My Player Bestfriend (Book #1)

Chapter Twenty Six

Grief is weird.

Some days it punches you in the chest out of nowhere. A sound, a smell, a commercial with a baby in it. Some days you feel like maybe you've healed a little—until you realize you're still avoiding certain songs or skipping aisles in the grocery store.

But then... there are days that feel almost normal again.

Today was one of those days.

I had opened the curtains for the first time in a while. The sunlight crept in slowly, as if unsure if it was welcome. It was. I stood there barefoot, holding my coffee mug in both hands, just watching the light spill across the floor. It felt like something was shifting. Not everything was better, but I didn't feel as heavy.

I hadn't answered Austin's texts for weeks. But I read every one of them.

The last one had just said:

"Still here. No rush. Just miss you."

It was that message, oddly simple, that finally made me pick up the phone.

I didn't know what to say when he answered. But I didn't have to.
He didn't make me explain.

"Wanna come over?" he asked softly.

And I did.

He opened the door with cautious eyes, like he wasn't sure what version of me he'd see. I gave him a weak smile and he stepped back, letting me in without saying a word.

The house smelled like clean laundry and mint tea.

I walked straight into the living room and sat on the couch like I had a hundred times before. He joined me a second later, close but not too close. It wasn't awkward. It was warm.

Safe.

"I'm glad you're here," he said.

"I wasn't ready before," I replied, looking down at my hands. "But I think I am now. Ready to try. To feel better. To stop pretending I'm not allowed to move on from what happened."

Austin nodded. "You don't have to pretend anything with me. You never have."

There was a long pause, and I finally looked at him. "Are you okay?"

He gave me a quiet smile. "I am now."

The days after that weren't magical. They were real.

Some were quiet. Some were full of little moments that made me feel like myself again. We didn't dive back into what we had overnight. We let it breathe.

He took me on walks. We talked about stupid things like bad movie sequels and what song we'd play if we ever got married. We didn't talk about the baby—not often—but when we did, it wasn't unbearable anymore.

It became something we could hold between us, gently. Something sad, but shared.

And in a way... that helped.

One night, I fell asleep in his arms, just like I used to before everything went sideways.

And when I woke up in the morning with his heartbeat under my ear, steady and calm—I realized something.

It didn't hurt as much.

That sharp ache in my chest... it had softened. There was still scar tissue. There always would be. But there was space now for something else too.

Peace.

Maybe even love.

We started laughing again. Really laughing. The kind where your face hurts and your stomach is sore. He kissed my cheeks in the middle of cooking dinner and played guitar for me on the porch like some cheesy movie. I rolled my eyes, but secretly, I loved every second.

Life didn't snap back into place like a rubber band. It grew into something new—something stronger.

We were different people than before.

But somehow, we still found each other again.

And that meant everything.