Knowing You_The Cursed Series Part 2

by Rebecca Donovan

  “What’s yours?” I can feel the tension in his arms relax, allowing me to float a little closer.

  “Honesty.”

  “I can see that.” His smile reflects in the low light. “That’s not a bad thing either.”

  “It’s a curse for a reason,” I argue weakly, not really wanting to go into the full explanation.

  “Well, at least I’ll always know you’re telling the truth.”

  “Even when you don’t want to know,” I add as if to warn him, but it only makes him laugh.

  “I’d still want to know.”

  This moment alone with Grant, floating in the water and revealing our truths under the stars is probably the best moment of my entire day. It would make my entire year … if he’d kiss me. And it’s at this inopportune second that my brain decides to kick in. It’s dark. It’s been dark for a while. “Omigod, what time is it?” Panic floods my core.

  “What?”

  “I’m going to be late.” If I’m not already. I push away and kick toward the shoreline. “You don’t know where Lance is, do you?”

  “No,” Grant says following after me. “Why? What time are you supposed to be back?”

  “Ten-thirty.”

  “Oh shit,” he mutters as I scoop up my clothes and rush up the steps. I can’t remember where my jeweled flip-flops are, but at this point, barefoot it is.

  I run across the lawn, Grant right behind me. “Do you need a ride?”

  “Uh, Lily’s supposed to drive us.”

  “She left.”

  “What?!” I’m full out panicking now. I stop in front of a girl I saw speaking with Lance earlier. “Do you know where Lance is?”

  “He went inside with Stefan.”

  I continue into the house.

  “I’ll get you a ride,” Grant hollers to me from the porch as I start calling out for Lance.

  I climb the stairs to the second level of the cabin and begin opening doors. “Lance!” The third door down, I find him … with Stefan … on a bed. I close the door quickly. Never saw that one coming. “Shit.” I hope they didn’t notice. They looked a little too pre-occupied to realize I was there for that second. Thankfully, they were still clothed, well, mostly.

  I rush back down the stairs and out to the front of the house, searching for my bag under the porch.

  “Lana?” I hear Grant call from above.

  “Yeah?” I answer, my hand touching upon the fabric.

  “Uh, are you under the porch?”

  “Getting my bag.” There’s something glowing red inside of it. “Fuck.” I pull out the phone and hold my breath when I answer. Mr. Garner’s face fills the screen.

  “Where are you?”

  “On my way back. I’m so sorry. I’m with Lance, and …”

  “Lance has an overnight pass. You don’t.” Now that makes sense. Wish I knew that … oh, a couple hours ago when Brendan and Ashton left.

  “Sorry. I didn’t know, and lost track of time.”

  “I can cover for you for the next half hour. When I call back, it’s your official curfew check-in. Be in your room.”

  “Thanks, Mr. Garner.” I stuff the phone in my bag. Above me, Grant is standing next to a girl in a cute blue sundress.

  “This is Talia. She was about to leave and can take you back to Blackwood. I’d come with you, but she’s going home.”

  “It’s okay.” I’m really hating that I’m literally running away from him right now. I look to her. “Ready?” She already has her keys out, recognizing the frantic look in my eyes.

  “Let’s go,” she says, striding down the driveway to the Honda Accord parked a few cars down. “Trust me, I know all about missing curfews.”

  “Bye, Lana!” I hear Grant call after me in the distance, but I don’t look back.

  I duck into the passenger seat and collapse against it as she zips the car out of the spot and races down the road, like she’s trying to get me back before the last chime of midnight. Which isn’t far from the truth.

  I hate having a curfew. And running. I really hate running.

  The man’s heart was filled with cunning and deceit. Savagery and death. Thaylina saw that he was not a man at all. Beneath the charming mask hid a cruel and heartless monster. And he intended to take away her power, so she could no longer see the goodness in any heart, forever cursed to only see their lies and betrayal.

  “Go away,” I groan, reaching blindly for my beeping phone.

  I roll onto my back to hold the screen above my face, even though my eyes are still closed, and scan my thumbprint.

  “Meet me in the foyer in fifteen minutes,” Mr. Garner’s voice comes through too loudly.

  I pry open one eye. “Why are you torturing me at seven-thirty in the morning?”

  “You owe me for last night. I’m collecting. Get up. Put on some sort of workout clothes, and meet me downstairs. Otherwise, I’ll send Ms. Seyer up to retrieve you.”

  “You’re not my favorite person right now,” I mutter, hanging up.

  I kick the sheets and comforter off and stretch out with a yawn. To make this day even worse, I have two classes, and I’m not working at the country club—which means I don’t get to see Grant. I hate today.

  Mr. Garner is waiting for me in a pair of baggy, navy basketball shorts and a gray t-shirt that looks like it’s been washed fifty too many times.

  “Um, are you forgetting something?”

  I’m not in the mood for guessing. “What?”

  “The rest of your outfit.” His neck is flushed and he’s having a hard time making eye contact.

  I look down at my spandex booty shorts and sports bra. I don’t have true workout clothes, because I don’t work out. And it’s not like I have cleavage hanging out or anything. This sports bra is practically a cropped tank top. “Stop being a prude, Mr. Garner. You demanded I be awake right now. Get over it.”

  “Let’s go,” he says with a heavy sigh.

  “Where exactly are we going?” I ask when he turns right at the rose trellis—that has a red ribbon tied to it. It’s almost indistinguishable among the blooms of the same color.

  “We’re going to tour the rec center. Figure out a way to keep you from punching people you don’t like.”

  “But how else will they know I don’t like them?”

  He turns his head and gives me a menacing stare, obviously not appreciating my sarcastic honesty.

  We weave through the Court until we reach the building after they guys’ dorm. “You know your way around pretty well,” I note, considering he’s only been here a little over a day.

  “After we met I explored the Court all afternoon. Spent most of it lost, but I eventually figured it out … sort of.”

  The rec center’s entrance is a stone archway with a small pond on one side and a waterfall on the other—oddly tranquil for a gym. But this isn’t just any gym, and that’s evident as soon as we enter. This building’s interior is distinctly different than every other. But I guess it has to be. It houses the same wrap around staircase, but it’s made of what looks like glass, instead of stone. And each floor above is lined with a similarly clear half-wall. It’s ultra-modern, regardless of the stone walls.

  The first thing I’m struck with is the clean, almost floral scent and the sound of trickling water. The entire stone wall next to the Court entrance is slick with water sliding along its surface and dripping into a narrow fountain.

  Mr. Garner waits for me to take it all in for a minute before beckoning. “We have someone scheduled to give us a tour.”

  Behind the French doors that seem to be in every building, is a counter with a couple of women behind it wearing uniforms that reminds me of a hospital or clinic. On the other side of them are closed door labeled: Massage Room 1, Massage Room 2, Chiropractic, and Reiki. Everything is in soothing colors of white and turquoise.

  “Good Morning,” the woman with almond-shaped eyes and striking cheekbones greets us when we walk in. She has a glow about her, like
she was just polished, her tan skin flawless and her smile luminescent. “You must be Lana and Mr. Garner.”

  “Yes,” Mr. Garner replies. “Good morning.”

  “Your tour guide will be right out to show you around. If you’d like to wait in the recovery room, you’re welcome to. It’s across the hall.”

  “Thank you,” Mr. Garner replies. We exit and cross the hall where we find a room filled with couches and ethereal music that might put me back to sleep if we stay in here too long. Containers of water with fresh fruit and berries floating in them are displayed on a table across from us.

  Mr. Garner must read my confused expression, which is the most obvious of the influx of emotions rushing through my head as I try to make sense of this. It’s so completely different than anything I’ve experienced on campus. Too different. “You have to remember that most of these students are very pampered in their regular lives. Their parents expect some semblance of that to follow them at school.”

  “Right, because what else would they be paying for?” I reply with a broken laugh.

  A minute later, a man walks in wearing a fitted sleeveless sports shirt and just as fitted shorts. He resembles stacks of square blocks made up of body parts with his arms jutting out from his shoulders. It doesn’t help that he has a flat-top and square jawline.

  “Hi. I’m Mack.”

  “Seriously?” I laugh. I can’t help myself. He couldn’t be any more of a muscle-head stereotype if he tried, name included.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Ignore her,” Mr. Garner says, stepping forward and offering his hand.

  Mack proceeds to give us a tour, starting downstairs where the pool, locker rooms, and sauna are located. We wind our way up the stairs, level after level. We’re shown the basketball and racquetball courts, the group fitness and spin rooms, the weight and cardio centers, until we reach the top floor where a track is suspended above all of it. The inside of the track is lined with a wall of glass, allowing us to look down upon the open stairwell and the cardio and weight areas below.

  From here, I spot a separate boxing center partitioned off from the weight room that he didn’t bother showing us when we were down there. I can only imagine he thought it would be wasted on us since Mr. Garner is lean, although athletic. But he looks more like a marathoner than a fighter. And, I’m a girl. I guess karma decided to throw my stereotyping back in my face.

  Mr. Garner notices the boxing area too. “Do you offer lessons?”

  “You’re interested in boxing?” Mack asks, not hiding the surprise in his voice.

  “No, I am.” I stare at him, daring him to make a comment about my size. Or my gender.

  But all he says is, “Cool.”

  “You can sign up for lessons or class slots on the tablet outside each room,” he explains, leading us back to the lobby. “Do you want to start today? I don’t have anything booked this morning with the campus being fairly empty right now.”

  “Sure,” I reply, while Mr. Garner says, “I think I’ll stick with the treadmill.”

  Mack doesn’t let me pound the shit out of the heavy bag. He forces me to work, which only makes me want to pound the shit out of him. He has me do a million crunches, toss a medicine ball, jump rope, and do these crazy footwork drills. He said we’d get into hitting next time. That’s if I survive this time.

  “I hate that I don’t hate you,” I tell Mr. Garner when we leave, my body dripping with sweat.

  “Still need to work on your positive emotive expressions,” Mr. Garner teases. “But at least you’re too tired to punch someone, which is kinda the point.”

  “I’m done listening,” I say, walking away. My legs feel like they’re made of rubber. Just the thought of crossing the Court to read the note waiting in the tree makes me want to fall over. But I make myself go, only to find an antagonizing message addressed just to me from Brendan.

  ∞ Get in trouble? ♂

  How did he know? How does he know anything?

  I rip up the note and leave it in the box, removing the ribbon from the swing and sticking it in there as well so Lance and Ashton don’t think they have a note waiting for them too.

  After I shower, I go to Ashton’s room to see how she’s feeling.

  When she answers the door, it’s obvious she feels terrible, with her hair a sad mess on top of her head and the long t-shirt hanging limply off her shoulder. Her liner is smeared around her eyes and she looks pale, despite spending the day in the sun.

  “Are you alive?” I ask cautiously, following her into the room where she crawls under a blanket on her couch.

  “No,” she mutters. “I can’t believe I drank like that.”

  “I didn’t realize you were until you couldn’t stand on your own anymore.”

  “What happened to you? How’d you get back? I told Brendan that you needed a ride, but he said something crude about riding Grant.” She pokes her head out so just her eyes are showing. “What happened with Grant?”

  I scrunch my nose. “Nothing. He wouldn’t even kiss me.”

  “Why the hell not? I would have.” This makes her laugh. “I mean I was probably drunk enough that I would have, to be honest.” I laugh with her.

  “He won’t do anything with a girl if either of them have been drinking.”

  “Holy fuck. Forget about Prince Philip, he’s a fricken saint!”

  “Speaking of, please tell me you and Brendan didn’t …”

  “No,” Ashton assures me. “He’s definitely not saintly, but he would never take advantage. That doesn’t mean we haven’t hooked up while drunk, but not when I was that bad.”

  “Good,” I say, but it still doesn’t feel right. It’s not like I haven’t had my share of drunk-sex with Jensen. Hell, we almost never had sober sex. But just thinking about what Grant said about there being a gray line of consent, especially when alcohol is involved, makes me look back at it differently, wondering if I would have had sex with him all of those times if we, or even I, were sober. The sourness in my stomach intensifies when the voice in my head answers, probably not.

  And that’s just taking sex into account, forget about kissing. I don’t think I have enough fingers to count the number of drunk make-out sessions I had at parties or in the dark corners of bars.

  “Maybe he’s too good for me,” I say with a sigh. “I’m more demon than saint.”

  “I prefer angry pixie,” Ashton giggles. “Besides, what guy doesn’t like a girl who bites a little.”

  “Are you still drunk?” I ask, laughing at her.

  “Probably.”

  “Want me to bring you back something to eat?”

  “No thanks. I have stuff. I think I’ll go back to sleep until my class this afternoon.”

  Before I leave, I say to her, “We should make a promise to watch out for each other.”

  Ashton folds the blanket back from her face. “What do you mean?”

  “When we go to parties, or anywhere, really … that we make sure the other is safe or doesn’t drink too much. I wouldn’t want someone hurting you, or you know, you doing something you didn’t want to because you’re high or drunk.”

  Ashton smiles softly. “You’d do that? Promise to protect me?”

  “Of course. And I never break my promises, ever.”

  She smiles bigger, her eyes shimmering. “I promise to protect you too.”

  “I’d totally hug you right now, but you stink,” I say, making her laugh.

  When I shut the door, I have to swallow hard against the lump in my throat. But it doesn’t keep the tear from escaping. I know I’m not being emotional just because I recognize how much I care for Ashton. It’s also guilt for not being able to protect Allie from Vic. And sadness that we need protecting at all.

  I have two classes on Tuesdays and Thursdays. American government in the morning and French right before dinner. This means, I’m not scheduled at the country club on Tuesdays and Thursdays. I’ve never been so disappointed about not being a
ble to work.

  When I do return on Wednesday, Ashton and I are assigned the bev cart again. I can’t stop smiling. I’m not even trying to fight it.

  Kaely is in the locker room when we walk in.

  “Where were you Monday?” I ask, realizing she wasn’t at Stefan’s even though she was so excited to go when I last saw her.

  “Had to help my mom with something,” she says with a huff. But her signature sweet smile is quick to return. “But I’ll see you on Friday for—”

  “Work,” Ashton interjects. “Yeah, we know. We’re all working at The Deck together.” Ashton flashes her a tight smile with enlarged eyes.

  “Oh, right,” Kealy says, her cheeks pink. “I forgot that you knew that.”

  They’re acting weird.

  “What was that about?” I ask Ashton after Kaely leaves us to go to The Grille.

  “Nothing,” Ashton says dismissively. She’s lying. She knows that I know she’s lying. But it doesn’t matter right now because Grant just came out the door carrying bags of ice. Rhett too, but I don’t care about him.

  Grant smiles when he sees me, or us, but I’m convincing myself the smile is just for me. I am so ridiculous right now.

  “I didn’t know you gave swimming lessons,” Ashton says, making my eyes widen and heat creep up my cheeks.

  “What?” Grant asks, glancing between us.

  “Oh, I must have heard wrong,” she replies with a knowing smile. Grant looks to me and I can only shrug awkwardly. I’m going to push her off the moving golf cart.

  “See you at the ninth,” he says as I take a seat. I wave.

  When we’re far enough away, Ashton starts laughing hysterically as I hide my face in my hands. “You just waved goodbye. You didn’t say a single word to him the entire time. You just waved.”

  “I may never tell you anything again,” I sulk. “I can’t believe you said that.”

  “It was funny.” She’s still laughing when we get to our first set of golfers. I can’t fake being upset. I mean, it was funny. And I was pathetic.

  I waved at him.

  By the time we get to the ninth hole shack, my shirt is pasted to me and loose strands of hair are stuck to my cheeks. It is so disgustingly hot out, I think my knees are even sweating.