I cross my arms. “Fine.”
“I know them from Nantucket. It’s kind of obvious. I thought you would’ve figured it out by now. It’s not a very big island, and the Harrisons are too interesting not to know.”
“Are you friends with them?” I ask in disbelief.
Joey and Lance don’t seem like they can stand to be around Brendan—not that I blame them.
He shrugs. “Not really. I’d get things, just like I do here. Parker would come to me for information—where the parties were. Who to get drugs from. I’d hook him up with alcohol. Introduce him to other connected people. It became more of a partnership than anything.”
“And what did you get out of it?”
“Access. To the scene. To people. And … well, money. I wasn’t doing it out of the kindness of my heart, no matter how noble you think I am.”
“That’s Lance,” I remind him with a smirk.
“Whatever,” he says dismissively.
“Are you still partners?” I ask, exaggerating his word choice. Because if I’m right, he and Parker, and probably one or two others, are the organizers behind The Point parties. Making their partnership much more important to me.
He studies me for a second, his eyes tight. “What does that mean?”
“Off the island. Maybe … in Sherling? You provide tech for his underground clubs?”
Brendan scoffs. “That has nothing to do with you either.”
“But it does,” I insist.
He leans back in the chair, closing his eyes. The worry and exhaustion pulling at his shoulders. I almost feel bad for him. Almost.
“I’m done talking.” He hides behind his lids, shutting me out.
“Why don’t you tell her how you feel?”
“I can’t.” He pinches the bridge of his nose to hold back the emotion, which erupts in the tremble of his chin.
“Why?” I ask gently.
“Because I love her.
Each time I saw you, I craved it. The looks. The touches. The love.
Why are guys so stupid?!
Or anyone who hurts someone yet claims to love them. Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!
Brendan’s words replay in my head. I want to scream in frustration as I stomp through the Court. I walked out right after he said it. I was going to punch him in the face if I stayed for one second longer.
What happened to love never hurts? Obviously, not everyone’s on point with that message. Because the way he claims to love her is exactly why I’ve refused to believe in its validity my entire life!
I’m so furious. My nails are practically breaking through the flesh of my palms; I’m squeezing my fists so tight.
I reach the giant tree in the middle of the Court and collapse onto a swing-hammock thing, grab a pillow and scream into it. And just because I need to, I scream again.
“Lana?”
I pull the pillow away from my face to find Grant standing in front of me. “Are you alright?”
Not who I was expecting.
“I … just …” I stand and chuck the pillow into the hedges. Grant watches it sail past him. “Hate … can’t …” I grunt and kick the tree, which hurts. “Why?!” I howl in pain and frustration.
“Hey.” Grant approaches cautiously, eyeing my still-clenched fists. “It’s okay.”
“But it’s not!” I erupt, tears brimming over my lids. “It’s not okay! None of this is okay!”
Grant gently sets a hand on my shoulder. He carefully reels me to him when I don’t resist. And as soon as I feel his arms around me, I collapse against him, the anger draining from me. That’s when the tears come, and they don’t stop. And then the ugly cries erupt from my throat, and it’s even worse. I bury my face in his shirt as my back convulses. He scoops me up and sits on the swing with me cradled against him.
And he waits. Doesn’t say a word. Only holds me tight, stroking my back as I make a mess of his T-shirt.
Eventually, I breathe again. It takes me a moment to come to terms with the influx of emotions. And that I just smeared them all over Grant’s shirt. But if anyone was meant to witness my volcanic breakdown, it’s him. The one person who will absolve me of my truths, no matter how blubbering.
“What are you doing here?” I mumble, still hidden within his arms, using the cuff of my sweatshirt to wipe my nose.
“Wil … uh … Joey messaged me. Said you needed me.”
I run my hands along my slick cheeks and peer up at him. “He did?”
“Yeah,” he says, offering a small, consoling smile. “Do you? Need me?”
I wrap my arms around his chest and squeeze tight, my ear pressed to his heart. I’m so tired. Of the drama. The not knowing. The secrets. But mostly … of being alone in all of this. Not having someone to confide in. To trust.
I pull away, take a deep breath, and leap off the cliff. “Yes. I need you.”
Grant cups my cheeks and kisses me gently, not fazed by the devastation of tears and snot. “What happened?”
“I don’t even know where to begin,” I admit, resting my head against his shoulder as he gently rocks the swing.
“Wherever you want,” Grant coaxes.
I contemplate how to ease into this and not freak him out … too much. It’s one thing to want someone on my side—that won’t matter if he wants nothing to do with me when he hears what I’m concealing.
I decide to start with what he already kind of knows since the night of the sleepover a couple weeks ago.
“Someone on campus has been messing with me. Leaving cryptic notes and vandalizing my room. It’s why Ashton redecorated it for me. Whoever it is hates me, and I’m not sure why.
“Brendan’s been helping me try to figure it out. But I can’t trust him.” I tip my head back to peer up at him. “I don’t know who to trust. And … I’m hoping that could be you.”
“I’d like that.” Grant’s eyes gleam as he kisses my forehead. “So … why would anyone hate you?” he says this like the thought of it is impossible.
I laugh without humor. “Oh so many reasons. But we think it has to do with my mother.”
“Your mother? I’m already lost.”
I grin and climb off his lap, regretting it as soon as I do. But I need to think this through, and I think better when I’m not under his calming enchantment. I begin to pace and verbally reconstruct the facts as I know them. The messages on the wall. The notes. The pictures. The paternity tests. But I avoid mentioning Vic directly. I’m not ready to introduce him into this trust pact just yet.
I pause and look up from my view of the grass that has now been trodden on from my feet passing over it so many times. Grant is quiet, watching me contemplatively. He sways in the lime-green orb that looks like it should be suspended on a Ferris wheel. Gripping an orange polka-dot pillow to his chest, he’s a picture of rumination.
“Did I lose you?”
“Uh”—he presses his lips together pensively—“let me see if I got this. Your mother was friends with Brendan’s mother when they were teenagers. And dated Wil’s uncle. Who may or may not be your father. But you could be Wil’s cousin or Brendan’s sister, depending on who is your father. And Lily’s father may not actually be her father. She could be Brendan’s and this other guy’s sister instead. How’d I do?”
I raise my brows, impressed. “That’s pretty good.”
“But I don’t understand the pictures and the notes. Why be angry with you? Especially if it involves your mother before you were born? And if they know the truth, why not just say it?”
I blow out air through pursed lips. “Exactly.”
“Why don’t you trust Brendan? From the sounds of it, no one does, except Ashton. What’s his story?”
I shake my head. “I don’t know. He thinks I can help him understand his mother’s death. She died by suicide when he was little. It may have something to do with this too, but I have no way of knowing for certain. He doesn’t share well. And I have no clue why Ashton trusts him. Something happ
ened between them before she came to Blackwood, but he won’t tell me.”
“Do you think Ashton’s involved?”
I twist my face in doubt. “I don’t think so. But she’s important to him, so there may be some sort of connection. Except I can’t see how it could possibly have anything to do with me or my mother.” I sit down next to him, and he drapes an arm around my shoulders. “I promised to answer five questions to help Brendan find answers. And he agreed to do the same. So I could ask him about Ashton, but I don’t think it’ll help me understand why any of this is happening.”
“Can you ask her instead?”
I swallow. “She’s hurting right now.” I bite my lip and hold my breath. “We went to a party at the barn last night, and someone drugged us. I only had half a beer, so I was out of it for a bit and woke up with a killer hangover. But Ashton’s pretty sick.”
“What?!” Grant exclaims, jumping up to stand. “Did they hurt you? Or Ashton?”
I widen my eyes at the visible distress pulsing through him. His cheeks are ruddy and his eyes frantic. I never thought Grant could ever get worked up; he’s always so composed. But he looks like he could potentially hurt someone right now.
“We’re okay,” I assure him, holding out my hand to coax him back to me. He releases a quick breath to fight for calm before taking my hand and sitting beside me again. “I was actually hoping you could check on a guy who’s attending Printz-Lee for the summer. He was hanging out with us and was drugged too. His name’s Sawyer. Not sure of his last name.”
“Yeah, I can check.” Grant melts back against the swing. “Any idea who did it?”
“I … don’t know,” I answer, not sure how to mention the guy in the woods. Or my suspicions of Vic.
He pulls me into a hug, and I release the tension that’s been building since I started recounting the details. “I’m glad you’re okay. I … don’t … I can’t even think about what I’d do if something happened to you.”
My chest fills with heat, and I hold him tighter. I can’t assure him that I’ll be okay, that nothing will happen to me. Not with Vic still out there.
“Um … how did you get on campus?” I ask him, realizing it’s Saturday and Grant is never here on the weekends.
Grant laughs. “Uh, Lance got me in. Said that I was helping him with a paper. Speaking of, are you off phone and tutoring restrictions yet?”
I sit up. “Oh crap.” I think back to where I last saw my phone, hoping no one has done a security check. “I have to find my phone. I’m not supposed to be out here.” I stand, and Grant follows. “I gotta go.” I lean up and wait for Grant to meet me in the middle, kissing him intensely before breaking apart and running off. “I’ll call you tomorrow if I can!” I yell as I disappear through the hedges.
I find my phone in the crevice of the couch in the Quiet Room. It doesn’t look like anyone has checked on me.
I jump and almost drop it when it begins vibrating. With a hand over my frantically beating heart, I place a thumb on the screen, as required, and then slump onto the couch.
A message appears on the screen: Your restrictions have been lifted. However, you are still confined to campus for two more weeks.
Relief washes over me. I never took my room confinement into consideration when I visited Ashton or met with Brendan this morning. Thankfully, it doesn’t matter.
The peace I’m experiencing goes beyond being allowed to leave my room.
I don’t know how or if Grant is coping with everything I dumped on him, but I feel … lighter. The weight of the secrets isn’t pressing on me like before. I can breathe easier. Whenever I’ve confided in someone in the past, I’ve been overcome with regret or panic that I screwed up pretty much as soon as I’ve said it. Waiting to be burned. And I usually am.
But this isn’t the same.
Confessing … trusting Grant feels good. Like I entrusted him with a piece of my vulnerability, believing he’ll keep it safe. And maybe, just maybe, that’s what love is. But I can’t let myself contemplate it too much because then I will start freaking out.
Instead, I run up the stairs and return to Ashton’s room. When I knock, Sophia answers, taking me by surprise.
“Uh, hi,” I say.
She nods imperceptibly and shifts her focus to avoid looking at me when she walks past, her mouth drawn.
I watch her leave before stepping inside. What is she doing here?
Ashton is awake, propped up on her couch with a white fur blanket tucked around her. She looks pale, making the smeared mascara around her blue eyes that much more devastating. She smiles weakly when I enter.
“How are you?” she asks in a rasp.
“Woke up with a headache and felt out of it for a while, but I’m okay. I only had a little to drink last night.” I sit at her feet, pulling them onto my lap. She winces. “Sorry. Where are you hurt?”
“Everywhere.” She shifts uncomfortably. “But I’m afraid to look.”
I grimace. “Do you know how you ended up on the cliff?”
She shakes her head, staring down at the blanket. “I don’t remember anything.” She plucks at the fur strands, unwilling to look at me. “You don’t think Sawyer did this, do you?”
“No,” I answer automatically. Her eyes connect with mine in bewilderment. “He was as bad as you. Grant’s checking on him. I don’t know who did this. I was kind of hoping you did. Do you remember the guy in the woods?”
Her eyes glisten with tears before they shift down again. She shakes her head. “I hate not remembering. Not knowing.” Her hand wraps around the fabric and squeezes in visible anger. “I hate whoever did this.” A tear drops.
“Me too,” I say quietly, trying to soothe her. “Can I get you anything?”
“No,” she whispers, sinking down further like she’s trying to disappear. “I think I’m going to sleep some more.”
“Want me to stay?”
She shakes her head. “I need to be alone right now.”
I stand and walk to the door, hesitating before opening it. “It’s okay to be angry, Ashton. I am. I’m so angry this happened. But … I’m also glad he didn’t hurt you.”
She doesn’t respond, instead rolls over and dissolves into the blanket. I hear her say just as I’m closing the door behind me, “This time.”
I wanted that love for my own. It consumed me. I searched, but found only empty arms.
Ashton stays in her room the next day too. She doesn’t answer when I knock. I try texting and calling—after asking Dr. Kendall to approve Ashton as one of my contacts. Queen Warden was at some spa retreat and probably would’ve approved anyone to get me off the phone with her. I should’ve taken advantage, but my priority was Ashton.
“Have you seen Ashton today?” I ask Sophia when I sit down next to her at dinner. I would ask Brendan, but I can’t stand to look at him right now, forget about talk to him. And I think he knows it because he’s been MIA too.
“No,” Sophia says, shifting her mashed potatoes around on her plate.
“Why were you in her room yesterday?”
She looks up. Her Bambi grey eyes somber. “I was told to check to make sure she was really sick when she called out of work.”
“Oh.” I focus on my food, not knowing what to add now that I know she was basically asked to snitch on Ashton.
“It’s not like that,” she defends, reading my thoughts. “They trust me here. And I don’t want to ruin that. It makes things easier for me. I didn’t tell them that you guys snuck out. I wouldn’t do that.”
“You knew?” I ask in surprise.
“I saw you leave. I even distracted Mrs. Seyer when she started walking toward the kitchen. You weren’t very quiet, climbing out the window.”
I grimace. “Well … thank you … for covering for us.”
“You don’t believe Brendan’s your friend, do you?” She can’t meet my eyes when she says this, but I note the angry quiver of her chin.
“Yeah. I’ve figured
that out,” I tell her, inspecting her closely.
There’s more to this girl who seems to go unnoticed most of the time. I guess that’s the advantage of being overlooked—the ability to observe undetected.
I’m about to ask what he’s done for her to distrust him when she sets down her fork and smooths her skirt nervously. “I hate how he treats her.”
“Who? Ashton?” I clarify, struck by her vehemence. “Why?”
“He thinks he can do whatever he wants because he saved her. Like she owes him something.”
“Saved her?” Now I’m really confused. And Brendan may be a lot of things, but he’s not one to coerce loyalty. Especially from Ashton. He has too much pride for that. “What are you talking about?”
Sophia looks stunned, like she’s staring into oncoming headlights. “Forget it. I gotta go.”
Before I can stop her, she’s scurrying across the dining hall, abandoning her tray of untouched food. Her escape catches the attention of a few eyes, but most of the students are too absorbed in their own drama to notice.
The idea of Brendan saving anyone is unsettling. But what’s more so is that Ashton needed to be saved. Now who’s going to save her from him?
Ashton is still absent from the dining hall the next morning, and she continues to ignore my messages. I’m seriously about to demand Mrs. Seyer check that she’s still alive when she finally makes an appearance at dinner. And she looks … fine. Like, better than fine.
Her hair is styled in gorgeous beach waves, and her previously pallid complexion is concealed behind makeup. She looks like she spent the weekend at the spa retreat with Dr. Kendall.
She sits at her usual seat across from me with a mountain of food on her plate.
I gawk at her.
“What? Do I have something on my face?” She picks up her phone to look at her reflection.
“Where have you been? How are you feeling? Why didn’t you answer any of my million texts?” I demand without taking a breath.
“Oh, sorry,” she says but doesn’t really mean it. “I needed some quiet time. But I’m good.” Her tone is chipper. I actually hate that word, but I don’t know how else to describe it. It’s like she’s hiding behind the mask of a self-absorbed twit.
The Cursed Series, Parts 3 & 4: Now We Know/What They Knew Page 5
