Touching Down

  One of his hands moved beneath my chin, lifting it until I was looking into his eyes. He lowered his head until our foreheads were touching. “It will never happen again,” he repeated solemnly.

  I inhaled, nodding. His words boded no doubt. Neither did the look in his eyes. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I should have. I just don’t want to believe it. I don’t want to admit it. I don’t want to face the fact that our daughter might have to go through the same thing as me.”

  Grant’s eyes clamped shut for a moment, his body shuddering against mine. Then he recovered. “Might. She might go through the same thing as you.” When my eyebrows came together, he pulled back, keeping one arm around me as the other dug inside the box. “I’ve been reading. Studying. You know, those things I should have done more of back in school.” He winked and flashed a couple of books in front of me. They were books about Huntington’s. I’d read one of them last year. “Charlie has a fifty-percent shot that she doesn’t have Huntington’s, which, by the way, I’ve renamed.”

  “You’ve renamed?” My head tilted.

  “Grass,” he stated.

  My face pinched together. “Grass?”

  “Yep. Grass.”

  My shoulders lifted. “Why that?”

  His jaw ground before his mouth opened. “Because I can take a shit or a piss on it. I can light it on fire, tear it apart, stomp it out, pretty much annihilate that son of a bitch any way I can imagine. I’m sick of calling this thing something that makes everyone shiver in their boots and keeps telling me there’s nothing that can be done.”

  Flattening my lips, I nodded. “You might be a little or a lot crazy.”

  “I’ll take either label just so long as we all stop looking at this thing like there’s nothing we can do about it and all just need to lay here and let fate have its way with us.” Grant dropped those books on the counter then dug out a few more.

  Leaning over the box, my eyes widened when I saw what was inside. Notebooks, copies of articles paper-clipped together, journals, manuals, books.

  “I didn’t know there was this much information on Huntington’s.” When Grant shot me a look, I exhaled. “Or Grass.”

  “Yeah, there’s tons of stuff. I got Ravi on it when I found out you had it, and he’s been working on putting this all together. Half of it I can’t understand, but what I spent most of my time reading about was medical advancements being made to help slow or stop Grass.” Grant dug back inside the box and pulled out a stack of articles that had been printed out. “There’s all of this stem cell research, gene editing and silencing stuff, new medicines—they’re making progress, Ryan. There’s going to be a cure one day soon.”

  Opening one of the books, I absently flipped through a few pages. I’d probably read some of the same articles on these “promising” cures, but they were a long shot. Injecting iPS or embryonic stem cells into a person’s brain, or manipulating a person’s genetic code seemed like more the stuff of science fiction than real life.

  “You’ve been busy.” I smiled as he flipped through the pages of an article, his face creased with concentration.

  “You’ve got Grass. My daughter might have Grass. I won’t rest until I find some way to kick this thing’s ass.”

  I nudged him. “Your ass is grass, Grass.”

  Grant huffed. “Good one.”

  I didn’t realize how little sleep he’d gotten last night until I turned on a few more lights around the pool house. “Where did you go last night?”

  Grant flipped to another page, his eyes scanning down it. “Ravi’s place. He’s got a condo in the city. I spent last night and today trying to put a dent in this stuff.”

  “Didn’t you have practice today?”

  His shoulder rose. “I skipped.”

  “You skipped?”

  Grant looked up, surprised by my tone. “I let them know if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  Crossing my arms, I leaned into the back of the couch. “That’s not what I’m worried about. I’m worried about you putting your whole life on hold for this. I’m worried about you becoming obsessed and possessed and letting Grass take over your entire life.”

  Like he was proving my point, he flipped to the next page. “You two are my entire life. This son of a bitch is threatening to take you both away from me. I will let this consume my life if it means finding a way to keep you two here.”

  Moving toward him, I put my hand on the page he was reading and lowered it to his side. “You can’t let this consume your life. You can’t give it that kind of power. If you do that, if you abandon everything in your life for this, no matter what happens in the future, Grass wins. It won’t just consume one life or possibly two. It will overtake all three of our lives.” My hand molded around his neck, my thumb rubbing at the rigid muscles. “I’ve been here. I’ve done this. It doesn’t help anyone. But it does threaten to hurt everyone.”

  Grant exhaled slowly, his eyes holding mine captive. “I can’t just let go of this. I won’t give up on a chance to help you, however far-fetched or distant or expensive it might be. I won’t give up on the possibility that a cure is out there. Or coming soon.” He set the article behind him on the counter and wound his arms around me.

  “I’m not asking you to stop or give up. I’m just asking that you not let it consume your life. Go to practice. Waste time watching movies and throwing popcorn with us. Take Charlie to the park. Make love with me.” My eyebrow lifted and I pressed my body closer. “Live, Grant. Don’t spend your life looking for some loophole to death. Because there isn’t one.”

  His dark eyes lightened, an almost playful expression crossing his face. “There is if I find one. Or make one.”

  “I think I might almost believe you.”

  “Good, because it’s true.” He kissed my forehead then slid out of my arms to head to the fridge. “Okay, you have my word I won’t let all of this take over my life.” His arm flailed in the direction of the giant box of books. “But you can’t ask or expect me to just ignore it all and hope for the best. That’s not my style, and it never has been. I come at anything that challenges those I love with fists raised and teeth bared. That won’t change. But I will still drag my ass to practice, waste time with my girls, take Charlie to the park, and I will definitely remember to make love to you.” His head twisted back at me from where it had been inside the fridge. “Or when the need arises, fuck you up against a wall.”

  My hand dropped to the counter ledge to keep me from teetering in place from the way he was looking at me. After a moment, he got back to the fridge and pulled out a bottle of something that was bright green and almost chunky looking.

  “Here. Drink this. One every day.” He slid the bottle across the counter toward me and waved at it when I wasn’t in a hurry to open it.

  “This looks radioactive. I think I’ll stick to my coffee, thanks though.” My nose curled when I tipped the bottle—it really did have chunks floating around inside it.

  “It’s not radioactive. It’s good for you. Every kind of superfood on the planet is blended into that stuff. It’s a million times better than that coffee junk.”

  My nose stayed curled. It looked like something the Joker would take a bath in. “Says who?”

  “Says everyone in the whole entire medical field.” Grant crossed his arms and gave me a look that boded no argument. “Says me.”

  Exhaling, I unscrewed the cap. The scent of grass and earth and something exploded around me.

  “Are you trying to kill me?” I hadn’t even lifted it to my lips and I was gagging.

  Grant sighed, his eyes lifting to the ceiling. “Try the opposite.”

  “This stuff’s supposed to help?”

  “Well, it sure isn’t going to hurt.”

  The closer I lifted the bottle to my mouth, the more the offensive scent blanketed me. “Are you sure?”

  “I’ve been drinking one of those every day for the past three years, and look at me. Healthy a
s an ox.” He held out his arms, making his shirt stretch across his chest, which looked mammoth.

  “At least the size of one,” I grumbled before taking a tentative sip. My body shuddered. “How can this stuff actually taste worse than it smells?”

  Grant shook his head. “My god, woman, you are difficult.”

  My eyebrow lifted as I forced down another sip. “Yeah, well, you aren’t no picnic yourself.”

  He pulled another bottle of toxic sludge from the fridge and twisted it open. “Cheers,” he said, clinking his bottle against mine.

  “Yay,” I deadpanned as he chugged his in all of five seconds.

  Slamming down the empty bottle, he rolled his shoulders a couple of times. “Okay, so Charlie.” The skin between his brows set. “I told Ravi about her last night. I trust him—he won’t say anything to anyone. The world won’t find out she’s my daughter until you’re ready to tell the world.”

  When I took a bigger gulp of the supposed superfood drink, I grimaced. There was no way a person could ever get used to this stuff. “I’m ready to tell the world whenever you are.”

  Grant’s face softened, a slow smile working into place. “Let’s see what Charlie wants and go from there.”

  “Solid plan.” When I set the half-drunk bottle on the counter, Grant stared at it with a raised brow. With a grumble, I picked it back up and kept sipping.

  “Ravi told me the only way to know for sure if Charlie will one day develop Grass is with a blood test.”

  Whenever I thought about Charlie having this disease, it made me feel like someone had just swung a sledgehammer into my sternum. This time didn’t feel any different, but this time, it didn’t make me stagger back. This time, I managed to hold my ground.

  “Yes, the only way to know for sure is with a blood test,” I said.

  Half of his face grimaced. “I don’t like thinking about her getting poked and prodded. Needles suck.”

  “The twenty-hundred-sixty-pound wall of muscle who wasn’t scared the time a gun was raised to his head by some strung-out tweaker and who doesn’t flinch when he winds up on the bottom of a pile of defensive linemen is afraid of a little needle?”

  He crossed his arms at me. “When it concerns my daughter, I am.”

  “That’s sweet, but Charlie is tougher than both of us put together. It’s like your and my badassery multiplied when we created her.” I tried chugging the last of the green juice, but I couldn’t do it before I gagged.

  “You’re about to puke from the taste of a smoothie. Not so convinced of your badassery at this moment.”

  My eyes narrowed and I finished what was left of the drink, just to prove a point. It was next to impossible not to grimace or shiver in revulsion, but I made it.

  “Fear of needles or not, you can’t legally test a minor for Grass. The medical community deems it unethical, arguing that each person should be able to make up their own mind if they want to find out if they’re a carrier.”

  Grant unlocked his jaw. “And how do you feel about that?”

  I twisted the empty bottle in my hands, debating my answer. HD made it hard to reason logically at times, making my mind feel disconnected and hazy. After the drama of last night and the added stress of no sleep and worrying today, my mind was struggling to cooperate.

  And how do you feel about that?

  How did I feel about testing my daughter without her consent for a truly terrifying disease? As a parent, I wanted to know. At least I thought I did. Putting myself in her shoes, I wasn’t sure I’d want to know though. Would the fear of knowing what was coming paralyze her from living her life? Would having to watch her mother go through the very devastating stages she’d eventually go through be too much to bear?

  I hadn’t found out I had HD until the disease had already made itself known symptomatically. If Charlie did have it, she could have decades before any symptoms might surface.

  Would knowing create peace of mind? Or would knowing only torture her mind?

  “I don’t know,” I answered at last, my fingers suddenly jerking. The bottle tipped over and rolled across the counter before falling and shattering on the floor. “Dammit.” I glared at my hands still spasming beyond my control. “I’m sorry. I’ll clean it up in just a minute.”

  Grant was already moving toward a closet door. “I’ve got it,” he announced, pulling out a broom and dustpan. “Shit, I’ve broken so many of those things I’ve got a system and everything.”

  “I’m not sure how I feel about you trying to make me feel better.”

  He bobbed his brows at me as he came around the counter toward the shattered mess. “Really? Because it seemed pretty obvious to me how you feel about me making you feel better.” His gaze roamed down my body, his smile forming when it landed on the hem of my dress floating above my knees. “I think it was the unbridled shrieking that really gave you away. Or it could have been the way you couldn’t stop moaning my name into the pillow. Or maybe it was how damn wet you—”

  “You’ve made your point,” I interrupted as he crouched and started sweeping the glass shards into the pan. “You can give it a rest. Before you go and break your gloat.”

  “Please. This gloat is unbreakable.”

  “I thought you were the Invincible Man, not the Unbreakable Gloat.”

  His back rocked with his quiet laugh. “I wear many hats.”

  “Including housekeeper.” I watched him clean up every last sliver of glass meticulously, like he was trying to erase all signs of the mishap. If only all messes were so easy to clean up.

  “So?” he prompted as he rose to stand in front of me. “What should we do? How do we best handle Charlie’s situation?” From the look on his face, it was like he was trying to work out the puzzle at the same time I was. “You might not be able to walk into any typical doctor’s office and request an HD test on a minor, but there are perks of my position.” Grant’s free hand dropped to mine, holding them tight until the last trembles rolled through.

  “You mean money and fame, don’t you?”

  His hand squeezed mine before he wandered toward the garbage can. “Yes, and my connections. If we wanted to have her tested, we could do it.”

  “I never saw you using your position to earn special favors.”

  Grant dumped the pieces of glass into the garbage can, his eyes moving to mine. “I will use my position however I need to for you or Charlie. And I will spend every last penny if it gives me more time with you. Even if it’s only one more minute. I would sell my soul for an hour. And I would sacrifice the whole damn world for one more day.” He paused to take a breath, his gaze never wavering. “Do you need anything clarified?”

  Trying to suppress my smile, I shook my head. “Hopefully no one’s going to nominate you to rule the world one day.”

  Grant huffed and returned the dustpan and broom to the closet.

  “I don’t know what to think about Charlie right now. I don’t know if I want to know, or if I don’t not want to know.” My head throbbed from thinking about it, my mind still feeling disconnected. “I don’t know.”

  Grant moved toward where I was still leaning into the counter. “‘I don’t know’ works for me. ‘I don’t know’ is the exact way I feel right now, so let’s just keep thinking and talking about it, okay? We’ll figure it out.”

  I could feel my heartbeat in my temples. “We will?”

  He looped his arm around my waist and lowered his forehead to mine. His eyes were burning with conviction. “You and me? There’s nothing we can’t do together. Nothing.”

  My eyes closed, and I let his words work their way inside me, hoping they’d take root and grow, spreading until I felt as confident as he did.

  “Now, Ryan?” His voice was low, dark almost.

  “Yeah?”

  “I need to remind you of your position on me making you feel better.” His lips touched mine, his stubble scratching my cheek.

  When his hands roamed lower, cupping around my back
side, a noise slipped out of my mouth. “What position did you have in mind?”

  My eyebrow lifted as I pressed my hips into his. He was as ready as I was. Drilling his fingers into my flesh, he lifted me onto the counter and pulled me to the very edge.

  “This one,” he rasped, his hands already working beneath my dress on their journey toward my panties.

  I didn’t have time to lift up before he’d torn them off of me, a dark smile forming when he saw which ones I’d been wearing. “You might be wearing a classy dress, Miss Hale, but you are wearing the very opposite kind of underwear.” He let the black lace panties fall to the floor before his hands roamed back up my body under my dress. He grunted when he felt the sheer material of my bra. “It’s like you were planning on getting fucked tonight, weren’t you?”

  My back trembled when his thumbs circled my nipples. “With you, Grant Turner, I never have to plan for that. It’s always a guarantee.”

  His fingers pinched my hard nipples, making me cry out. “Damn right it is.” His eyes went darker as he continued to palm my breasts. “I can’t stand the thought of taking my hands off of your body right now, not even for a second, but I need to be inside you, Ryan. Goddamn, I need it.” His mouth dropped to my neck, sucking at the skin in a way that made my whole body go rigid from pleasure. “Please, baby,” he breathed against my skin, “my zipper.”

  My hands worked their way in between our joined bodies, unhooked his button, and tugged down his zipper. My fingers curled around his solid length as a throaty sound rose up inside me from feeling how badly he wanted me.

  “Put me inside you.” One of his hands dropped to my hip, sliding me forward even farther. “Let me feel you.”

  My body was already wet and ready, aching with need. Guiding him closer, I fitted him to me. A primitive sound echoed in his chest when he felt how willing I was to take him.

  His head came around toward mine, and our foreheads pressed together again. “I want you, Ryan Hale. Your heart, your soul, your body, and your very existence. I want this life and your next. I want it all.”