“I said, sit.”
A flash of defiance flickers across her face, but she concedes, and while the notch it takes in her armour is worth it, I can see the relief on her face. Now I can focus completely on what’s important and forget the fucking feelings that keep trying to worm their way in.
Easton remains by my side, just like he has since the day I met him at four years old. He was dark and brooding even at five, but I’d never had a friend before, let alone a best friend who would stand by me through thick and thin and kill anyone who so much as insulted me.
East knows this is something I have to do and waits for me to get my shit together, but knowing he’s there gives me the strength I need to push through.
“Tell me everything you know,” I say, and I’m relieved that it comes out clear and firm.
Grace opens her mouth, closes it, and swallows. “I only know his name,” she says after what feels like forever, but in reality, was probably only a few seconds. “Ian Ross.”
Ian Ross.
The motherfucker who killed my parents. My hands shake, and I ball them into fists to hide the reaction. I run the name through my head over and over, trying to place it, but—nothing.
I glance at Easton, and he gives a slight shake of his head, his brows creased.
“Who is he? Where can we find him?”
And why the fuck did he do it?
Anger seeps through my veins, burning me from the inside out. I step towards Grace, and she instinctively leans back into the couch. Her big, goddamn beautiful eyes stare through me, and I know she sees it.
The battle between ice and fire, numbness and pain.
Guilt, an endless supply of fuel for both.
I can deal with the cold inside me. It numbs the pain and gives me control. But I haven’t even known this girl a day, and somehow, she’s chipping away at the one thing that’s held me together since the day they died.
“I swear I only know his name,” she says softly, and I hate that she’s trying to soothe me.
I lean down until there are only inches separating us.
“And what about you?”
Her breath catches, and her eyes flick to my lips.
“Did you follow them like you followed me? Are you the reason the only two people who ever really loved me aredead?”
Grace flinches at my words, and I can almost taste the venom on my tongue. Her eyes shine with silver, and I feel a sick kind of satisfaction at the sight of her façade crumbling before me. A single tear clings to her lashes, and I want to catch it, savour it as if it will reveal all of her secrets and give me a part of her no one else has.
She doesn’t let it fall, though.
“Sebast—”
“Don’t!” My throat feels tight, and I struggle to swallow past the lump of emotions taking over me.
I don’t want to hear it.
I know my words hurt her—I can see it in her eyes. But it’s the compassion shining through her pain that I can’t stand.
I don’t want her warmth, and I certainly don’t need it.
A hand circles my bicep and squeezes. It’s not like Easton to hold me back—usually, he’s the first one into a fight and the last one out. Shoot first, ask questions later. But I’m sure he can tell I’m two seconds away from breaking. I use his grip on my arm as an anchor and manage to push down the eight months’ worth of pent-up shit trying to escape.
“Don’t. Just… don’t. I think you’ve done enough,” I say, still locked in her stare. Grace swallows hard but doesn’t respond.
Straightening, I step away from her and try to pull myself together, but as I’m about to turn, the tear falls.