Destroyed Destiny (Crowne Point Book 4)

by Mary Catherine Gebhard

  “You disappeared.” He dragged his knuckles down my cheek and I shook him off.

  “This entire time you knew Lottie wasn’t pregnant with Grayson’s child. You tricked me.” I shook my head. “I’m an idiot for believing a single word from your lips.”

  “I’m just as blindsided by this as you!”

  He did look off. Still wearing the same clothes from yesterday, wrinkled and disheveled.

  “Maybe,” I admitted. “But, I’ll never believe you.”

  He gripped my shoulders. “Leave with me now. Run away with me.”

  “What?” I shoved him off. “No.”

  “You said you wanted me. You said you loved me. You…” he trailed off. “I opened up to you. You…you—” West broke off, stepping back.

  The crashing of the waves amplified the silence. I looked around, realizing we were only a few feet from the clearing where West had taken me after throwing down his coin.

  His brows caved, and he looked at me, hurt and heartbroken. “You lied?”

  I didn’t realize, until that moment, all the secrets I’d been keeping. It was like a floodgate opened in my chest. They were hidden even from me, hiding behind all the rust in my heart.

  West didn’t take the most important part of me, he didn’t even take the second most. I needed to stop feeling like just because he stole that part of me, he stole all of me.

  “It hurts being lied to, doesn’t it?” I asked, voice hoarse. “Well, good. Because it hurts sleeping in your bed. It physically hurts. My gut spasms all night. When you make me crawl under your sheets, it feels like they’re crawling under my skin. I hate it.”

  “That’s a lie. You laugh when you’re with me. You smile. You kissed me! You’ll grow to love it. You’ll grow to love me.”

  “Get this through your fucking head: you raped me, West. You raped me.”

  West was right. I did need to fall for him, and I do need to bleed.

  Because I wanted him out of me forever, and you couldn’t rip someone out without spilling blood.

  Fifty-Two

  STORY

  “I love you, you’re it for me.” West grabbed my biceps, eyes burning as he spoke. “Every single thing I do for you is out of love. How the fuck could I rape you, Story?”

  Just a few months ago, I would’ve frozen at his words, unable to acknowledge the ugly truth keeping my heart captive in a rusted cage. He did love me, even as he had done the unthinkable, and I had loved him, even after he did it.

  “I know you didn’t mean for it to happen, but it did. It happened. If you accidentally hit someone with a car, you still hit that person with a car.”

  He opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

  The wrinkle in his brow deepened, and he let me go, stepping back.

  “I figured it out. I don’t love you. I don’t like you. I don’t even hate you. I used to. I used to love you a lot…and then I hated you. When you raped me, when you ghosted me, it broke a little piece inside of me. Then you came around again acting sweet, and that little piece started to feel like it could heal, like maybe I could fix it. But that’s not love.”

  I think, also, if I leaned on West to fix what was broken inside of me, then it wasn’t really fixed. I was still broken, I was just using him to hold those pieces together. And maybe…maybe I'm never supposed to fix it. Some things were meant to be broken, because through the cracks we see the light.

  West dragged a hand through his fluffy curls, staring at the sand. It was dark without the moon for light, and the wind was a lone wolf’s howl. With no rain, and nothing save the wind agitating sand and waves, the night was a restless ghost finally being heard.

  I was a restless ghost finally being heard.

  “I know you have good in you.” I stepped through a flurry of dark sand. “Your father tried to muddy your morals, but you should be a good person. That’s not the problem. The problem is, I keep trying to write you as my hero, but to me you have to be a villain. You can’t be anything else.”

  I placed my hand on his cheek, and West’s brows caved further, until there was nothing left of his mask. No arrogance, no smirk, just pain. He was the boy who’d asked me for a light years ago, who’d once been my only friend, who’d saved my gum wrappers for years.

  “I see now that you were in my heart, but you never even touched my soul.”

  I could see the rusted pieces of my heart flaking off, disappearing into the storming sky, like the ashes of sand in the wind. My hand slipped from his cheek, but his overcame mine, forcing it flat on his cheekbone.

  “Why?” He pressed against my hand until I was sure it had bruised his face. “Why can’t you just give me another chance? I’ll be better. I’ll do better.”

  “I can’t give you a chance when I have no chance to give! Even if the past never happened. Even if I’d loved you without a broken heart. Even if you’d loved me all these years earnestly, wildly, you would still lose, West. You are where I wrote once upon a time, he is where I write happily ever after.”

  In an instant, the boy I’d once known vanished. I tore at my hand but he kept it pinned.

  “Let me go.”

  With his other hand, West gripped the back of my head, holding me captive. Captive to the pain and helplessness in his eyes.

  “You want me to be the villain?” he growled.

  My heart dropped. “Don’t do this.” Be better.

  “Fine, Story. I’ll be the fucking villain.”

  He crashed his lips against mine. Ugly. Brutal. I struggled against him, and he forced his mouth harder against mine.

  I felt the wetness on my cheeks first, then the salt hit my lips.

  Tears—his.

  Then West was gone, pulled off of me in what felt like a gust of wind. I had a split second to see his face. The tears reflecting in the black night, before he was yanked further away. Thrown to the sand.

  Grayson.

  Grayson had been the unseen force pulling West off me. He caged West, legs on either side of his torso. The wind whipped blond hair wildly around his face—his profile seen in carved and vicious glimpses.

  An angry god dispensing justice.

  “And the prince saves the princess.” West laughed. “But what are you going to do tomorrow? When nothing fucking changes?”

  Grayson grinned, mean. “I don’t give a flying shit about tomorrow. All I care about is now. Seeing your bones break like you’ve been breaking her heart.”

  “Grayson? How are you here—how did you find me?” Grayson rolled his neck at my questions, eyes laser-focused on West.

  “Look away, Snitch.” His voice made my gut clench. Deadly.

  “Grays—”

  “Look away,” he growled, then slammed his fist into West’s face.

  Fifty-Three

  GRAY

  The crunch of his bones against my fist, the splatter of his blood black on the sand. This moment was an inevitability come to its conclusion. From the minute I overheard her truth, to every broken look after. Her letters were kindling piling higher and higher.

  Dear Atlas, I need you.

  Snick. Flash. Boom.

  Slam. “Stop.”

  He’s right, it whispered. You’re bad, it whispered.

  Slam. “Fucking.”

  If I make a mistake, does that mean I’m not worthy of loving you anymore?

  Slam. “With.”

  I want him, but I don’t…want him. I want to carve the rust off my heart.

  Slam. “Her.”

  One final punch, and I curled my hands around his throat.

  “Grayson!” Story grabbed my arm with both hands, using all her strength to keep me from ending his life. Hands still clenched around his throat, I glanced at her. Tears stained her soft hazelnut cheeks. My grip tightened.

  For that alone, I could kill him.

  Her raspy plea. “He’s not worth it.”

  For months she’d kept saying that. She didn’t fucking get it.

  Keeping
one hand pinned on his neck, I caressed the other down her cheek. “You are worth it, Story. You.”

  Her glance fluttered to the side, to West starting to gain consciousness again. Blood stained her cheek where my knuckle had been. His blood. Anger rose up in my throat again, hot and choking.

  “So then listen when I tell you this isn’t what I want. I want you, I want us, a future where he is a distant memory. This?” She glanced at him again, swallowing. “He’ll be in our lives forever.”

  I dug my thumb into his pulsing vein.

  “Please,” Story whispered. “We’ve come so far. We’re almost there.”

  I yanked my hand from his neck, shaking it out because the muscles still wanted to be wrapped around his throat. Story threw her arms around my neck, nearly tackling me.

  I forgot West and just hugged her, fucking hugged my wife. I pulled us off the ground, gripped her tight beneath the hollows of her shoulder blades, until her heartbeat bled into mine. Knowing she was in my arms—mine and safe.

  West’s wet and bloody laugh sounded beneath us. “You still need me.”

  I think Story sensed the change. Maybe my muscles tightened, maybe my breathing changed. Or maybe she just knew.

  Because she whispered, “Grayson.”

  I pulled back to see her walnut eyes, using her to steady myself as I spoke. “You’re done, du Lac. Done with her. Done with here. Get out before my kindness wears off.”

  “You need me.” West scrambled shakily to his feet, pulling my attention back. “Lottie might not be pregnant with your kid, but you still signed that postnup and I still have everything on you. I’ll destroy you. I’ll destroy your family. I won’t stop until my name is on everything you love.”

  He sounded as unhinged as he looked, and the violent waves crashing only added to it.

  I carefully put Story behind my body.

  “No,” I said lightly. “You won’t. You don’t have anything…not anymore.”

  The password was songbird like Lottie said. It was done. We were free.

  His eyes popped at that, then he scrambled to pull up his phone, eyes growing as he clearly saw the truth.

  It was gone.

  All of it.

  His head snapped up. “When the fuck did you do this? When?”

  “Does it matter?” Story hedged from behind me. “It’s over, West.”

  “It’s not over, you’re still my mistress! You still need me. You still need that coin. Without me, you won’t be safe. You’ll never be able to leave me until you find it. You’ll never be able to forget me.”

  With Story at my back, I couldn’t see her face. But I wasn’t worried.

  “You’ll always be an outsider, West,” I said calmly. “What we have, you’ll never break. Never get inside. Never even touch.” I looked over my shoulder, catching a glimpse of her face. “Right, little nun?”

  She stared at me with those big, mossy eyes like I was the fucking king of her universe. Then nodded before mouthing Neruda.

  My lips tilted. There she was—my Snitch, my little nun, my wife.

  “You’re so goddamn naive. Both of you.” Reluctantly, I looked back to West. “What’s your plan now? She’s not safe here, and you know it. Lottie just announced to the whole world that she doesn’t have a Crowne in her belly, and the entire world thinks the Cinderella of Crowne Hall is secretly carrying one. Do you really think our family gives a shit who the real father is?”

  “It’s over. It’s done. Get the fuck out of my house. Get the fuck out of my town. I’ll give you ten seconds to get going, and after that…” I cracked my knuckles.

  One…West glanced over my shoulder at Story.

  Two…His bloody nose dripped onto his cracked lips.

  He stared at us, eyes wild. “You should know better. Who’s the real monster, Gray?”

  Five…“You.”

  At seven seconds, I arched my brow. My muscles itched to end him, ruin him, regardless of the consequences.

  But West swiped the blood from beneath his nose, stepping back toward the trees. “This isn’t fucking over.”

  I watched him until he disappeared into the swaying, silent trees. I didn’t stop watching, even as the seconds faded into minutes, and the minutes faded into the wind.

  “Grayson?” I flinched at Story’s palm on my shoulder.

  I didn’t realize the tension in my chest, the mass of tangled vines wrapping around my heart, until her palm landed on my shoulder.

  “What are you doing here?”

  I turned and seized her face, crushing my lips against hers, kissing until all that held her up was my grip. With the flicker of the moon between our lips, against her wet mouth I said, “You said you needed me.”

  Fifty-Four

  STORY

  You said you needed me.

  Grayson slammed his lips against mine and I kissed him back. Like I was dying—like I’d been dying. I could never get tired of kissing him—every kiss was a piece of his burning soul.

  “I don’t—” I broke on a breath. “When did I say that?”

  “You sent me a letter. Think, Story.”

  The secrets I’d been keeping from myself, sending off to a version of him—was it possible he read them?

  He dragged my lip out, stopping at the last minute, teeth hanging on the edge. “Tell me your words, little nun. I know you want to.”

  He repeated the demand he’d spoken over and over again for months, but the frustration was gone from his touch, and anger no longer burned his tongue. With that, the floodgates opened.

  I was the villain until you made me the hero in your story.

  I should make you beg at my feet.

  You said you needed me.

  Grayson’s words spiraled around me—my words. My heart raced, my gut fluttered. I was hyperaware of everything from the tips of my toes pushing into the cold sand drenched with West’s blood, to the salty breeze blowing on my fingertips.

  Grayson was there for me. Grayson was always there.

  “You-you knew?” My tongue tangled over the words. “All this time? And you didn’t say anything?”

  He tangled his hands in my hair, pressing his forehead to mine. “I responded to every single one.” Grayson’s thumbs dug into my jaw, kissing my neck before planting a hot open-mouthed kiss on my jaw.

  “But…” My words were barely a gasp. “I would have known if you’d sent something to me.”

  “I didn’t respond from my account. I couldn’t.” His eyes fell to my lips, but then he stepped back. “Open up your phone, little wife.”

  Grayson waited as I opened my account, looking for a message, anything from him. I couldn’t find anything, but then I went to a spam folder—Atlas. I froze on the account name with a blank green profile picture. The first message started with Dear little wife.

  I looked at him, eyes wide.

  “Read it,” was all he said.

  I don’t know why my fingers shook as I read the first message. Maybe it had something to do with Grayson, whose deep blue eyes seemed to reflect wildness outside. Or maybe it was the millions of butterflies flapping inside my ribcage.

  Dear little wife,

  I think it’s important you know these letters are the only thing getting me through this prison. I’ve turned on my notifications, and every minute my pocket buzzes.

  It’s never you.

  You lied to me.

  I’m in my bed and the sheets don’t smell like you. I’m looking at my empty floor, remembering the first night you filled it.

  When you filled me.

  I never told you, but I stayed up that night. All night. Watching you. That night, to me, you were like…some dangerous colonist who wandered onto my untouched island. So I stared at you, waiting for you to do what everyone did. Lie. Steal. Destroy.

  Then you shivered.

  I guess I wanted you to know.

  You lied.

  All I fucking care about is that my floor is empty.

  I’
m empty.

  My sheets don’t smell like you.

  I took a breath, and when I looked up, Grayson was watching. I felt like I should say something, but I had no words.

  He stepped back to me, thumbing tears I didn’t realize had fallen.

  “Do you want to keep reading?” he asked.

  I rolled my lips, nodding.

  There were more letters, so many more. So Grayson thumbed my tears as I continued to read.

  Dear little wife, every secret I keep from you builds a new thorn around my heart.

  They piled higher and higher until I couldn’t breathe.

  Dear little nun…no poetry today, I wish I could have told you how pretty your smile was today. It was gone too quickly.

  I wanted to read them, right this moment, but there were hundreds. I skimmed to the last one, a response to my letter about West, when I’d said: I don’t want to keep you from someone who can love you without mistake.

  He’d replied:

  Dear little wife,

  Love is the most singularly human event in human existence.

  But to err is human.

  So then, love must be imperfect.

  To love wholly, without limits, until death and beyond forever, our love must be riddled with mistakes.

  Give me your imperfect love.

  Everything else is just…fantasy.

  Grayson knew my words when he’d said those horrible things to me earlier today. His real truth was waiting here for me this whole time.

  And the tears fell harder.

  “I had to use his words against him,” Gray said. “He was never going to believe you if I didn’t. I’m sorry, little wife. I’m sorry I had to lie. That I had to hurt you.”

  All this time, Grayson had been listening to my fears, bleeding with me. He’d always been protecting me. Always been looking out for me. Trying to lift the weight off my shoulders as I tried to do the same to him.