Grey: The Retribution (Spectrum Series Book 3)

by Allison White

  “I’ve always been wise,” he says. “It’s on you for just realizing this now.”

  “Yeah, right.” I brush against his shoulder, and he grins and flops a hand around my shoulder. His touch is quite soothing and makes my thoughts go numb. That is until I see flashing red hair as we pass a couple of girls, checking out some hot lifeguard, and am immediately reminded of a certain girl named after a flower. “No, your wise words are wrong. I am actually horrible, even worse because I can’t nor will I ever stop thinking about him when I should. I should let him go like I did when I unknowingly crushed us. I’m just a stupid, big ol’ crusher of relationships and…stuff.” I take a long, sad lick of my ice cream. As if to emphasize how horrible I am as a person, the world condemns the cream to cover my hands. I groan, and he laughs but stops and coughs when I cut a glare at him. I toss the cone in the garbage can and rush over to one of the shop booths set up along the beach, grabbing a handful of napkins and rushing back to his side.

  “I’m not so sure Freckles didn’t put alcohol in your ice cream,” he jokes.

  “I’m being serious, Mase,” I whine.

  “Okay, stop being so dramatic.” He stops walking, and I follow suit. He faces me with a stern look. “You loved him, you fucked up—I get it. You’re hurt by seeing him with someone else—I get it. But you have got to move on. I’m sorry if I sound blunt and apathetic, but it’s just how I see it. He’s made it clear that you two shouldn’t be together, and it’d be a waste if you stayed this…this depressed over an asshole who didn’t deserve you in the first place. And I also get that it will take you, maybe, a billion years, or ten or however long, for you to get over him. But I want you to get that I won’t go anywhere until you’ve stopped beating yourself up and are happy again.”

  I don’t know what to say. I should take everything he said seriously and heed his words. I should focus on having fun this summer without worrying and looking over my shoulder for the strange couple every second. And I was doing well with moving on until he popped up, that redhead on his arm. You ruined things, Liv. Remember, my subconscious reminds me, and I let out a sigh.

  “You’re right,” I finally breathe.

  “Good, I got some sense in you. Only took me half an hour to drill it in your head,” he says with a crooked smile.

  “Don’t be cocky. It doesn’t suit you.” I scrunch my nose, and he pinches it. I launch into laughter and slap his hand away.

  He opens his mouth, ready to quip back a reply.

  But a ball soaring my way cuts off his speech.

  However, before it can hit me in the face, he catches it. He looks at me with an amused but partially concerned look. I clamp my mouth shut when I realize I’m screaming, and that’s why he looks tickled. Heat creeps around my neck and swirls in my cheeks.

  “Yo, pass it back!” a boy with bright red trunks yells.

  “Try aiming better next time, yeah?” Mason calls back, throwing the ball back.

  “Sorry, ’bout that,” a familiar voice booms out in the same direction of the lame kicker. “I told him to lay off on kicking so hard…Liv?” I turn and find David, of all people, running up to us. His smile and bright cerulean eyes almost blind me as he nears us. He is shirtless, countless tattoos covering his upper-body, glasses perched in his dirty golden hair, blue camouflage trunks hugging his hips. I have to remind myself over and over that I should not be checking him out right now. And neither should Mason…hmmm.

  “David, what are you doing here?” I ask, genuinely surprised. He’s the last person I expected to find here. On this beach. In Miami.

  “Just tossing the ball around before heading back to practice,” he says. Practice for what? He reads my confusion, pinching his eyebrows together as he glances at Mason, then back at me. “For the tournament in August…I swear, I thought Grey told you before…you know.” He clears his throat, suddenly uncomfortable. And so am I, because he can’t finish the sentence, too afraid I’ll choke on tears at the mention of our…“falling out.”

  “Oh.” I sound weak, so I cough and try again. “I mean, he—he didn’t tell me he’d be here for that.” Nice save, me.

  An uncomfortable silence fills the air, though time doesn’t stop. Children still scream their joyous screams, and pelicans cry above our heads. And the guy in the red trunks impatiently yells for David. He glances back, looking as relieved as me, but I hide it better. At least I think I do. I’m pretty sure I look like a fish out of water after a long strip of suffering in silence.

  “Well, it was nice seeing you,” David says, crossing his arms. He’s uneasy, but it is expected. I’m the girl who manipulated and broke his best friend. I would be more than a little anxious around the girl who hurt Mason. I’d be choking her or shoving her into the ocean. Okay, maybe not choking. More like gently strangling. I’m trying to dial back on my newfound violent tendency, ignited from pounding in Diana’s face in six months ago.

  “You too,” I say weakly. There’s no use. I can never properly hide the hurt. “Oh, I’m sorry—this is my friend, Mason. Mason, this is a friend of Grey, David.” I remember my manners and step back as the two nod in acknowledgement to each other and shake each other’s hands. I notice the glint in Mason’s eye but keep my mouth shut.

  “Oh, Holly’s and my engagement party is August first,” he says, then pauses. “I don’t know why I just said that.” He shakes his head, flustered. “You don’t have to—because you and Grey broke—and you—you don’t have to come.”

  “It’s okay, really.” I laugh, and he clutches his hair. “I’d love to attend.” As soon as I say it, I want to take it back, tie it up, and throw it into space. Because it was then that I realized that Grey, of course, will be there. They’re best friends, maybe even more so brothers than anything.

  “Great, Holly will be glad to hear you’ll be there.” He breaks into a charming grin, and I can’t help but smile back.

  “Dude!” Red Shorts yells again. “Come on!”

  “I really have to go, but I’ll see you at the party,” he says, backing up. My eyes widen, and I find myself searching for an excuse not to go. But I said I’d go, and I actually do want to. It’s just—the thought of Grey being there with that redhead on his arm makes me want to throw up.

  “Is it all right if I bring a friend?” I frantically ask, looping my arm through Mason’s. I smile widely and tilt my head awkwardly.

  “What are you doing?” Mason whispers.

  “Go with it,” I whisper back.

  “Of course.” David nods. “August,” he confirms.

  “August,” I repeat.

  Maybe a tragedy can occur within the next month.

  Chapter Six

  The minute we enter the house, I feel like something is off. The air smells like all kinds of scents, like dough and chicken and cherries. It smells fantastic and makes my mouth water. But I can’t place a finger on why it smells this good. The scent wafts into my nose and makes me smile, but I furrow my eyebrows in confusion. Either someone died on Louise’s favorite telenovelas and she needs to cook away the pain, or we’re hosting a buffet/party. As horrible as it sounds, I’m really hoping for the former. I can’t, nor do I wish, to spend my night with my parents’ friends, who basically compete for who has the biggest pearls, the whitest teeth, and so much more. It’s mind-blowing.

  I am almost immediately knocked over two steps inside the house. A worker wearing an apron and flour on her face apologizes profusely but continues bustling toward the kitchen. What in the heck is going on here? Whatever is happening, I’m going to find out. And if it’s some big thing, I plan on grabbing Mason by the hand and dashing out of the house. Mother would only want me there to parade me around for all my achievements. Sometimes I think she only let me come here to do just that, because why else would she want the daughter who would rather hang out with some “delinquent” and let him in between her legs instead of listening to her?

  “I’m gonna go take a quick shower to cool
off,” Mason tells me, throwing his thumb over his shoulder.

  “Okay, I’m going to find out what’s going on.” I watch him jog up the grand marble stairs, then advance toward the kitchen. I inhale deeply, prepping myself to find enough food to feed all the rich tycoons in Miami. But I come into the large kitchen, equipped with stainless steel appliances and granite counters and Louise cooking alongside two other chefs. All have flour patches on their cheeks, or some kind of colored sauce on their aprons. Food—some preparing to enter the gigantic oven—is laid out on one of the kitchen counters.

  “Watch out, child,” Louise warns me, and I step back as she inserts a seasoned chicken into the oven. She bumps it closed using her hip and dusts her hands off on her apron, giving me a confused expression. “What are you doing here?”

  “Am I supposed to be somewhere else?”

  “Yes, upstairs getting ready for tonight’s dinner,” she says, like I’m already supposed to know that.

  “It’s just dinner?” I glance down at my white strapless dress and mumble, “This is all right to eat in, right?” And even then, I still don’t understand why Louise needs two other people to help her cook. It normally takes her and me—when I’m not complaining too much about the heat—an hour at most to cook, and not even a fraction of this buffet she’s making now.

  She looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. “Didn’t your mother tell you about her friends coming over tonight?” I guess my face tells her “heck no,” because she sighs and rambles in Spanish, hands on hips. Then she fans at me and pushes me to the patio that leads to the backyard. “Go talk to her. Go, go, go.”

  “Louise,” I half whine, but she ignores me and shuts the door after I’ve stumbled out. I glare at her through the glass, and she smiles a wicked smile before turning on her heels and storming back into the kitchen, yelling commands in her native tongue. My grandmother isn’t even this demanding, geez.

  I let out a resigned sigh and hop down onto the plush grass. I look around, holding my hand over head in a feeble attempt to block out the sun’s rays. I walk around, wondering what the heck my mother could be doing out here in the sun, where she could possibly be sunburned and look like a hot dog in an eight hundred dollar designer dress. The image brings laughter to my lips, and I look around nervously, as if she could jump out, hearing my thoughts, and reprimand me for wishing a bad look on her.

  “Mother?” I call out, reining in my hilarious but kind of mean thoughts.

  “Over here, darling.” Her faux frilly voice pierces the air, and I follow it to find her bent over a row of dug-out holes in the empty section of her garden.

  “Mother?” I say apprehensively. She usually pays others to do this for her. I’ve never seen her on the ground messing with dirt before, and it kind of scares me. “Are you sick?” It has to be the only reasonable explanation for her messing up her freshly ironed khakis and making her break a sweat.

  She laughs and swivels her head over her shoulder, pinning me with her icy blue eyes; I barely hold back a shiver, freaked out by her accompanied bright red smile. “Of course not, silly.”

  Silly? Okay, she is most definitely sick.

  I open my mouth to ask her if she hit her head when she was getting a pair of gloves to do the dirty task when a familiar voice cuts me off.

  “There’s Livvy.” I pivot and find Noah walking up one of the little slopes in the estate. I smile and quickly take in his attire: a light blue shirt that makes his emerald green eyes look watery yet deep, cargo pants that frame his long, toned legs, and low-cut Converse. He looks like the all-American boy.

  “There’s Noah?” I say, more confused than ever.

  “I do hope that’s not what you’re wearing to dinner later,” he says playfully and gives me a quick once-over, his eyes briefly glossing over before shoving his large hands in his pockets.

  “You’re going to be there?” I say with a little incredulous laugh.

  And then it clicks.

  Even before my mother smiles at him, and even before he nods at me.

  She’s trying to set me up with him over dinner. I expected it, but I thought she’d at least give me enough time to properly get over Grey. The fact that she believes I’ll just forget Grey and fall into this guy’s arms because of his charming smile or her nagging in my ear that I need to “get over the devil boy” still astounds me. It’s going to take me a long while to ever “get over him,” and even then, with him here, it seems impossible. Because I don’t even really want to get over him, but I know I should, for both of our sakes, mine especially, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt all the same…

  “Who would you rather be there if not me?” he asks, slapping his hand to his chest and popping his mouth open.

  I laugh. “If I could choose without any limitations: Beyoncé, Barack Obama—heck, maybe even Barney.”

  He hisses and arches his thick eyebrows. “Mm-mmm, might want to change that last one.”

  “Why?” I scrunch my eyebrows.

  “Dude’s a pedophile.” He shifts his hands to his hips.

  “And you’re a saint?” I scoff. “You stuffed worms down my dress last time I saw you!”

  “One time!” He laughs, and I laugh too.

  “Nice to see you two getting along, weird humor and all,” Mother says, effectively ruining the moment.

  I glare at her and clear my throat. “I’ll let Mason know about dinner.” I begin to walk away, when she scoffs and shakes her head. “What’s the matter?” I ask through gritted teeth. Pestering me to move on from the love of my life is one thing, but disrespecting my best friend is just the shitty whip cream on top.

  “That ‘boy’ isn’t coming to this dinner, darling.” She uses air quotes with her hands, and I feel something snap in me.

  “He is a boy, so there is no need for air quotes, Mother,” I tell her. She hardens her face, as if telling me to “Shut up, your future husband is standing right here!” “And he is too going to be at dinner. I won’t be there if he isn’t.”

  She stands abruptly and rushes over to me, her face strained with a wide smile. “Stop talking like that. He is not going to be there. He’ll only be in the way.” Her voice drops to a whisper. “I am fixing what little you have left of your future. You broke it when you wasted your time with that scoundrel. And having that…that person there will only hinder everything.”

  “That person is my best friend, and he was there for me whenever I needed him,” I tell her in a hiss, backing away. “I will not disrespect him just to appease you, Mother. Actually, that person and I won’t even be here for your ridiculous function.” I turn on my heels and stomp back into the house. I honestly can’t believe her, but then I remember she’s Elena Westerfield, and focusing on my future is more important than being a decent human being.

  “Hey, where are you dramatically storming off to?” Noah asks, grabbing my hand and pulling me into his chest. The action brings up too many memories—good and bad—of a certain boy doing the same thing. I flush bright red and stumble out of his embrace. “Sorry.” He holds up his hands.

  “I just—I need to get out of here,” I tell him breathlessly. “But you can come with…if you want.” I doubt he’d want to spend the night with my mother after being let down by her “bright daughter” once again. She’d probably plan on kidnapping me and sending me to Alaska until I give in to the cold and let her brainwash me again.

  “Depends. Where are we going?” He tilts his head.

  “Hold on.” I hold up a finger and scream up the stairs, “Mason, is there anything going on tonight?”

  “There’s gonna be a carnival or festival—some shit like that—down by the boardwalk,” he informs me as he jogs down the steps.

  “Olivia Westerfield, come back here right now!” We all freeze at my mother’s raging voice bouncing off the wall in the large, empty house.

  “Looks like we have our destination—move it, people!” I fan at them, and Mason laughs as he throws the do
or open and jumps out. Noah bounces his brows, and I chuckle as he grabs my hand and yanks me out of the house. We break out with contagious laughter as we run across the perfectly trimmed and decorated front lawn and hop into Noah’s car: a sleek, silver Porsche that screams money and, well, him.

  “Go, go, go!” Mason shouts.

  ***

  Two hours later, we’re bouncing from booth to booth. Mason has won me two large bears, Noah’s won five consecutive rounds in basketball, and I capture it all on camera. For the first time in a while, I actually feel…light. Well, at least lighter than I did before my mother tried to set me up and cast away my best friend. I haven’t thought of you know who, and I think I can make it without him. I loved him more than I ever thought anyone could love a person, and I still love him to this day. But my pining after him is unhealthy and strange and…and just masochistic.

  “Hey, you guys want to go up on the Ferris wheel?” I ask as I gaze up at the lit-up metal contraption. I’d like to see the city overhead, and it’s the one attraction we haven’t gone on.

  “I have to make a call, but I’ll be up after you,” Mason says, already walking off to the side.

  “Okay, and Noah…” I trail off when I look to my side. He’s being pulled off to the side by some blonde-haired girl, flashing me a bright grin and a thumbs up. “Is otherwise occupied.” I shrug and weave through the lively crowd that seems to swallow me in laughter and chatter. Looking at the over-joyous smiles from children and giggles from couples is contagious, and I find myself beaming at them with a smile of my own. It’s moments like this when I realize the world didn’t just stop when Grey and I split. It kept turning, rotating, and evolving, and it won’t ever stop. Even if I can’t get him out of my head and move on like I should, I can at least enjoy little moments like this, that dangle the idea of a possible, clean future in my reach. And when I’m ready, I’ll be sure to grab hold and latch on.

  The line for the wheel isn’t long since most people are gearing up to leave, so it’s easy to slip to the front and into an empty cart. I let out a content sigh as the wind slips through my loose hair and covers half of my face. I tuck it behind my ear and cross my leg, facing the ocean on my left.