Page 65 of Courageous Hearts

It pulls memories to the surface. Of her and Dad. Of the sort of unconditional love that has always flown freely inside this house. I’m lucky to have had that. To still have that. And it makes me sad to know that Bo grew up without the same.

When there’s a pause in the music, my mom bumps my hip. She cants her head toward the table, where Grant and Sophia are huddled close together. Taking her unspoken suggestion, I wash my hands and approach.

Grant looks up, saying something quietly to Sophia before he rises. After giving her shoulder one last squeeze, he leads the way out the back door, and I follow.

The sky is cloudy today, reflective of the mood hanging in the air. I wouldn’t be surprised if it started to mist.

My brother walks over to the old rocker that resides on the porch in front of the kitchen window. It’s a double-wide bench seat, adorned with a striped green-and-white cushion, and the entire thing sways back and forth like a swing. He plops down, and I take a seat next to him, gently kicking us into motion.

“The results of our fertility testing came back today,” Grant says without prompting, his voice flat. “It’s unlikely we’ll be able to conceive.”

I’d guessed as much already, but hearing the evidence out loud sends a slash of grief right through my heart. I can’t help but wonder if it’s my own pain or my brother’s.

“I’m so sorry, Grant,” I say gently, knowing the words aren’t enough.

He nods, throat bobbing. “It’s not the end of the world,” he replies, as if trying to convince himself of that very thing. “There are other ways we can have children. We just…”

“Wanted this to work,” I fill in for him. But now they’re hearing it might not be an option. That can’t be easy.

“I have poor swimmers,” he says almost morosely. “And she has an inhospitable womb. What the fuck is that? Why do they have to use such crap vernacular? Why not just tell it like it is?” He makes a frustrated sound. “My sperm can’t reach her eggs, and those that do won’t survive the fertilization. They make it sound so personal.”

“It’s not your fault, though,” I say.

“I know that,” Grant spits, anger seemingly directed at himself. “So does she. Logically, we both know that. But in here—” He taps his chest, shaking his head. “In here, it still hurts.”

I nod, kicking our chair into motion again. The hinges squeak slightly, worn by the passage of time.

“You’ll get through this,” I say softly. “And you don’t have to do it alone. Whatever you need, I’m here for you, okay? Mom and I are always in your corner. Yours and Sophia’s both.”

Grant lets out a shuddering breath before twisting to look over his shoulder. I follow his gaze, and inside the kitchen, visible through the shelves of herbs lining the window, Sophia is wrapped in our mom’s embrace, her back shaking slightly as Dominica Wright helps lance her wound.

“Fuck,” Grant whispers, spinning back around and rubbing the heels of his hands over his eyes.

“She’ll be okay, too,” I tell him, squeezing his arm. He nods, although he doesn’t remove his hands from his face. “She’s strong. You both are. You’ll get through this together.”

“I know you’re right,” he answers, finally dropping his arms and looking over at me, his eyes wet and puffy. “But I hate seeing her like this. It’s my job to protect her. I feel like I failed.”

His words cause my chest to pinch. My instinct is to tell him that he can’t protect her from everything—that it’s an impossible ask. But I think about Bo, and how those same urges have been swelling in me. Feeling like I want to be the one to take care of them. To cover them with my body and my marks so they know they’re not alone. I’d protect them from all life’s troubles if I could.

How can I possibly fault Grant for wanting to do the same? Especially considering he and Sophia have been married for years. More than likely, the voracity of my own feelings pale in comparison.

And isn’t that a startling thought?

“Distract me,” Grant says, sniffing and leaning back against the seat. “What happened with Bo?”

Right. I still haven’t caught Grant up on that. Although, in all fairness, I did try. Grant and I kept missing each other’s calls. I know my own excuse—I was happily distracted inside my shiny new bubble with Bo. I didn’t give much consideration to what was keeping Grant so preoccupied. But now that I know all he’s been dealing with, I feel guilty for not trying harder to reach out.

“We’re dating,” I tell him.

“Yeah?” Grant replies, a little smile breaking through. “All that went well?”

“You mean the whole shift in my sexuality?” At Grant’s inquisitive brow lift, I chuckle. “Yeah. Guess I’m pan, after all.” I kick us into motion again, rolling over the words that have been tumbling around inside of my head. “Bisexual didn’t feel quite right. I know not everyone who identifies as bi would say their potential for attraction excludes genders outside of the binary. But pansexual feels like a better fit personally. I don’t think, for me, it’s about gender at all.”

Grant nods, watching me closely. Suddenly, I feel like I’m under the microscope.

“What?” I ask.

“Nothing,” he says casually, shrugging. “It just seems as if you’ve put a lot of thought into this. That you’re taking it seriously.”

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