Grey: Everlasting (Spectrum Series Book 6)

by Allison White

  Half an hour later—thank God for my spidey-senses for beating the clock—I get out. I feel like an elaborate breakfast this morning. When I get out, the expansive mirror is foggy, and the walls and floor are wet with condensation. I swipe my palm against the mirror and smile at my reflection.

  I look much different than one month ago. My hair is cut to my shoulders and fuller, thanks to wanting a change. I feel lighter due to the yoga, and my face just feels…more mature. I still have my baby cheeks and pouty lips, but with working and college, I feel more in my role of being a young adult.

  My phone is blowing up by the time I jog down the steps from my condo. I am biting into my apple when I finally answer one of Xavier’s persistent calls.

  “Hello?” I sigh into the phone.

  “Where are you? We’re already at Len’s,” he says, agitated. Len is short for Lenny’s Shots—a coffeeshop that we stop at every morning to charge up before having Ms. Tran pound us with chemical terms no one will use after college, unless they’re planning to be a mad scientist.

  “I just left. Geez.” I pause at the curb, staring at the red hand across the street. “You don’t have to be so agro. It’s just an audition.” A smile itches my lips. Hamilton isn’t just any audition, but I like teasing him when he’s panicky, which happens a lot.

  He gasps. “Hamilton is a big deal. Everyone and their mother’s seen it at least once. My part can help a lot of people deal with their issues, make them realize to chase after their life-long dreams. I’m like a surgeon. I help people dig deep and pump their shitty hearts back to life.”

  “You’re an actor, not a surgeon.” The light finally changes, and I walk across. “You don’t drastically change lives. Lighten their moods, yeah. But save lives? Nuh-uh.”

  “I am deeply offended,” he says, and I can perfectly see his hand touching his chest. “Anyway, why don’t you walk a little faster? Ag won’t pull her head out of her ass—sorry!—sketchbook.” The “sorry” is said with utter sarcasm; it blows even my mind.

  I chuck my eaten apple into a nearby trash. “On my way. Order her a chai latte, double espresso. Texted her last night, and she typed more typos and eggplant emojis than actual words,” I lightly joke, recalling our conversation last night as I studied for a quiz for my English Lit class.

  “Already done,” he says, and the line ends.

  I stuff my phone in my jeans pocket and blow out icy air. As I walk, I examine the Manhattan streets. Mostly everyone is dressed in suits and bundled up with heavy scarves and boots. I spot college students come up and jog down the subway stairs. I stare up at the colorful and enticing adverts on buildings, admiring how tasteful everything looks.

  Everything just screams New York, especially the man trying to sell hot dogs and honey roasted peanuts on the side of the street. But people are too busy avoiding one another, focused solely on getting to their desired destination and not people’s space. Crowded is one word I’d use to describe New York.

  Ten minutes later, I enter Len’s. The bell rings above my head, and I unwrap my bubblegum-pink scarf. One of the great things about Len’s is how hot it always is in there. There could be a snowstorm the size of Texas outside, but this shop will be billowing with steam because of the large number of coffee-grinder machines.

  “Finally.” Xavier rolls his shiny blue eyes. “I thought I’d have to call eleven for you,” he exaggerates and plays with his black lip piercing. His thin fingers then wind through his soft brown curls.

  “First of all, drama queen.” I stick my tongue out, and he wags his. I laugh. Ag doesn’t even breathe off key. “And secondly, what have I told you about adding nine to 9-1-1? It’s tacky and not funny.” I pick off a piece of his double chocolate muffin and toss it at his head. It hits his circular golden-rimmed glasses he bought off of eBay.

  “Rude!” He tosses the same piece at me. When I throw it back, he catches it in his mouth.

  My laughter dies down as I look over at Ag. Her pink-tipped pin-straight hair is up in a high ponytail, her creamy brown skin barely visible because of the little ball-form she’s in.

  “Hey.” I tickle her top ear-piercing. She growls, literally, and I sigh. “Stop obsessing,” I tell her. “Ms. K will love it. You’ve been working on it for a whole month, and it’s jaw dropping.”

  “She’s right,” Xavier agrees, reaching across the table to rub her fuzzy sweater. “My artistic prowess, on the other hand, is being judged by the likes of Jennifer Bay—”

  I reach over and flick him in his nose-stud, which should hurt since he had it re-done last night. While he curses in broken French, a class he’s forced to take every year in school, I rub her back and whisper, “You shouldn’t fret over it. Your parents won’t stop loving you.”

  What I love about Agatha—or Ag for short since she loathes her name—is how passionate she is about her art, how attached she is to every single sketch, even if it’s a quick stick figure. But what I hate is her paranoia of losing her parents’ support. She thinks if she gets a bad grade, they’ll drop her from the family tree, when in reality, they are the sweetest. I should know. I hosted a dinner for them during parent’s week when her roommate was being a bitch and took over their only dining space without checking with her.

  She finally picks her head up and purses her pink, round lips. “You think so?”

  “I know so.” I squeeze her shoulder, and she smiles, then holds up her reddish-brown hand. She stares at the dainty rose tattoo on the side of her pinky.

  “They were pissed about this, though,” she says, and I chuckle. I reassure her frightened, big brown eyes with another shoulder squeeze. She loves them. As predicted, she smiles a toothy grin.

  “Parents are wired to worry about you and to freak about things you do to your body,” Xavier says, picking off and eating his muffin.

  “Yeah,” I agree with him. I glance at my watch. “We should hurry this along. Ms. Tran is practically bouncing on her toes to melt our brains with fantastic knowledge,” I say jokingly, but I actually find what she teaches is pretty fascinating. We made a chemical reaction last week that left the room glowing pink. It wasn’t supposed to do that, but a big guy who always comes to class late named Travis did something wrong and set off the wrong chemical reaction.

  Xavier couldn’t stop laughing the entire time he walked me home after classes.

  Three hours later, we’re all roaming one of the most popular shopping areas, Fifth Avenue. I’ve shopped on this street countless times. There’s nothing that entices me now. And even then, I was just bored and felt like getting a few cashmere sweaters and long floral skirts would fill the hole in my heart. It didn’t. Nothing did, except for books. Which is why I’d always end up a few blocks over in the Barnes & Noble bookstore shopping like crazy.

  I met Xavier during my second week of attending NYU. He was bad-mouthing our English professor about a bad grade, and being the good person I was, I offered to tutor him. He blew me off. But then his anger trimmed down and the next day he accepted my offer. Now he’s passing the class with an eighty-five.

  As for Ag, she was leaning against a row of classics I was browsing in a vintage bookstore when I asked her to politely scoot over. She did, after she sketched my face for a class. I still remember how focused and quickly her hand moved across the sketchbook. Two seconds later, she had my face down to the last detail. That was how I knew she was extremely talented.

  These two helped ease me back into the fast-paced Manhattan streets. It’d been a while since I last hailed a taxi cab or successfully rode the subway. But after a few weeks, I eased right back into the normal activities in the city. They also helped calm my nerves considering how tense I was when I first came here. Freezing and lost, I didn’t know what I was doing for two whole days before I applied to NYU. Thankfully…he never retracted my spot at the school or at the paid internship. It was the least he could do after what he did…

  “You okay?” Ag squeezes my hand as we exit a Chanel
store. A bright pink—her favorite color—had attracted her attention.

  I give her what I hope is an assuring smile. “Yeah. I’m good. Just got a little sidetracked.”

  Her frown tells me she doesn’t believe me.

  “Well, get un-sidetracked.” Xavier loops his arm through mine, leaning me into Ag. I laugh, and she rolls her quarter-sized eyes. “You two gotta help me run my lines tonight. The big aud is just three days away.”

  He already has his lines memorized. I bet he has them down pat; he’s obsessive like that. Especially since it’s the big H audition. He just wants us to boost his already too large ego. But we both accept with knowing eye-rolls. I’d rather be acting like I’ve been stabbed while Ag weeps over my death than do absolutely nothing. I already have all of my assignments for two weeks done.

  My thigh vibrates, and I slip out my phone.

  Mother, it reads on the screen. My throat tightens, and I look up from the screen, staring at the back of a businessman’s head.

  I let it go to voicemail. We walk a few more blocks when I finally decide to listen to the message she left. I don’t hope for good, because it never is. Not once. Every time she calls me, it’s bad news, or in our case, worse news.

  “Olivia? This is your mother. I just wanted to check up on you, say hello…and inform you that your father’s chemo is failing each day. He’s…he’s expected to pass away sometime in the next few weeks. And—and I was calling to see if you’d like to come and visit before he…before…just, please call me back. I—I love you. Love you so—” The message ends.

  I tuck my phone back into my pants and bite my lip. The tears threaten to spill, so I tug on Xavier’s thick jean jacket and point to a random thrift store. One of his absolute favorite things. As they scan cheetah-print leggings for Ag, which she’d never wear, I retreat to a corner of the store and cry.

  My father is dying. I saw it coming from the moment I heard the word cancer in the hospital months ago. I just thought we’d have more time together. Imagining life without my quiet, sweet father pains me. I don’t even care that he cheated on my mother anymore. I just want him here. On this planet. With my mother and me. I don’t want him to leave us. It’s too soon.

  Some days I want to throw my phone and cancer into the ocean. Rid them both from plaguing my life. I came here for a fresh start, to be able to breathe. But every time my phone rings, I plunge right back into the messy, complicated, sad life I desperately escaped.

  Why can’t God be merciful?

  “Did you find anything you liked?” Ag asks, tugging me back into the real world. We’re walking and Xavier’s peering over her to stare at me with a questioning look. He’s holding a bag with the thrift shop’s name. When did we leave?

  I try not to voice my confusion. “No. Nothing was really my style.”

  “Your style is oversized sweaters and jeans,” Xavier teases.

  “There’s nothing wrong with that,” I defend as Ag chuckles. I roll my eyes but let a gleeful smile overtake my face. I shoot my mother a text about coming down next Thursday after work. No matter how I feel, I need to be there for my father. He doesn’t have much time left…

  Xavier’s annoyed grunt grabs my attention. “You know what I freaking hate?”

  “Saying excuse me after you burp?” I tease.

  He squints his blue eyes at me. “No. Leather jackets.”

  “Why?” Ag asks.

  “’Cause I can’t pull them off.” He frowns.

  “You just gotta be smoking hot. Which you seriously lack, so I certainly see why you can’t pull them off,” Ag says, and he counters. They get into their normal bickering. And I fall into a memory before I can help myself.

  “So how do I look?” I fluffed my hair from underneath the leather jacket and spun on my heels, pointing finger-guns at Grey. He was leaning a rack of t-shirts. We were in a random store I pulled him in, hyper after eating two scoops of strawberry ice cream with lots of sprinkles.

  He tapped his chin in deep thought. “Turn around,” he instructed.

  I turned around and did a little pose. He smacked my butt, and as I yelped, he spun me around and stole his hundredth kiss. His mouth was sizzling with heat, soft as our tongues danced in familiarity, and we smiled like idiots. He kissed me, once, twice, three times before whispering in my mouth, “You look fucking hot.”

  “So I should get it?” I asked, my voice low with a smile. I’d never really wear it, but I’d get it if he wanted me to. I’d do anything he wanted me to.

  “No. I’m the bad-ass in this relationship,” he said jokingly.

  I tilted my head back, laughing loudly. “You certainly are, Grey Wyler. But what am I?” He pinched my chin and dragged my head back up. I slapped his hand away, and he grabbed it and gently kissed my knuckles. I blushed as he smirked at me.

  “My princess…” he answered.

  “Liv, are you…?” Their voices fade in the background.

  I’m standing at the edge of the sidewalk, staring off at the opposite street. I didn’t remember stopping and walking over here. But it doesn’t matter, because he’s there. And he’s staring back at me. Our eyes are locked and intense. He steals my breath away like he did kisses, and a smirk slowly melts onto his forever-handsome face. I would never forget that face or that damned smile.

  “Liv!” I am yanked around, and I expect a black t-shirt that smells like it’s been soaked in cigarettes and bourbon and sweat and him. But it’s a white t-shirt paired with a faded jean jacket.

  I look up into Xavier’s worried frown, then over at Ag’s wide brown eyes.

  “What is wrong? You’ve been acting weird ever since the thrift shop,” he claims.

  “Yeah. Is everything all right? Do you wanna skip happy hour?” Ag asks gently, eyes probing my face.

  “What? No. No, I’m fine.” Then I break into a smile and take a step down the street, where the bar called Eddie’s is a few blocks down. “Let’s go before we miss it.” I look over my shoulder, across the street. He isn’t there. It was just my mind playing tricks on me, I decide. Swallowing thickly, I turn back around and continue walking.

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Eddie’s is always packed. Whether it be the middle of the week or Sunday, when everyone should be engaging in religious activities, people find time to pack themselves tightly in the small bar for the ridiculously low prices. This is not one of Xavier’s favorite things; it’s Ag’s. Actually, it is her favorite thing: drinking away her worry over future student debts, according to her.

  I personally don’t like bars or drinking, unless I’m with friends. Geez, I sound like a closeted alcoholic. One of my few favorite kinds of alcohol are wine coolers. But for appearance’s sake, I get strawberry vodka. Sweet and not too intense.

  Since it’s Friday night, we—and a few other friends—decided to do happy hour, then go to a club later tonight. I don’t especially favor clubs any more than the bar, but I guess it’s a great place to dance away stress over homework due Monday or realizing you’re working with a disliked co-worker the next day.

  Anyway, we’re here for the cheap drinks, doing what they call a pregame, so we’re hopped up on liquor already, chopping down the need to buy more expensive things in the club. It’s actually a really smart plan. Whoever came up with the idea must be a genius. Well, a partying genius, but a genius nonetheless.

  Twenty minutes later, after a few drinks between the three of us, my mind is buzzing with the liquor, and our friends finally make it to the bar. I hug a few friends, like Claire, Kade, and Eric. But thirty minutes later, I’m laughing with everyone and really enjoying myself.

  Despite not liking the premise of going to a bar to drink around other people, I like doing this with friends. It all just seems so…so natural. Joking around, knocking back shots. The whole thing.

  When I first went to college, I thought I’d never taste liquor, much less pregame before going to one of the most popular clubs in New York City, Vibez. But he
re I am, drinking shots with friends and laughing my head off. I swear, I’ve never been more content. More comfortable.

  I call Jaimie and my other friends on the way home via FaceTime, after another hour of pregaming. Ag and Claire are coming back with me to borrow a couple of dresses. We’re gonna meet the others at the club in about an hour, maybe less. Depends on how quickly drunk people can put on clothes. Last time we did this, Xavier took about five minutes just to figure how to put on jeans.

  Anyway, back to my friends in Pennsylvania and everywhere I go, because they are sewn into my heart, I miss them very much. A lot, lot. I am…kind of really drunk.

  “Hello!” Jaimie’s nose is in the camera view.

  “Give me back Mommy’s phone!” Lily chases after Max, who has the phone next to his bright green eyes.

  “’Sup,” Jaimie answers Holly.

  I laugh and wave. “Hi, guys.”

  Finally, they all settle down. Matthew leans over Lil’s shoulder to wave at me.

  “Hey there!” He smiles at me. His hair looks longer. He should really cut that.

  “Hiiii!” I wave again, and they all laugh at me.

  “You’re drunk,” they all conclude.

  “What?” I gasp, slapping my chest. I groan in pain. “I so am not.”

  “Then walk in a straight line,” Jaimie says.

  “I can’t, silly. I’m in a cab.” I giggle and hold the phone back, checking my hair in my camera view. I begin to say something really smart and important when the car hits a speed bump. Me and the other girls jump in shock at the impact.

  “Sorry,” the man apologizes, glancing at us in the rearview mirror.

  I stick my tongue at him. “We could have died.”

  “You guys jumped on your own. The bump was small,” he says, and I hear laughing and a girl’s shriek.

  “There are people in my lap,” Claire groans and shakes all around like there are a billion spiders on her.