“How’s your head?” I ask him.
“Fine. How’s your temper?” He turns to face me, leaning against the railing.
“Under control … for now.”
“Come here.” He holds his arms out.
“Are you trying to make me cry again?” I accuse.
“Just get over here and fricken hug me,” he orders impatiently.
I walk over to him hesitantly, like I’m expecting him to take it back at any second. But when I’m within reach, he pulls me to him, and I stumble against his chest. He hugs me tight, and I swallow down the stupid tears, sniffling into his shirt.
“Are you crying again?”
“No, I’m blowing my nose on your shirt.”
He laughs and kisses the top of my head. “It’s not my shirt.”
“What are you doing to my shirt?” Grant asks from behind me.
I shove Brendan away and take a breath. “You better have answers.”
I spin away and enter the house. Brendan loiters behind me.
Grant offers each of us a glass of water.
I chug half of it and then point to a chair. “Sit.”
Brendan huffs but complies. He lowers onto a large, worn leather chair. I stand in front of him, my arms crossed. Grant pulls me from behind, and I holler in surprise when I land on his lap.
“Go easy on him,” he says into my ear, then adjusts me so I’m on the couch next to him.
“What do you want to know?” Brendan asks, steepling his fingers like an evil mastermind.
“Everything,” I insist, already frustrated. “You knew Vic, even before Joey and I mentioned him. How?”
“I can’t believe you broke into my room,” Brendan says incredulously, like I violated some sort of code of trust. “How did you—”
“Brendan,” I threaten through clenched teeth. “How do you know Vic?”
“From here,” Brendan answers but doesn’t.
“You’re going to make me strangle you,” I growl.
“I needed answers.” He shrugs. “But you know that.”
“Why would Vic have answers? Both his parents are dead. What could he know?”
Brendan stares at me wordlessly. I’m trying so hard not to lose my patience; it’s too easy for him to set me off—just by existing. I stand and position myself in front of him.
“Aren’t you the one who said that the truth is more interesting than any lie? So why lie about when your mother died?” I demand vehemently.
“Because the truth doesn’t have an explanation,” he snaps passionately. “I don’t know why she killed herself. She never left a note.” He leans back and looks out the window. “I’m the one who found her. But, yeah, I was fourteen, not four.”
Grant tugs on my hand, urging me to take a step back. I concede and drift over to the window to focus on the trees and calm down. Or try.
Brendan continues, “That school year, I lost it. I could barely function. When I finally went through everything my mother owned, searching for some sort of explanation, I found a letter from Julia Thorne. She had recently been diagnosed with cancer and wanted to make things right before she died. A month later, my mother was dead. That letter triggered something. My mother was always … unpredictable. But that letter sent her over the edge.”
“What did Julia need to make right?” I ask, trying to sort through what I know and still don’t. Too much is coming up on the unknown side of that list.
“I don’t know,” Brendan says with a heavy breath. “I was trying to figure out how Julia even knew my mother. I couldn’t find anything connecting them … except a picture taken of a group of people in front of a house in Nantucket.”
I spin around with my mouth open. “You saw that picture before I showed it to you?”
“Yeah. It was in the box with the letter along with pictures of my mother with Kaden and a ton of her and your mother. All taken a year or two before we were born.”
I walk back over to stand next to his chair, my hands on my hips. “Keep going.”
He takes a sip of water and licks his lips. “There are three other families in the picture with my mother—the Thornes, the Harrisons, and your mother. I decided the only way to understand what happened was to ask the families. Which was harder than I’d expected, so I found another way. I figured if I got close to the Harrisons, maybe I could find something. I’ve known Kaden since I was young, but he didn’t come around much after Mom died. So …”
“Parker,” I finish.
“And Niall, sort of. I mean, I needed a lawyer to take care of everything, and he just conveniently appeared in my life. I’d always hooked Parker up with whatever, but I needed to take it to another level. I proposed the illegal club one night when he was drunk and high after I made us watch a ’90s movie about finding a rave in an abandoned warehouse. He thought it was genius. And having him as a partner gave me access to things I hadn’t had before, including clubs in New York.”
We stare at each other meaningfully, knowing he doesn’t need to expand upon the events of that night. Brendan closes his eyes and breathes in through his nose, like he’s trying not to relive it.
“As you know, I wrote the letter to your mother after my mother died, before New York. Not long after New York, Niall stepped in, suggesting I attend Blackwood the following school year. And since Ashton was there, it would allow me to protect her. So we came up with a story to get me admitted, something Blackwood couldn’t corroborate.”
“You didn’t have an affair with your principal’s wife?” I ask in astonishment, wondering if any of it was true.
“No. But I didn’t have anything tangible to qualify for admittance, so we took some liberties with the facts. It wasn’t difficult to get Mr. Unger to corroborate our story. I did sleep with his daughter.”
I scoff. “You’re far from innocent.”
“Of course I’m not innocent.” He rolls his eyes like the idea is absurd. “I introduced people. That’s not exactly an arrestable offense. I knew who had connections, and I’d set them up with someone else with connections. Then they’d set me up with … whatever because they were rich dicks with nothing better to do with their money. Eventually, it required researching who had access to what information, and sometimes, that led to firewalls that needed to be breached.”
“Oh, and that’s not illegal,” I shoot back sarcastically.
“Are you seriously comparing rap sheets right now? Because mine is clean. How long is yours, Lana?” Brendan rubs his temples like he’s in pain.
“Do you have a headache? Want me to get you something?” Grant asks.
I snap my head to gawk at him. “Don’t be so nice to him.”
Grant kisses my forehead and disappears. He returns a moment later with a bottle of pills. He shakes out a couple and offers some to me. I decline.
After swallowing them with the rest of his water, Brendan continues, “The summer after my mother died, Kaden flew me out to London, thought it would be best to get me off the island for a while. Parker visited for a few weeks, all excited about this club idea. He created a fricken three-year business plan. Found a silent investor. But he needed a tech guy. Someone who knew people or how to check into them. That was the secret to keeping the club a secret—uncover what others don’t want you to know to keep their mouths shut. I was good at it.
“When it became obvious that the adults in the picture weren’t going to provide me with any information, not directly anyway, I decided to use my sharpened skill set to look deeper into them. But the Thornes are untouchable. Trying to uncover anything about them, even with my talent, is impossible. I couldn’t even contact Julia. Since Kaden wasn’t in the picture I had, I didn’t realize I could’ve asked him. It would’ve saved me so much work. And as you know, Niall’s a vault. So I focused on the girl I kept finding remnants of in my mother’s things … your mother. I knew it wasn’t a coincidence that Niall sent me to Blackwood right after I wrote to her. She knew something.”
&n
bsp; “Your mother hated my mother,” I say, interrupting him. Brendan looks confused. “Didn’t you know?”
“What are you talking about?” he asks, shifting in his chair.
I scan the room. “Where’s my backpack?”
Grant pulls it out from beside the couch. I unzip the bag, remove my mother’s box and take out the pictures with the threats and cruel words written on them to hand to Brendan.
“I’ve never seen these before.” Brendan sits up straight, shock flashing across his face as he inspects each image.
“You don’t know what happened?” I’m not convinced despite the abhorrence depicted on his face.
“That’s what I’ve been trying to find out, Lana! What the hell happened!” Brendan flings the pictures onto the table.
“Alright, take a breath, both of you,” Grant interjects, standing. He guides me away from Brendan and whispers in my ear, “Are you okay?”
I press my face to his shirt and inhale deeply. My heart’s racing, and my hands are shaking. I’m not okay, so I don’t answer. Grant wraps an arm around my waist, lowering us back onto the couch.
“How does Vic fit into all of this?” Grant asks Brendan, who has miraculously composed himself, shutting down every emotion—his face a slate of ambivalence.
“Vic … was right here. In the same town as the school Niall got me admitted to.” Brendan leans back in the chair, casually propping an ankle on his knee. “As soon as I heard his name, I looked him up to see if there was any relation to Julia or Damon Thorne. But I couldn’t get into any of his files other than to confirm Julia’s his mother. I asked for an introduction. But he didn’t know anything or wouldn’t reveal anything. That left you. And since our mothers were so close, I was convinced you could get the answers I couldn’t, if you didn’t already know them.” Brendan runs a hand through his hair.
“I accessed your records. School. Criminal. Health. Whatever. That’s when it became clear … you don’t talk. Hell, you wouldn’t even tell the police who killed your grandmother after …” Brendan pauses when Grant shifts forward. “But I needed you to talk. So I had to get you away from Sherling. Your mother. And your friends. Isolate you in the middle of fucking nowhere.”
He glances at me quickly. I’m not moving; my mind is unwilling to see where this is going. Grant is tense beside me, anticipating something that neither of us is going to like.
“Vic was a bit of a loner. He didn’t really fit in at Printz-Lee. Probably belongs at Blackwood, except I think he’s even too messed up for there. After his mother died earlier this year, he wasn’t … the same. He got into fights. Started taking all sorts of pills. Whatever shady shit he could get into. And started opening up more, letting things slip. Nothing really useful, just ranting about stupid shit. Except … he knew about you. And he hated you.”
“Because I’m in his mother’s will,” I offer as an explanation.
Brendan’s eyes widen in surprise. “What?”
“You knew.” There’s accusation in those two words.
Brendan shakes his head. “No. I don’t know anything about the will.” He directs his gaze to the ceiling in thought. “I guess it makes sense. Vic’s like you. He doesn’t share. He asked if I knew you one night when he was really fricken rocked on something. He thought I would since our mothers were friends. But he called her the lying bitch. So of course, this got me interested. Why would this guy hate your mother? He must know something. I tried to get in with him. Hooked him up with whatever he needed, thinking maybe he’d slip up or let me know what his mother’s letter meant. After getting to know him, I was beginning to wonder if her regret was bringing him into the world. He’s a real piece of—”
“I’m familiar. We’re well acquainted,” I interrupt icily. “Tell me the part when you betrayed me.”
“I didn’t know you,” Brendan protests. He leans back into the chair, exhaling.
I am a statue made of corded muscle. My eyes are lasers, drilling into Brendan’s brain. He’s about to tell me something that, in the pit of my stomach, I already know. And if he says it, I may never forgive him. Ever.
Grant’s hands curl into fists and press into his thighs.
“He wasn’t supposed to bring a gun. Who robs a piece-of-shit convenience store with a real gun? The guy behind the counter would’ve given him whatever he wanted if he growled at him loud enough. But, no, he had to be a dumbass and take his grandfather’s gun.”
Grant is rigid beside me.
My thoughts are homicidal. But I wait to hear him say it. All of it.
Then I’ll murder him.
“How did you know I’d go into …” It hits me. “You texted me. Not my mother.”
Brendan lowers his eyes and nods. “I followed your location on Vic’s phone and sent him a message when he was close to the convenience store, so he’d ask the driver to pull over. After giving him enough time in the store to do what he was supposed to do, I sent the text, asking you to get the meds.”
“Huh.” The pieces slowly fit into place. “I thought it was weird when she asked for flu medication. How’d you know she was sick?”
Brendan is trying to play it relaxed, like he’s unaffected. But his hand is clenched against the side of his leg, his knuckles white. “You called her from school that day, asking if she was feeling better.”
I close my eyes, chills running through me. “You were listening?”
“I cloned her phone, so yeah.”
I swallow, my stomach flipping and churning. The sour taste of bile burns the back of my throat.
“You set up the robbery.” Grant’s voice is low and barely controlled. No longer resembling the guy who offered to get Brendan aspirin a few minutes ago. He is fury and rage. He is me. And I hate Brendan for making him so. “You got Lana arrested for something she didn’t do, just so you could get her sent here?”
“You should be thanking me,” Brendan gloats with a hint of his signature arrogance.
Grant roars so loudly, I startle. “He pointed a gun at her! What the …” He is up and swinging before I can blink. After crashing his fist into Brendan’s face, Grant shakes his hand in pain. “Shit.”
Brendan folds in half, blood spurting out of his nose. “What the fuck?!”
“I wish you had let me do that,” I say to Grant, inspecting his reddened knuckles with sympathy. I calmly walk into the kitchen and open the freezer. Too calmly. Maybe I’m in shock.
The cold air is a balm to my hot skin. I stick my head in and take several deep breaths, trying to find a way to keep listening without bludgeoning Brendan to death.
Removing an ice tray, I crack some cubes onto two towels. I blow out a lungful of air, preparing myself before I return to the living room to hand each of them a bundle.
I begin pacing, allowing his story to play out in my head. The manipulating. The conspiring. The lying. The clearer it becomes, the harder it is to breathe. When the full implications of what Brendan has done finally hits me, I’m seconds away from screaming.
“That makes you responsible for what happened to Allie.” My words are cold and sharp as blades.
“I never …” Brendan stops, taking in a shaky breath.
I refuse to look at him. Nothing he says will make any of this go away.
“I want to make it right. I really do, Lana. I let a monster loose, and I have to stop him. But I need your help.”
I reel on him. “My help? You expect me to trust or even talk to you again after knowing what you did? I can barely stand to look at you!” I dig my fingers into my waist to keep from wrapping my hands around his throat. “Why won’t you release the video? What does Vic have on you?”
Brendan slumps forward, the towel of ice dangling between his knees. He looks at me, his eyes shimmering. “Enough to take me down with him.”
He was destined to love you. And I’m not fated to survive this.
My entire body is trembling as I pace the master bedroom, needing to get away from Brendan to th
ink. Grant closes the door behind him and leans against it, looking shell-shocked.
“What do we do? I don’t know what to do. I want to kill him. And I want to understand. But I really want to kill him,” I stammer out in a rush. “He lost his mother. And no one would help him. So he did something so, so stupid. Why would he do that? What was he thinking?”
Grant sits on the end of the bed, pensively examining the floor.
“What do I do?” I ask again. My head throbs from the nuclear bomb Brendan just dropped.
I always knew he was hiding something. But this is everything. Brendan orchestrated the worst night of my life. Now that I think of it, it was his security app that got us into The Point party. He controlled it all … except for Vic. And because of that, a girl’s in a coma, and Vic’s hurting everyone I care about.
A warm hand wraps around my forearm. I stop. Grant motions for me to sit next to him. I lift up onto the bed and collapse against his side when he wraps an arm around me.
“What’s more important—intention or action?”
I tilt my head up, confounded. “Huh?”
“His intentions were to understand why his mother took her life. It sounds like it became his obsession, and I’m sure you can understand how it must have been for him, finding the letter and the pictures.”
I don’t say anything, knowing he’s referencing the letters and pictures I’ve received all summer and what that’s done to me.
“He set it up so you’d be sent to Blackwood. Granted, it didn’t go as he’d planned. And his plan was extremely flawed to begin with. But he wasn’t the one who had the gun, used it to rob the store or pushed a girl down the stairs. The guy who did do that is now out of control and is threatening everyone in your life, including Brendan. All for the same reason that both of you are trying to understand. It has to do with your parents and whatever happened … that summer.”
“What are you saying?”
“You don’t have to like him. Or forgive him. But if you want Vic to stop, to be held accountable, then you need Brendan.”
The Cursed Series, Parts 3 & 4: Now We Know/What They Knew Page 27