“It doesn’t make sense for anyone to hate you,” Grant counters, giving me a peck on my temple. His faith in me is unwavering—although blind. It’s adorable. “Then … let’s start with Brendan.”
According to Grant’s chart, almost every line connects to either Brendan or Niall. The two people I’ve been told I can trust are the people with the most secrets.
After dissecting everything we do know, Grant and I are somehow able to whittle down the thousand things we don’t know to come up with five questions. Now, I wait for Brendan to make one of his invasive, creepy appearances, so I can ask them.
I go through the entire next day without seeing Brendan once. I’m not sure if I’m annoyed or relieved by the time I go to bed. Grant’s concerned, afraid Brendan’s up to something.
“But that’s just Brendan,” I try to reassure him while stealing a few minutes with him before his tutoring session. “He’s always up to something. He’ll do one of his stalker moves eventually.”
That doesn’t ease Grant’s worry.
I’m woken by popcorn bouncing off my head in the middle of the night.
“What the hell?” I holler, sitting up abruptly, my heart pounding. I find Brendan leisurely sprawled on my couch. “How did you get in here?”
“Keep your voice down,” Brendan scolds me. “I was going to knock, but your neighbor’s door was open, so I snuck in through the bathroom.”
“What are you talking about?” I pull the covers up over my chest, feeling way too vulnerable, being woken to Brendan making himself at home in my room at … I glance at the clock … three o’clock in the morning.
“I think I’ve figured out how the psycho’s been getting in. They taped the room next door’s latch open. And you haven’t been locking the bathroom door that connects the rooms, so … that’s how they get in.”
“You just happened to try the neighbor’s door?” I accuse, not buying it.
“It wasn’t closed all the way. I guess they weren’t careful when they snuck in today. Did you get another message?”
They were in here today? I sit up straighter, scanning the room for anything out of place. “No.”
“Not that you’ve found anyway,” he says with a conspiratorial slant of a brow.
“Why are you here? It’s the middle of the fricken night. You couldn’t have found me during the day?” I question, beyond irritated … and tired.
“I want to be sure we’re not overheard. Had to take some precautionary measures.”
I click the bedside lamp on. “What the hell does that mean?”
“Don’t worry about it.” He pats the cushion next to him on the couch. “Time to talk.”
I slip out of bed, grabbing the hoodie off the back of my desk chair, and yawn. “Whatever. Let’s get this over with.”
It’s obvious he strategically chose now, convinced I’d be too tired to ask the right questions. Good thing Grant is the most prepared person in existence.
“You first,” he proposes. I sit on the end of the couch to avoid touching him. “Ask away.”
I chase the weariness from my head with a deep inhale and draw my first question to the surface of my sleepy brain. “How do you know Kaden Harrison?”
I’ve caught him off guard. I can see it in his forced closed-mouth smile. “I’ve always known him. He and my mother were friends. I called him Uncle Kaden, growing up, when he visited the island. They were close, and so now, we are too. Spent last summer with him in London.”
His answer corroborates what we discovered in his room, but it doesn’t reveal anything useful. Like if Kaden’s his father. Or if his mother came between him and my mother. I press my lips together to restrain myself from asking more, not wanting to waste a question that’s not on our list. “Your turn.”
“I’m going to ask you a question that you don’t know the answer to. But I want you to find out.”
I tilt my head. “Why would I do that?”
“Because I’m not answering another of your questions until you do.”
My mouth rounds in disbelief. “Are you kidding?”
“No. I told you I need answers and that you’d be able to get them. So that’s what I need you to do.”
I roll my eyes, exasperated. “What’s the question?”
“What happened between our mothers? Why did they stop being friends?”
“And what? I’m just supposed to ask my mother randomly about a friend from eighteen years ago she never told me about?”
“Show her this.” Brendan holds up the picture of them on the sailboat. “Tell her you met Maggie’s son and that he had this picture. Go from there. Pay attention to how she reacts, even more than what she says.”
“I know how to question my own mother, thank you very much.” I snatch the picture from between his fingers. “That’s it then?”
“For now,” he answers smoothly.
“Then get out,” I demand, standing with my arms crossed. “And don’t come back—ever.”
He flashes an obnoxious smirk. “You can’t stay mad at me forever. I’m your brother. We need to look out for each other.”
I shoot daggers at him, currently feeling stubborn enough to hold this grudge an entire lifetime. “You don’t know that. Lily could be your sister.” But in my gut, I know she’s not.
“We have a connection, you and me. I’ve come to terms with it. It’s time you do too.”
I grumble incoherently and then repeat, “Get out.”
Brendan slips out silently. As soon as he leaves, I secure the dead bolt on the bathroom and double-check my door.
When I turn, I search the room again. “What were you doing in here?” I ask the psycho.
Then I see it. One of the frames on the bookshelf. The picture of me and my mother. Our eyes are scratched out. I shiver. So disturbing. I’m starting to wonder if the psycho could actually be dangerous.
When I remove the photo from the frame, there’s a loving message written on the back in big black letters.
I shove the picture in my desk drawer and collapse on my bed, flinging an arm across my eyes. The message isn’t very original, but it’s the anger that bothers me most. This chick, or maybe dude, really doesn’t like me, which is the understatement of the century. Except this time, it’s directed at both me and my mother. And now I know exactly what this is all about.
To make you hurt the way you hurt him. You cut out his heart and left him to die.
Why do you think he wants to know?” Grant asks when I tell him about Brendan’s question … after he finished going off about Brendan’s lack of respect and boundaries. He knows I wouldn’t hesitate to defend myself, but he wasn’t happy to hear Brendan had snuck in at three in the morning. Maybe I shouldn’t have told him. But truth always finds Grant, slipping out much too freely. “Do you think he blames your mother for his mother’s death?”
“That’s if she’s dead,” I counter, pulling my legs up and draping them across Grant’s lap.
We’re hidden away in a swing-hammock thing suspended from a branch of the majestic tree in the middle of the Court.
“I ran a search on her last night,” Grant admits. I sit up straighter. “I found her obituary. She didn’t die when he was four. She took her life a couple years ago, when Brendan was fourteen.”
“Why is he lying about everything?!” I restrain the scream bubbling up in the back of my throat.
Grant rubs my bare leg in attempt to calm me.
“We won’t know until you talk to your mom. And this isn’t about helping him, not really. It’s about you.”
I sigh. The last thing I want is to upset my mother after not seeing her for a month. Especially since she’s finally starting to feel better. But I’ve always treated her like she’s this fragile flower. I’ve had to tread lightly around her my entire life, always afraid of crushing her. Maybe it’s time to treat her like the adult she’s supposed to be.
“It’s a good thing you’re coming with me.”
> This catches Grant off guard. “I am?”
“You are. You can’t make me sit through this dinner without you. Besides, if I’m meeting your parents, then you should meet my mom.”
“Alright,” he answers, but he still looks unsure. “Who else will be there?”
“I don’t know. Probably all the Harrisons since Niall and Olivia are driving up too. And Lily, well, because she’s living there for the summer.”
Grant pales.
“Are you … nervous?” I tease, grabbing his waist playfully.
He jumps, taking hold of my hands to restrain them. His pallor hasn’t improved.
He really is nervous, which is adorable and concerning at the same time.
“Are you worried about meeting my mother?”
He shakes his head. “I want to meet her.”
Then it hits me. “It’s Lily. You’re weirded out about her seeing us together.”
“Not exactly.” His grimace lets me know this has everything to do with Lily.
“Did something happen?” I ask, studying his guilt-ridden face.
“I’m still … avoiding her. I’ve been ignoring her calls and texts for the past week. Her last message was … pretty angry.”
“Grant! You can’t blow her off!” I exclaim. “That’s cruel. You know she doesn’t deserve that. And she’ll probably blame me, thinking I told you to stop talking to her.”
“No, she won’t,” he replies without much conviction. “Okay. Maybe she will. But I don’t know what to say to her. Especially when whatever’s going on involves her and her parents too.”
“What do you usually talk about? I mean, I don’t really want to know what you talk to your ex about. But just … talk about … that stuff. Whatever it is.”
Grant chuckles. “Alright. I’ll call her back today.” He squeezes me against him. “So what time should I be there?”
“Niall texted me this morning. He’s going to pick me up around two, so Mom and I can spend the afternoon together. So … meet us at the lake house around six?”
“I can do that. Text me if you need me before then.”
“Thank you.” I rest my head on his chest and hug him tight.
Grant kisses the top of my head. I fight the urge to sigh like a gushy girl.
“What do I have to do to get on your approved chaperones list when you’re finally free to leave campus? I want to spend time with you before school starts.”
“We can talk to Niall about it this weekend.” I thread my fingers with his and allow the warmth of his touch to spread through me. “We should probably do it before we interrogate him. But I don’t think it’ll be an issue. He already said he approves of you.”
“He did?” Grant sounds genuinely surprised. I have no idea why because he’s exactly the kind of guy girls take home to meet their parents.
“Yeah. He even said that he hopes you’re more of an influence on me than I am on you.” I roll my eyes while repeating Niall’s words.
Grant’s laughter rumbles in his chest, reverberating in my ear. “I don’t think you’re a bad influence.”
I push upright and crawl across his lap to straddle him, making the swing rock and the branches rustle. “Are you sure?”
I give him a seductive grin—or at least, I hope it is. Grant grips my hips as I lower my lips to his.
His hands are fire on my skin as he slides them up the back of my shirt, kissing me deeply. The swing begins to sway more, the chains squeaking.
Grant extricates himself to say something, but the words are lost along with the gleam in his eyes. His attention is fixated on something or someone behind me. I release my grip of his blond strands, prepared to tell Brendan off for being a perv. But it isn’t Brendan.
“Sophia.”
I plop my butt next to Grant, dragging my leg across his lap, and nearly knee him in the face. Leaves sprinkle down from the bouncing force. Tugging my twisted shirt straight, I swipe damp remnants of his kiss from my lips.
“What’s going on?” I smile, trying to appear casual, like we weren’t just groping each other ten seconds ago.
Grant is still; the only movement is his eyes, bouncing between me and Sophia.
Sophia is … horrified.
So, apparently, she had no idea that Grant and I were … fine, I’ll say it … together.
She backs away, covering her mouth like she’s about to vomit or cry. Maybe both.
“Wait!” I call to her when she begins to run. I try to go after her, but my foot gets snagged on the edge of the swing, and I fall to the ground, my leg caught on something above me.
Grant leans over. “Are you okay?” He gently untethers my foot as I gaze wide-eyed at him from my sprawled position on the ground. He fights a smile, unsuccessfully.
I exhale deeply. “I really need to talk to her. But she’s probably never going to talk to me now.” I narrow my eyes at him. “Why are you smiling?”
“Because you’re adorable.” Instead of helping me off the ground, Grant abandons the swing to join me, lying on his side, propped up on his elbow. “You didn’t do anything wrong.” Before I can argue, he kisses me and doesn’t stop until we have grass stains in places that are going to be difficult to explain.
Reluctantly, we regain some semblance of control before we give Brendan a show—or more of one anyway. Oh, he better not be watching this.
“So, the strangest thing happened today,” Grant says, sitting with his back against the tree and me between his legs, facing him, our legs intertwined like we’re playing an intimate game of Twister. “And it may explain Sophia’s reaction when she saw us.”
My stomach drops, and I’m already conjuring a story in my head.
“Uh, Sophia may have asked me to the Ever After Ball this afternoon at the Club.”
I cringe. Not far off. I had a feeling she had done something, especially since I’d encouraged her to a few weeks ago.
“What did you say?” I ask carefully.
Grant’s brows pull together in disbelief. “Lana? Really?”
“I mean, I’ve known she’s had the biggest crush on you, and … I feel terrible because I may have encouraged her.” I scrunch my face in apology.
Now Grant is really confused, and from the color on his cheeks, he’s a little annoyed too. “Why would you do that?”
“It was a few weeks ago, when I was freaking out. She asked me if I thought you’d go with her, and … well … I was being stupid and told her it was worth a try.” I lower my eyes to avoid his you-did-what look. “So what happened?”
“I told her I was going with someone else.”
Now I’m confused. “You are?”
Grant laughs, like I must be joking. “I mean, I’m hoping you’ll ask me.”
I scoff lightheartedly. “Oh, you want me to ask you. Presumptuous.”
“You’re the one attending Blackwood, so … yeah.” He pauses when my words sink in. “Wait. You’re going to, right?”
I shrug. Grant’s cheeks redden even more. Until he notices the tiny grin I can’t hide. He grabs me by the waist and rolls me onto my back. I let out a squeal as he pins my hands above my head.
“How are you going to ask me?” Grant kisses a ticklish spot on my neck, making me shriek and buck beneath him.
“What do you mean?” I ask breathlessly when he finally relents.
He lifts his head to study me. “You’ve never been asked to a dance before?”
I shake my head. “Never.”
“Oh.” He considers this for a moment, releasing my hands, but not removing his body from atop mine. “So Blackwood has a dance every month. And three are formal ones—at the beginning of the school year, in the winter and another in the spring. They’re a big deal. Like prom or homecoming in public schools. So the person asking usually does it in some sort of grand gesture.”
I’m afraid to ask because I know it will only add to my guilt. “How did Sophia ask?”
Grant pushes off me and sits back ag
ainst the tree. I roll on my side and wait for an answer. His entire face is completely red with embarrassment.
I bite my lip, bracing myself. “Please tell me.”
He looks down at the ground, plucking at the grass. “She had a bunch of kids in the pool hold up beach balls with a letter on them to read Ever After Ball?, and a couple guys lifted her up out of the water. She was wearing some sort of mermaid outfit and had a fork in her hand. I guess from the—”
“Little Mermaid,” I finish quietly. My mouth drops open. “She did this in front of everyone? At the pool?”
Grant peers sheepishly through his lashes and nods.
“Oh no,” I gasp.
Now her mortified reaction makes even more sense.
“Yeah,” he sighs. “It was sweet. But …”
“I’m an idiot,” I blurt out.
“I hope you mean that in a good way?” He examines me, a brow raised.
I stand and begin pacing, except I don’t realize I’m pacing until Grant intercepts me, his hands on my shoulders.
I stare blindly into cloudless eyes.
“Talk to me,” he implores.
“I killed her dreams. I am the worst person in the world. You have to go with her. You have to find her and tell her you changed your mind.”
When Sophia sat across from me on the bus with wistful adoration in her eyes, I gave her hope. I let her believe that she may have a chance with Grant. All because I was too chickenshit to admit how I felt about him. I messed with her head to avoid delving into my own.
But even more than that, I saw the underlying glint of desperation in her pupil-blown gaze. Within the tense arch of her brows. And strain of her maniacal smile. She needed to believe she had a chance with the one guy, the nicest guy, to go to a fricken dance.
“Why would you say that?”
I’m starting to freak him out—I can see it in the frown creasing his beautiful face.
“I just … she’s fragile, Grant. Her guise of perfectionism is the only thing holding her together. She really wanted to go with you. I’m the reason she asked you! And I don’t want to be the reason she goes off the deep end, thinking I played her. Besides, it’s just a dumb dance. You should go with Sophia.”
The Cursed Series, Parts 3 & 4: Now We Know/What They Knew Page 11