“Say it,” he forced out, as I neared the point where I couldn’t hold on any longer. I didn’t answer, because I had no idea what he was talking about. “Say it,” he repeated, his voice a little more desperate. “Tell me you love me.”
“I love you,” I cried out, as I finally exploded, my body arching up against the hand that held me to him.
He groaned, following me over the edge, holding himself in me until he was finished, and then both of us collapsed against the desk, our breathing laboured. My body felt abused, but my soul felt cleansed, somehow. There was bliss spreading through me, and a momentary feeling of peace descending over me, coupled with exhaustion.
“Come here,” he muttered, pulling me into his arms.
He pulled his pants back up with one hand, while kicking the chair out from beneath the desk as he gathered me up. He slumped into it, settling me over his lap, and I curled there in a ball as he ran a soothing hand over my hair and down my neck.
“Are you okay?” he whispered, the words carrying more weight than I liked. He was making it seem wrong—what we had done, or the way we had done it.
I snuggled closer to him, wrapping my arms around his neck, holding on.
“Say it,” I ordered, my voice soft, but unwavering.
“I love you.” He found my lips, pressing a kiss there, and then another to my forehead, his hand still stroking over me in a soothing way. “I think I’m going to love you for a really long fucking time.”
26
Changing Colours
It was several hours later when my phone beeped, rousing me from sleep. I had dosed off in Nicholai’s lap, the dawn haze filtering down to us from the top of the lighthouse. He was asleep, his head hanging off the back of the chair, his arms limp by his sides. I slowly got off his lap, careful not to rouse him, and picked up my dress, pulling it back over my head. I shoved my underwear back into my tote. There was no way I was putting that back on again.
My phone beeped again and I pulled it out, switching on the screen.
Where did you disappear to?
The text was from Aaron.
Fuck.
Fuck.
I pulled my hair back into a ponytail and paused, glancing back over to the chair.
“Nic.” I spoke into the silence, shattering the foggy peace that had settled into the lighthouse while we slept, surprising myself with the nickname that I had used.
He didn’t budge, so I repeated the word, louder.
His eyes flickered open, and he twisted around in the chair, finding me by the door. He blinked several times, and then quickly stood, walking toward me. I held a hand out and he stopped, his expression quickly falling blank, his eyes darkening. He was guarded, suddenly, and it hurt me that I had caused him to retreat so abruptly.
“Wait,” I said. “Just ... wait. I need to go and break up with my boyfriend.”
His eyes moved to the phone in my hand. “Dad never mentioned a boyfriend.” His voice was gravelly with sleep and confusion, underlined with a hint of anger.
“Just give me the day, okay?” I asked. “I’ve been meaning to do it for a while. I kept forgetting.”
“Forgetting?”
“Yeah.”
“You kept forgetting to break up with him?” he asked, apparently confused.
“I kept forgetting that I have a boyfriend at all.”
He shook his head, and that almost-smile was back, the slightest curve at the corners of his mouth where he was trying to hold back the amusement.
“And then what?” he asked me.
“What do you mean?” My stomach was starting to flip nervously.
“After you break up with the boyfriend you keep forgetting you have. What then?” He took a step forward, the guarded expression falling away.
He was all heat now, his eyes skipping over my dress as though reimagining how it had felt to slip his hands beneath it. I swallowed, my body reacting instantly. I wanted him again, but not here, in the place where we had fucked the memory of trauma right out of each other. I wanted him where we didn’t have to hide, where we didn’t have to cling to each other as though the other person would dissolve into smoke and slip away if we didn’t hold on tight enough.
“Then I guess ...” I shrugged, and his eyes flashed. He took another step closer. I tried again. “Then you’re going to come home for a few months.”
“Just a few months?” he asked, his brows arching.
“Until I find out if I got accepted into Stanford or not,” I replied.
He pulled in a deep breath, closing his eyes. When he opened them again, I could tell that he was seconds away from dragging me back to the desk. I had made him … happy.
“I’ve given up trying to stay away from you, Mika. You don’t need my help anymore and there’s absolutely nothing holding me back. So go and break up with your fucking boyfriend. You have the day, but then that’s it. After that, you’re mine.”
I only nodded in reply, pulling the door open and stepping outside before I lost all self-control. I needed to do the right thing first. I escaped the lighthouse with my heart pounding. The dawn was only just beginning to break as I started running up toward the houses along the bluff. I had never stayed out so late before. Spencer was going to be upset. I had gone to parties before, and I occasionally stayed at Jean and Marcus’s house, but I’d never gone out drinking and disappeared all night without so much as a phone call.
The closer I got to the house, the more my euphoria over Nicholai started to ebb, making way for my worry over Spencer. I reached the back gate and unlocked it with my key, bursting inside just as morning sunlight began to pierce the sky. I unlocked the sliding doors next, walking through the family room and taking the stairs two at a time. I half expected him to be in the kitchen making coffee, but it was still a little early for that—even by his standards.
“Up here,” he called, his voice floating down from the attic.
Of course.
I almost rolled my eyes, but I was too worried. Had he slept at all?
I rushed up the stairs, bursting into the small, circular room. “I’m so sorry ...”
He was sitting in his leather recliner, his sock-covered feet propped up on the footrest. The room was mostly bare, except for the shelves set beneath the windows, holding rows and rows of photo albums, photo frames with smiling occupants, and other small items that Spencer had collected. The tiny compass that I had given him for Christmas was sitting beside a framed photo of the two of us at the restaurant: I had been mixing drinks and trying to force him to add them to the menu.
The only items of actual furniture in the room were a small desk looking back out over the town, and two leather recliners, bridged by a small side table.
“I made coffee.” He nudged the piece of paper he was reading toward the tray on the table.
I dropped my tote on the ground and curled up on the chair, pouring coffee into one of the mugs. I was in desperate need of a shower and a change of clothes, but I couldn’t leave him yet.
“Have you slept?” I asked him gently.
He shook out the paper and then folded it, setting it aside with a sigh. “When you first came here, you walked around like a zombie. You’d go into these horrible spins, and I’d watch you shut down—like a light went off in your eyes. It was painful. I had to implement so many rules about how you lived, how you trained. It’s hard to sleep knowing that you’re out there in an environment I can’t control. I can’t keep you safe. I mean ... look at you.”
He motioned to me, but I quickly captured his hand, putting my coffee cup down.
“Normally I would never have stayed out all night without saying anything. I’m really sorry, Spence. Really. I was with Nic, and ... I just fell asleep. I’m sorry.”
He blinked, his mouth dropping open for a moment. “You were with ... Nic?”
I nodded.
“Does Ethan know that you were with Nic?”
“You mean Aaron?”
&n
bsp; “Seth. Whatever. Does he know?”
“Shit.” I closed my eyes, pulling my hands back and reaching for my tote. “Forgot to break up with him again. Was going to do it on the run home, but then I just started getting so worried about you ...”
I trailed off, because Spencer was laughing at me, his head thrown back. I scrunched up my nose at him and dropped my phone again, reaching for my coffee instead.
“I was up for another reason, too,” he told me, reaching for the paper that he had set aside.
He set it down in my lap, and I stared at it, the cup almost dropping from my hands.
Dear Mika,
Congratulations! On behalf of the Office of Undergraduate Admission, it is my pleasure to offer you admission to …
I didn’t even finish reading. I squealed, jumping up and setting the cup aside. “Oh my god!”
He laughed, standing and pulling me into a hug that I was too restless to remain in. I broke out of it, jumping up and down on the spot, a smile completely overtaking my face, laughter spilling out of me.
“Go and shower,” he said, smiling as he shuffled to the door. “We might as well have breakfast now. No point in waiting.”
“Pancakes?” I called after him.
“Pancakes!” he called back.
I stood at the window for a moment, my heart overflowing with happiness ... until I remembered Aaron. I sank back down into my chair, grabbing my phone again and dialling his number.
“Grey?” he answered on the fourth ring, sounding half-asleep. “You forgot about me again, didn’t you?”
“I’m sorry, Aaron, I should have told you before I left the party, I just didn’t want to be there anymore.”
“I think you just don’t want a boyfriend anymore.”
I was silent for too long, trying to figure out how to let him down gently.
He laughed a little, but it was a sad sound. “I never really had you anyway. You were just passing the time, right?”
“Right.” I sounded uncertain. “I’m really sorry, Aaron.”
“You don’t have to keep apologising. I’m breaking up with you.”
“You are?” I fought to keep the relief out of my voice, but the surprise broke through anyway.
“Well, yeah,” he laughed again, and this time it sounded more genuine. “I mean, I kinda have to, before you break up with me. That’d be my reputation down the drain.”
“I’ll tell everyone you broke my heart,” I promised.
“You’re a cool chick, Grey. I’m glad you chose me to show that to.”
“Thanks for being a good friend to me.”
“Anytime.”
He hung up, and I stared at my phone, wondering if I had hurt him or not, before the letter on the shelf caught my attention again. It barely even mattered anymore. Aaron would go off to college and find someone who actually wanted to be with him, who didn’t forget about him all the time and treat him as horribly as I treated him.
I stood, taking my acceptance letter with me as I went down to my room. I showered quickly, dressed in shorts and a tank, and then helped Spencer carry all the breakfast things up to the attic, where we settled in to eat pancakes and watch as the sunlight crept across the sky, slowly setting the expanse of ocean before us on fire.
After breakfast, I laced up my shoes, said goodbye to Spencer, and headed out for my run. I ran down to the lighthouse, along the tourist path that followed the main beach, and then I curved into town. I was supposed to follow the strip back to the lighthouse, but I paused a block down and headed in toward the town centre instead.
It was longer than my usual run, and I would probably get a lecture from Spencer about pushing myself too hard, but there was something I needed to do. I made my way to the main bookstore, pausing for a few moments outside to catch my breath and dry some of the sweat, before I made my way inside.
“Hi.” I greeted the woman behind the counter. “I’m looking for a book: Changing Colours?”
She lit up, as though I had asked for something special. “Will you be at the reading tonight, love?” She reached to a small stack beside her desk, scanned the book, and set it on the counter before me.
I blinked. “Uh, I’m sorry.” I had no idea what she was talking about. Maybe she thought I was someone else.
“The reading—by Nicholai Fell.” She tapped the book cover.
I fumbled to pull out the little wallet from my running shorts, extracting a bill and handing it over.
“What time is it?” I asked her.
“Six,” she replied with a smile. “It’ll run for an hour, and there’ll be time afterwards for you to get your book signed!”
“Thanks,” I muttered. “Can I please have a bag?”
She handed one over, and I slipped the book inside, heading back out into the sun. I ran back to the house with the book thumping against my leg, and then I immediately forgot about it with the new information I had been given. I grabbed my cell from the bedside table and called Jean.
“Hey,” she answered almost immediately. “Are you and Nicholai married yet?”
I choked on my own greeting, but quickly recovered. “Hey to you too. We have somewhere to go tonight.”
“Oh? We do? That’s exciting. Where are we going?”
“To a bookstore.”
“I’m no longer excited,” she said flatly.
“Jean.” Her name was a laughing chastisement. “Nicholai will be there. Doing a reading. For his new book. That he wrote.”
“Okay, fine, we’re going to a bookstore tonight. Can Marcus come?”
“Sure.”
“We’ll pick you up in an hour.”
“You don’t need to,” I objected, staring down at my sweat-soaked clothes. “It’s at six.”
“We’ll pick you up in an hour,” she repeated.
“Fine.” I laughed again, hanging up.
I took my time showering, and was outside an hour later to wait for them. The yellow sedan pulled up, Marcus in the driver’s seat, a pair of sunglasses shielding his eyes. Jean was in the passenger seat, waving me over.
“Where are we going?” I asked, jumping in the back.
“Anywhere,” Jean answered, spinning around in her seat to face me. “We’re celebrating.”
“What are you celebrating?” I asked, leaning forward.
“Duke finally got locked-up. They said it would probably only be for a year or so.”
Guilt and satisfaction surged through me, warring against each other. “Why would you celebrate that? He’s still your brother.”
“Smith was getting too attached,” Marcus answered, sounding grim. “All he wanted to do was hang out with Duke, and do whatever Duke was doing. I used to go along mostly just to supervise, so that he wouldn’t get Smith into any bad situations. Smith was actually talking about leaving home to go live with Duke. It was making mom crazy, but now it’s impossible.”
“Well that’s good.” Some of my guilt eased away, and I turned to the window, biting down on my lip to curb the smile that wanted to break free.
We spent most of the day at the beach, surfacing for a few hours to eat at Spencer’s restaurant, and then we headed into town at six. All of the parking spaces at the bookstore were full, so we wasted another fifteen minutes parking down the street. I sat in the car as the others jumped out, my feet jiggling against the floor, my hands unwilling to reach for the handle.
What if he had changed his mind?
What if I had taken too long?
What if he had disappeared again?
“Grey?” Jean tapped on the window. “Should we go in without you? Say that you hated his book? Or worse, tell him that you haven’t even read it?”
I opened the door quickly, jumping out. “Shh! He might hear you.”
Marcus laughed, draping an arm around my shoulder. “Paranoid Grey is fun, but we should probably get inside before this whole thing is over.”
“Okay,” I mumbled, allowing him to steer me down th
e street and into the bookstore.
Nicholai was already surrounded by a group of people, and he didn’t look up as we entered. He was sitting on a stool, reading something from the back of the book.
“There’s something you all should know about the colour grey. It’s a chameleon colour, always shifting to blend with the absolutes of the world. The good and the bad. The little white lies and the printed, black subtext. You can’t change grey. You can’t even grasp it. It’s like smoke, filtering through your fingers, hiding in its own little grey-area. You can’t speak to it, because it draws breath from our unspoken words. It’s the simple truth that we all ignore. The simple truth that we all like to hate, because nobody likes to face reality. It’s fragile and brilliant. Unassuming and simple. It’s the most beautiful colour in the world.”
My legs were shaking too much to stand, so I quickly slipped into one of the seats behind the gathering of people, my face falling into my hands. It was hard to draw breath and my vision felt hazy. Nicholai was answering questions, engaging with the people who had come to speak to him. It was obvious, even though I only paid attention to half of the questions, that they cared deeply about what he had written. Some of them told stories of their own, and he thanked them for sharing their history with him, the same way they had allowed him to share his story with them.
Was it really his story, though?
Or was it mine?
I was standing up before I even realised what was happening, my hand shooting into the air.
“Yes—” he started, glancing toward me, before cutting himself off.
“What inspired you to write this book?” I asked, feeling Jean and Marcus both staring at me in shock.
Why did you write this book? The real question hung between us.
“I was inspired by a girl I knew. The book isn’t about her, but I know that she struggled with the same issues, and I watched her fight those issues with more strength than I’ll ever be able to write into a book.”
I Am Grey Page 27
