“She had no idea, Grayson. She just…gave me strength.”
Nine months washed over me. Nine months of hating myself, of barely being able to look at her because I hated myself so much. Of wondering if I was going to be my father, if I was going to have to choose between being that man, or keeping Snitch safe.
“I wish you were fucking dead.”
Lottie threw up her hands with a bitter laugh. “Get in line.”
My eyes landed on West, and I pushed through any remaining family to get to him.
“You.” I shoved him against the wall. “You fucking snake.”
He threw his arms out. “For the first time, this was all my sister.”
“You expect me to fucking believe that?”
“I swear on Team Eskimo Bros.”
I pushed my arm deeper into his neck. “Your entire family is fucked.”
My eyes locked with Story, still helping Lottie stand, and I pushed off West.
Fuck this. Fuck all of this.
We were free.
My mother grabbed my arm. “Grayson, wait. We should talk about this.”
I put up a hand. “I don’t want to fucking hear it.”
“Be present when we decide how we deal with this. How we…” my mother said through a clenched teeth smile. “How we get them out of our house.”
She sat up straighter, smiling at Lynette. “We’ll figure this out, don’t worry. Grayson will come talk it out, won’t you?”
Lynette smiled tightly. “That’s lovely to hear.”
My mother’s clench tightened. For once, though, I agreed with her. If I left with Story now, who was to say they wouldn’t just sweep this all under the rug?
Eyes still locked with Story’s, I said, “We settle this now.”
STORY
Do you trust me?
I watched Grayson leave, knowing he had to go, but feeling like I was swallowing thorns. The last thing he heard me say was I love you to West.
He watched me kiss West.
Then he said he knew it…knew I could never have loved him.
Now it had been hours since I’d seen him. Crowne Hall was eerily silent. As if even the very shadows knew not to speak for fear of being strangled. Everyone had followed Grayson, including West, which was some kind of relief.
I couldn’t go back to “my” wing.
I couldn’t go to Grayson’s.
So I sat in the portrait hall, looking at the dead, stoic countenances of Crowne family members preserved in oil. Beside me, double doors beckoned to open to the beach, barely muffling the crash of waves.
“Are you wondering what he’s doing?” Lynette du Lac leaned on the wall, her eyes a little glassy, her always elegant hair and dress undone.