sound, he doubles over in a fit of giggles, and I join in the laughter. It’s a welcome release of the tension from anticipating the unpleasant conversation that I know will be coming when I tell my parents who my “friend” really is.

And then … I have to figure out how to tell Ben.

Does Grayson want to be there for that conversation? We didn’t talk about that.

Pulling out my phone, I fire off a quick text to ask him, ignoring my mother’s knowing smile. “I’m gonna go change,” I announce, and head for my bedroom to get back into my usual loungewear.

The evening seems to somehow both rush by at warp speed and drag on forever with Ben protesting the usual bedtime routine like it’s something brand new and not what we’ve been doing every night for literal years. But I finally get him settled into bed after three stories, a song, and endless back rubs. I don’t have it in me to try to get him to go to sleep without me tonight. Not with the reality of him spending nights somewhere else looming over us. Not with the upcoming conversation with my parents I don’t want to have but can’t conscionably put off any longer.

Plus the singing and rhythmic stroking of his back is as soothing for me as it is for him. And even though my stomach immediately ties itself in knots when I stand and quietly move to the bedroom door, the dread is a little more manageable. So that’s something, at least.

The relief is short lived, though, when I find my parents bustling around the kitchen, Mom finishing up with the dishes, Dad gathering up today’s newspaper to put in the recycle bin, ready for a fresh paper in the morning.

I stand in the doorway and watch them until Dad looks up and notices me. “Hey, sweet pea. Need something?”

Licking my lips, I force myself to nod. “Yeah.” I clear the frog from my throat. “Yeah. I … can I talk to you both? I, um, have some news.”

---