That’s when I realize my entire family has congregated behind my chair, looking moved and curious.
Two more rapid thuds shake the front door, ringing through the great room and the silence they’ve created. Then, a single ring of the doorbell, like whoever went to town on the door only just realized that a more modern method of announcing themselves was available.
“I got it!” Linnie yells, scrambling up from her tantrum spot on the floor.
“Hold up.” Viggo runs toward the door. “Adults answer the door, Linnie.”
“Rules you out,” Freya mutters, burping Theo on her shoulder.
Viggo flips her off.
“I saw that,” Linnie yells.
Aiden, ever the strategic one, simply leans back and glances out through the window with a clear view to whoever stands outside. “Shit. Shoot, I mean.”
He runs toward the door, bodychecks Viggo out of the way, then scoops up Linnie. “Oliver.” He jerks his head. “You should get that.”
Viggo’s just righted himself and is reaching for the door again when I get there and shove him away. I peer through the peephole. My knees nearly give out.
“Who is it?” Viggo asks, shoving me aside, trying to see through the peephole. “Ack!”
Ren’s got him by the shirt collar, dragging Viggo away, as he tells him, “Chill out, V. Ollie can handle himself.”
“Okay, let’s go!” Mom says, clapping her hands at everyone, shooing them to move. “Come on, hurry!”
It’s like Home Alone when the family realizes they’re running late for their flight, a mad dash of people crossing the hall, running upstairs, running downstairs. Bags land in the foyer. Sheets fall in piles outside rooms. Doors slam shut as footsteps thunder across the house.
I stand at the door, my hand shaking as I reach for the doorknob, my heart pounding in my chest.
Why is he here?
There’s only one way to find out. Breathing deeply, finding my courage, I wrench open the door and step onto the porch.
28
OLIVER
Playlist: “Wildfire,” Cautious Clay
I shut the door behind me. My heart swoops, then soars.
Gavin’s in the suit he wore at the press conference this morning. Except now it’s a little rumpled, his tie loose, a few wrinkles in his jacket, a scuff on his polished shoes. He holds a very fancy bottle of champagne and a breathtaking bouquet of flowers.
“I…” He clears his throat. “I was told there was a wedding. And on the off chance it was happening when I showed up, I wanted to be prepared.”
“The wedding was two days ago.” I swallow around the lump in my throat. “You’re a little late.”
“Ah.” He searches my eyes. “But I hope…not too late entirely?”
I bite my cheek, scared to hear a double meaning in that, scared to hope. And yet I can’t stop myself from saying, “No. Not too late.”
Slowly, Gavin crouches, knees popping as he sets down the champagne and flowers. He straightens, walks toward me. “Oliver—”
“I watched the press conference,” I tell him, backing up instinctively.
He stops, holding my eyes, searching them. “You saw it already?”
I nod. My throat feels thick with the threat of tears. “I’m sorry.”
He stares at me, looking suddenly very wary. “For what?”
“Your retirement. I know this game is…everything to you. Saying goodbye to it, the finality of announcing to the world that it’s over…”
My words trail off as something like relief smooths his expression. He takes another step closer, and this time, I hold my ground, too confused by his response to give in to fear and step away.
His knuckles brush mine.
“That’s just it, though,” he says. “It isn’t over. This part of my career is, yes. But my life isn’t. This is just the beginning.” He wraps his hand around mine, warm and dry, strong and steady. “That is, if you—”
The door flies open, startling us apart.
“Hello!” my mother says brightly. Wrapping Gavin in a sudden hug, she says, “Welcome! Go on inside. Get comfortable. We were just leaving.”
“Mom,” I say, voice strangled.
Gavin hugs her back, giving me a perplexed look over her shoulder. “Thank you.”
Mom lets him go and then hugs me next. “Be brave, älskling,” she whispers. “I love you.”
When she slips away, I see Dad’s filled her place, gently clasping Gavin’s shoulder. “Beautiful speech, son.”
Gavin looks stricken, then moved. “Thank you, sir.”
“Don’t be a stranger,” Dad says as he tugs me in for a hug and a kiss to my hair, before throwing us a wink and following Mom toward their car.
My siblings spill out of the house, first Ax, who nods politely, then Rooney, who flashes us a wide, sunny smile before slipping her arm inside Axel’s while they start toward their house settled deeper in the woods.
Aiden exits next, hustling the rest of my siblings out like the house is on fire. Freya blows us a kiss, baby Theo tucked in her arm. Linnea throws herself at Gavin’s legs and earns his hug before Freya scoops her up, too, and she dissolves into overtired, too-much-party tears. Then comes Ren, smiling wide, Frankie wiggling her eyebrows as she smirks. Ziggy throws me a coy smile, takes one look at Gavin, and turns bright red, then hustles down the stairs. Viggo’s last of course. Gavin doesn’t recognize him at first without the mangy beard that he shaved for the wedding, but when he does, his eyes narrow.
Viggo sizes him up, then offers a hand, which Gavin takes. A very intense staredown ensues. Their knuckles both turn white as they try to squeeze the life out of each other’s palms. “Just remember, I know where you live,” Viggo tells him.
“Good grief,” I mutter.
“Okay, that’s enough Godfather antics from you,” Aiden says, taking him by the shoulder and giving us a knowing grin as he drags Viggo down the steps with him.
Gavin glances over his shoulder, watching the mass exodus of cars happily honking as they pull out. “That was…”
“Embarrassing?”
“Intense,” he mutters, frowning thoughtfully. “Sweet. Funny. Weird.” He turns back and sets his gaze on me. “Sort of like you.”
“That’s it,” I tell him, shoving the door open behind me. “You’ve crossed a line. And now, we’re gonna take this inside.”
Gavin smirks and follows me in, drinking in the space as he shuts the door.
A wave of nervousness crests through me. “Will you… I mean, were you…” I clear my throat. “Did you want to stay?”
Gavin turns and looks at me curiously. “I mean… I thought… Yeah. Do you want me to stay?”
My heart pounds. “Yes. I do. If you want to. Stay, that is.”
Reaching up, he loosens his tie. Heat rushes through me as I stare at the hollow of his throat revealed when he yanks open the top two buttons, then drags his tie through his collar with a snap.
He looks agitated, confused. “I want to stay, yes.”
“Good. Great.” My voice cracks on the word as my cheeks heat. “Excellent.”
“My bag’s in the rental,” he says, pulling a key from his suit jacket’s pocket. “I’ll get it—”
“Let me.” I close the distance between us, pluck the key from his fingers. Backtracking, I tell him, “Explore, if you want. Just don’t look too close at the family photos. I had an awkward phase that started in first grade and didn’t end until sophomore year of high school.”
His mouth quirks in a faint smile. “I doubt that highly.”
“Believe it.” I nod my chin toward the wall of family photos before darting out to his car to grab his bag.
My heart bangs inside my ribs. I have a thousand thoughts, a million questions.
Why is he here? What does he want?
Does he want me?
By the time I walk back inside with his bag, Gavin’s got his suit jacket off, his shirt sleeves rolled up. I try not to stare at his bare forearms, sculpted muscles, tendons, and veins visible as he rests his hands in his pockets and walks leisurely down the hall, taking in the photos. “You are a nauseatingly photogenic bunch, aren’t you?”
“Blame Mom and Dad.”
He huffs a soft laugh, glancing my way. When he sees me with his bag, he strolls forward. “I’ll take that—”
“Wait.” I clutch it, searching his eyes. “I…”
I want you to stay in my room. I want you in my bed, cuddling and holding me.
I can’t admit that. Not when I don’t even know what the hell is going on. What if he’s here to do some official, formal, in-person passing of the captain baton? What if he just stopped by for a little R&R?
God, listen to me. I’m grasping at straws. Why else would he be here if he didn’t want me somehow? The truth is I’m too afraid to admit what I want, what I hope, as I stand there, staring at him, tongue-tied.
“What is it?” he asks.