I shoot to my feet. “No way!”
Grant releases a long breath. “Trust me, I don’t like it either. But I don’t see a way around it. Especially when none of the adults who were there are willing to help.”
He takes my hand and gently pulls me to him. I stand between his legs and rest my head on his shoulder.
I hate that he’s making sense. “I want this to be over,” I mutter against his neck.
Grant rubs my back. “Me too, Sweets.”
When we walk back into the living room, I stop short. Brendan has the entire contents of my mother’s box spread over the coffee table and floor. He’s seated on the throw rug with his back against the leather chair, flipping through pages, discarding them haphazardly when he doesn’t find anything of interest.
“What the hell are you doing?!” I exclaim.
“Reading really pathetic love letters, apparently,” Brendan answers casually, pulling another letter from an envelope.
“And what gave you the right to do that?” I demand, getting on my knees to pick up the papers. It’s impossible to figure out what page went with which envelope, so I start shuffling them into a pile.
“I guess the same right you had when you took the box from your mother,” he answers dismissively. “Ah, here. She received the same letter.”
I plop down on my butt. “What?”
“From Julia Thorne.” Brendan hands a single page of heavy stationery to me. “Not quite the same message, but ultimately the same meaning.”
I take it from him and read it.
Dear Faye,
I hope this letter finds you and Lana well. I know life hasn’t been what you expected. Destiny took an unexpected turn and led us down a thorned path. And I’m sorry it wasn’t what was meant for you. But I hope you find some solace when you look upon your daughter’s face. She is a precious gift. I trust you feel the same.
I have recently been diagnosed with terminal cancer. The doctors give me a year, if I’m lucky. So I am laying down my sword and bowing my head in concession to this battle. I’m done fighting. There have been too many tragedies already in this life. I know this is my penance, and I will accept it with grace. But before I depart, I seek to make amends. I hope you’ll accept my gesture and grant me forgiveness.
Sincerely,
Julia Thorne
I can’t tear my eyes away from the words, written with such eloquence in beautiful penmanship. She knew. Whatever happened, she was there, or she caused it. Or didn’t stop it.
“What was different about the letter to your mother?” I ask, scanning the lines again like I might be able to find a hidden meaning if I study it enough.
“It wasn’t that different. Except …”
I look up when he goes quiet. Brendan wears an expression of consternation.
“What?” I prompt, wanting him to say whatever has just occurred to him out loud. “Tell me.”
“I lied to you,” he says, still lost in contemplation.
“Uh, yeah. Like every time you opened your mouth. Be more specific.”
Brendan shakes his head, coming back to the present. “About my tuition. It came from my mother’s estate. Niall oversees it. Except she didn’t make enough money to have an estate. It stipulates that it’s only to be used for my education. And now … I get it.” Brendan lets out a humorless laugh like he can’t believe he missed it. “Julia told my mother that the truth has always been the truth regardless of what anyone believes. And it’s time to pay for the lives wronged.”
“You think she paid your mother off?” Grant concludes, helping me fold the letters so they fit inside the box. “Why not include you in the will too?”
Brendan shakes his head in exasperation. “I don’t know.”
“Well, that clears up nothing,” I snap impatiently. I pick up several sealed envelopes. I search the scattered pages and find a few more letters that were never opened, six in total. All postmarked within weeks of each other, years after I was born … seven years after.
What happened that made Kaden write to her again after so much time had passed? I bite at my lip, itching to open one.
“Um, Lana,” Grant beckons cautiously.
closer and recognize it’s a newspaper clipping. Written in red marker across the article is:
I reach for it. Brendan lets go without resistance. The paper flutters in my hand as I read the headline: Thorne Industries Heir Falls to His Death in Nantucket.
I skim the faded print, picking out key words. From what I gather, Damon Thorne fell off the roof of a home owned by the Harrison family when a railing on their widow’s walk gave way, breaking his neck upon impact, killing him instantly. Guests were at the main house when it happened; no one witnessed the fall.
I flip it over. Written perpendicular to the newspaper print in black ink reads:
Brendan and Grant stare at me wordlessly, waiting for a reaction.
“What does this mean? That your mother blamed mine for his accident? And then threatened to tell the Harrisons … what exactly?”
“The threat may explain why your mother lost touch with the Harrisons?” Grant offers gently.
“Could also explain why Vic hates her—and you—so much,” Brendan proposes pointedly, not nearly as careful with my feelings. “Considering she killed his father.”
“That doesn’t make any sense,” I say, dismissing it without giving it any thought. My mother, a killer. It’s ridiculous. “And the money is what? To pay for their silence? Fifteen years later is a little late for hush money, don’t you think?”
“Unless Julia wanted to avoid an investigation for some reason. Maybe they’re all in on the cover-up, which is why no one will say anything.”
I shake my head. “No. There’s no way. My mother’s not capable of that.”
“Then why was this hidden in the false bottom of the box?”
“Your mother obviously hated my mother over … I don’t know … Kaden? The article was just another scare tactic to keep my mom away from Nantucket, from the Harrisons. From our father.”
“You think Kaden’s our father?” Brendan doesn’t look convinced. “Then who’s his other son? Joey? I don’t think so.”
“Maybe he had a kid with a girl back at school. Who knows? He’s obviously not trustworthy.”
Brendan’s face reddens. It’s the first authentic reaction I’ve seen from him … ever—not having to do with Ashton.
“Did you read any of these letters?!” He grabs a fistful of letters on the floor beside him, shaking them in the air. “He loved Faye. She devastated him. He even begged for her back years later, but she wouldn’t even read those letters!” He tosses the crumpled paper to the ground. “I know him. He’s not the type of guy to walk out on us.”
“He didn’t walk out on you,” I argue. “I saw the pictures. Looks like you were a happy family.”
Brendan blanches, not realizing I found the photos hidden in the book.
“And maybe when my mom found out about your mother and her boyfriend, she cut him out of her life and mine. So tell me, who’s really to blame for ruining everyone’s lives?”
“Lana,” Grant cuts me off before I can say more.
Brendan and I stare at each other, fire in our eyes, daring the other to cross the line.
“Maybe we should get some fresh air,” Grant coaxes, offering me his hand. “It’s been a long day. Let’s not do this anymore today. Take some space. Concentrate on finals.”
“And what about Vic?” I ask, knowing he won’t give us a time-out so we can study.
“Stay on campus,” Grant suggests. “Don’t go anywhere alone. If you can stand to be around one another, maybe you should stick together.”
His words strike me, bringing similar words to the surface.
“Niall knows.” I can’t bring myself to look at Brendan again. “He’s worse than you are, setting this all up. Protecting this secret. Orchestrating our admittance to Blackwood. Telling us to look out for each
other. He knows you’re my brother and who our father is. And he’s protecting him.”
“Or he’s protecting your mother because she killed him,” Brendan goads.
I kick his thigh, and he curses incoherently. “Asshole.”
Grant sighs loudly. “Pick this up, Brendan. C’mon, Lana.”
He holds out his hand. I take it, muttering under my breath.
When we step onto the porch, he says, “I know you don’t want to hear this, but he is your brother. You look alike, and, well … no one can infuriate you like he can. And that’s the sibling gift. Sorry.”
I close my eyes, breathing through my nose to temper my racing pulse. “I know. He just … makes me so mad.”
“But you care about him,” Grant adds. “I saw your reaction when it hit you that he could’ve died in that fire.”
“He is my curse,” I groan, leaning against the railing with my arms crossed. “So now what do we do? I know I have to get through finals somehow. But Vic is tormenting us. Hell, he’s trying to kill Brendan. So … really, how are we supposed to pretend like we’re fine?”
“I’ll help you survive finals. I’ll come over every day after conditioning to study with you. As far as Vic … let’s hope Blackwood’s security earns their paychecks. And you said Brendan has video cameras everywhere, right?” I nod. “Then Vic won’t be able to set foot on campus without you two knowing.”
Brendan opens the door. “Uh … sorry to interrupt, but … my phone’s gone.”
“Which phone?” I ask, knowing he has multiple.
“My Blackwood phone. Which means, he took it.”
“I thought you told me not to bring it to the barn.”
“Yeah, because I thought Vic would track you, not me. We need to get back to Blackwood—now.”
Brendan’s room is torn to shreds. I thought Lily had done a psycho job, destroying my room, but Vic can teach her a few things. Pages from books are strewn like confetti on every surface. Shelves are busted out of the bookcase. His bed looks like a troll hacked it to pieces. Nothing is left intact, not even the bottles of scotch in the hidden compartment.
The only thing keeping Brendan from collapsing to his knees is seeing the bookcases still lined up against the wall.
“Stay here,” he tells us when he pops the secret door open and disappears into the wall.
Grant scans the room, shaking his head. “Was Lily this cruel to you?”
“She respected the books,” I say, “but everything else was fair game.”
“I’m sorry,” he says, setting a hand on my back. “I never told you that, but I am. For what she did.”
“Not your fault. You can’t blame yourself for her insecurities any more than I can blame myself for Nina’s.”
Grant nods.
“Have you spoken with her since the dinner?” I realize this is kind of a weird time to ask, but he brought her up.
“No,” he replies. “I’ve needed some space to process everything. She told me how she still feels … and, uh, it kind of took me off guard.”
My stomach twists. “Do you … still have feel—”
“No,” he cuts me off before I can ask. “I’m not in love with her. I don’t even know how I feel about her right now. I’m in love with you, and that’s not changing anytime soon. Narcissistic brother or not.”
I wrap my arms around his chest and hug him. “If Brendan ruins us, I will kill him.”
“Not going to happen,” Grant assures me, angling my head up to kiss me.
“Really? I’m gone for all of thirty seconds. Stop molesting my sister.”
I pick up the spine of a book and chuck it at Brendan. He bats it away easily.
“Did he find your evil lair?”
“No.”
“Where’s the video?”
“I’m not telling you. It’s not where you found it last time. And I know you had help, so whoever—”
“Is none of your business.”
“Yes, they are because whoever it is, is a loose cannon. If they’re capable of getting into my files, then we’re all in trouble.”
“I trust them.”
“Don’t be stupid, Lana.”
I balk at him. “Screw you!”
“I’m serious. Someone with that much power is dangerous. To all of us.”
I dismiss him, knowing Sophia would never … but then I remember how strung out she appeared the last time I saw her. She ran away from me. Maybe she was embarrassed to be seen all rumpled. We all have bad days. I could fill a trophy case with mine.
Except I can’t find Sophia after Grant walks me back to my dorm. I go directly to her room, but she doesn’t answer. I ask every girl I see in the hall, but no one’s seen her.
I knock on Ashton’s door.
“Where have you been?” she demands, pulling me in by my, well, Grant’s sister’s T-shirt. Arden is seated on the couch with her legs crossed, wearing a hot-pink tutu with black fishnet stockings and silver booty shorts. “We’ve been freaking out. I tried texting you all day.”
“Crap,” I exclaim, rushing out of the room. Ashton follows after me. “I forgot my phone in Grant’s car.”
My heart is racing when I reach the foyer, knowing I won’t catch him in time. We snuck back onto campus through the woods along the edge of the lawn since Brendan didn’t have his phone. I completely forgot to check back in with security. And I can’t get trapped on campus for another month. I will lose my mind.
“Lana, what’s going on?” Ashton asks, jogging alongside me as I cut through the Court. “Did you have anything to do with the fire?”
I stumble in my steps.
“Oh shit,” she mutters. “Please tell me you didn’t try to burn Brendan alive.”
“Uh, not me,” I reply evasively.
“Is he okay?” she asks in a panic, reading between my truths.
“He’s alive,” I say without enthusiasm. “But he’s not even close to my favorite person right now. I’d prefer a piece of chewing gum plucked off the sole of a shoe over him.”
Ashton makes a face. “That’s a weird thing to say.”
“Sorry, I’m all out of wit.” I brush a branch out of my face. “His fault.”
When we reach the administration building, I send Ashton in to see if Grant is there, trying to figure out how to arrive on campus from inside the building. When I hear her scream, I rush in, expecting to discover a body.
She’s on the far side of the foyer, pointing at the corner while shrieking at the top of her lungs. The security guards are surrounding her, trying to get her to speak coherently. When I’m halfway across the floor, a hand grabs my arm. I’m about to shove the palm of my hand into his Adam’s apple when I realize it’s Grant.
“Omigod. You scared me.”
“Here.” He shoves the phone in my hand as we pretend to rush to Ashton’s aid.
“Did you see it?” she asks, fanning herself. “I swear it was the biggest rat I’ve ever seen.” She finds me staring at her, confused. “Oh, get me away from here. I can’t. I just can’t. It’s so revolting.”
“Uh, I have to check in first,” I stammer. “Meet you outside?”
“Hurry,” she says, placing the back of her hand to her forehead like she’s about to swoon.
I fight the urge to roll my eyes. Grant coughs to hide a laugh.
“So I’ll see you tomorrow?” he says casually. His performance is much more convincing than Ashton’s.
We walk back to the guard’s desk at the entrance now that everyone’s back in position. He gives me a brief kiss on the cheek before taking off.
Ashton’s sitting on the swing in the birch forest when I walk outside. I sit next to her.
“Acting isn’t your thing,” I tell her, smiling.
“Overacting definitely is,” she remarks, winking. “Now what the hell happened today?”
I look down at the phone in my hand. Without saying anything, I walk to our tree and hide it in the jewelry box, holding my
palm out to silently demand Ashton’s. She forfeits it with a loud sigh.
When we’re back on the swing, she says, “You’re as bad as Brendan.”
“Learned my lesson the hard way … again.”
Then I proceed to catch her up on the latest drama that is my life. The part that pertains to Vic’s homicidal tendencies anyway. I still don’t know how to tell her about Brendan’s involvement or the fact that he’s my dumbass brother. But I feel like I need to … if he won’t. When I assure her for the hundredth time that no one’s hurt, she hugs me fiercely, cursing Vic under her breath.
“Do you want to go scream it out?” Ashton offers when we’re walking back to the dorm, our phones in hand.
“I’m too tired,” I say, dragging my feet. “Have you seen Sophia lately?”
Ashton thinks about it for a moment. “No. Why?”
“Just wondering. I saw her the other day, and she looked frazzled. Didn’t know if I should be worried.” The only person I’ve told about Sophia’s involvement in breaking into Brendan’s room is Grant. I don’t want to be the reason Ashton keeps a secret from Brendan or force her to betray me if she tells him. It’s better she doesn’t know.
Ashton sends a text. A moment later, her phone lights up. “She’s in a study room in the library. She has a final tomorrow. Maybe that’s it. She gets a little worked up during finals.”
Yeah, I hope that’s all it is.
I wish I could hate you. It would be so easy to deflect the truth, like I did most of my life. But I can’t.
I slip into a false sense of security over the next two weeks.
Who am I kidding?
I’m looking over my shoulder every other second, thinking every snapped branch or shadow is Vic—even with Grant, Ashton or Arden by my side practically every minute. Brendan keeps his distance, probably to avoid getting punched again.
And Ashton was right about Sophia.
She’s hopped up on some sort of amphetamines, talking a million words a minute with pupil-blown eyes, a book or tablet always in front of her during the week of finals. Just watching her stresses me out, and I don’t care nearly as much as she does about grades. But I survive the week, like Grant promised I would—with him as my brilliant tutor.
The Cursed Series, Parts 3 & 4: Now We Know/What They Knew Page 28