“I think Gray does.”

“Really?” Fi makes a surprised chuckle. “Huh.”

“He gets this look in his eyes. Like he’s excited. Happy.” That look makes my insides melt and my hormones kick into high gear, and I have to fight not to cry. Even now my smile is wobbly. “It’s kind of cute.”

“And you?”

I sigh and turn my head to give her access to the rest of my hair. “Fuck if I know. I don’t feel ready. But then it’s Gray and me, and I can’t…” I swallow hard. Twice. “I just don’t know, Fi.”

Her hand comes to rest on my cheek. “Talk to Gray about it.”

My vision blurs hot and wet. “That’s the problem, Fi. I’m afraid that if we disagree on the decision, I’ll lose him.”

I turn and press my face into her belly, hiding in the dark. I think of my life, how it began. Fi doesn’t know everything. I can’t even say everything. “I don’t want Gray to be with me based on obligation.”

The real fear is that I’ll lose him regardless. Nothing good ever came from being forced into life-altering decisions.

Twenty-Eight

Ivy

Gray won’t be spending Christmas with me. His team has to leave for New Orleans the Monday before to get ready for their bowl game. Two weeks he’ll be gone. And because I know I’ll be a distraction to him, I’m waiting until New Year’s Eve to join him there.

So Gray and I make our own Christmas early with Fi, whose boyfriend has gone home for the holiday.

Fi has decorated our small house with such enthusiasm it looks like Santa’s elves have invaded us during the night. Every doorway is fringed with lighted garland. Tiny novelty houses grace the sideboards. A big—pink—Christmas tree, hung with little glittering footballs and helmets and miniature pink Fiats, sits in the corner.

Gray has a good laugh over that. “Awesome tree.”

“It’s deranged,” I murmur.

“It’s kitsch,” Fi stresses. “And it’s fabulous.”

“Where in the hell did you get these little Fiat ornaments?” I ask, truly impressed.

Fi grins wide. “The internet is a wild and wonderful place, my friends.”

“It needs one thing,” Gray says before bounding into my bedroom. His grin is evil as he jogs back. Fi shrieks when she sees that he’s holding the tiny Tinker Bell doll I had sitting on my dresser, but I laugh. I’d told Gray once that it reminded me of Fi.

He doesn’t even have to stretch to reach the top of the tree. “There.” He nestles the little Tinker Bell on the upmost branch. “A teeny Fiona to watch over us.”

“Asshole,” my sister mutters, then laughs.

We exchange gifts first, and I love Gray even more for giving one to Fi too. His gift is a pair of novelty Fiona the Ogre slippers. Which Fi uses to bat his head with. But I can tell she loves them. It’s not like Fi is any better, giving Gray a T-shirt that says Man Meat across the chest.

Gray grows flustered when he hands me my gift. “It’s not much. I’ll do extravagant next year.”

Clutching the thin package to my chest, I give him a swift kiss. “Quiet, Cupcake. Let me enjoy my present.”

“All right,” he says, flushing. “I’ll shut up.”

I tear open the wrapping and find a tiny silver four-leaf-clover pendant lies in a long black box.

“For luck in your new career,” he says quietly as he puts it on me.

“It’s perfect,” I tell him with a kiss.

Gray fairly tackles me when he opens my gift to him, a blue enamel Le Creuset Dutch oven, which is extravagant but something I’ve wanted to give him for a while. “I’m gonna cook you short ribs and brisket,” he promises between kisses. “And stew, and pot roast, and goulash…”

“We get it,” Fi cuts in, annoyed. “Now stop mauling my sister before I vomit.”

For dinner, Drew, Anna, and Gray’s closest teammates come over. Gray cooks us meatballs—Norwegian, not Swedish—and potatoes, which he says is a Grayson Christmas tradition. Dex acts as his sous chef and they spend the time bickering over Dex’s knife skills, while the rest of us snicker in the living room.

The guys treat me as if I’m one of them now, joking and randomly tousling my hair like I’m their kid sister. Gray has told Drew I’m pregnant, which means Anna knows by extension. They don’t mention it, but they’re careful to offer me apple cider when one of them grabs a beer. And I keep getting goofy grins from each of them at some point during dinner.

I don’t really mind; after all, I had told Fi about it, but it drives home the fact that I have a decision to make, and I need to do it sooner rather than later. Just thinking about it leaves me with the urge to run to my mother and hide away under her arm, which feels vaguely ironic, given that I’m considering motherhood.

As if he can hear me mentally worrying, Gray turns his head and catches my eye. A soft smile curls his lips, and he kisses my forehead. “No worries tonight, Ivy Mac.”

I rest my head on his shoulder for a moment. “Okay.”

“So,” Fi says, as I serve sticky-toffee pudding for desert. “Is there some standard thing to say to wish you guys luck on your game?”

“What, like a superstition?” Drew asks.

Fi nods.

“Good luck works for me.” Dex’s tone is uncharacteristically gruff, but I don’t miss the way his gaze keeps sliding toward Fi when she’s not looking. He sees me watching and promptly tucks into his pudding.