I swallow, debating the best way to change the subject back. Coming up with nothing, I just say, “Do you think it’s at all possible someone followed you here from Arizona?”
His eyebrows pull together, and his lips screw up into a weird frown. “I’m only guilty by association, remember? It would take a seriously motivated person to do that.”
“But all those threats… It sounds like a lot of those people were motivated.”
“I didn’t tell anyone where I was moving, aside from my dad. So I doubt anyone else knows. Do you really think someone would go that far? Seems extreme.”
“No. If those people making threats really are that out of control, then it’s not a stretch to think one of them might have been stalking you across the country.” Without enough details and concrete proof, how will I ever convince him he’s in danger?
Griffin looks to be debating my statement, but then he shakes his head. “Look, I appreciate your concern, but it is a stretch. An out of the blue kinda stretch. People get their stuff stolen or vandalized all the time.”
I lean one hand across the table toward him, though he ignores it. “Are you sure there’s nothing you did in—”
“No.” His voice is low and firm. “I’m not the bad guy here. Someone broke into my house, smashed my guitar, and that’s that. End of story. It’s not some grand scheme put together all because my dad’s a piece of shit.”
I’m stuck to my chair. My feet melt into the ground, and I wish I could melt away, too. Of course it sounds like I’m paranoid. He doesn’t know his death is coming, and I can’t tell him I saw it in a vision—even if I could, I wouldn’t, not with the way he’s looking at me right now.
“I’m worried,” I mumble. It’s the truth, whether he sees it or not.
“Don’t worry about me. I’ve been taking care of myself for a long time.”
“But—”
“Let it go, okay?” Griffin slides out of the chair.
I don’t know how to do that, but I nod anyway, defeat heavy in my chest.
Outside in the parking lot, he dips his head like he’s going to say something, but before he does, someone calls my name. We both stop and turn around.
“Quinn!” the shout comes again.
I recognize Olivia’s voice right before I spot her black hair shining under the sun. She waves animatedly. Then I spot the guy next to her. He’s almost as tall as Griffin, but lankier. Dark brown waves of hair cover his head.
“Oh, hey,” I say, more shocked than anything.
The two of them come closer. Olivia looks classier than I do in my maroon-colored jeans, flip-flops, and white tank top with lace along the edges.
“What are you doing?” She says it like a playful accusation, though in my chest, it feels like a serious accusation. I’m not sure why.
“We’re on our way home. Uh, what are you doing?”
Olivia flips her hair and leans in to the guy next to her, wrapping her arm around his. “Getting coffee, of course. And hey, this is Jack.”
She gives me a wide-eyed look, a glossy haze of lust in her eyes as they flit back and forth between her date and me. Olivia has always been the one to fall hard and fall fast. But now that Jack is close enough to get a good look at his features, I can’t entirely blame her. He’s attractive, wearing all black. The perfect image of dark and mysterious, just the way Olivia likes them. And he has a killer smile, too.
“Hey,” he says.
“You must be Griffin.” Olivia motions toward him. “I’ve heard so much about you!”
He looks at me, his earlier annoyance disguised with a smile.
I shuffle my feet, pointing at Jack. “You look awfully familiar. Have we met before?”
“No, I’m pretty sure we haven’t.”
“Oh, I just thought… Never mind.”
“Uh, yeah. I must have one of those faces.” He says it like maybe he didn’t like my question, then pulls his phone from his pocket. “Liv, we’d better get going if we want to make the movie.”
“You’re right, we should get going,” Olivia says, and looks to me.
“It was nice meeting you,” I tell Jack. He smiles and gives me a half-assed salute, which makes Olivia laugh.
“Yep. You too.”
We finish our goodbyes and Griffin and I head for the truck. Once inside, I take in a deep breath to finally catch my breath, calm my nerves.
“She seems nice,” he says, turning the ignition.
“We’ve been best friends since sophomore year,” I say.
He nods but says nothing else, and the ride home is silent, aside from the low hum of country music. I debate apologizing again but decide not to be a broken record.
We park, and Griffin turns off the engine. “Thanks for the coffee,” I say, pulling on my purse straps, inching my fingers toward the door handle.
“You’re welcome.” The smile he gives me is weak.
I smile back, but he’s already climbing out of the truck. With a heaviness in my chest I can’t shake, I get out of the car also. We walk to the point where the sidewalk splits off between our apartment buildings, and we both hesitate. He stares down at me, an unreadable expression on his face. A light breeze tickles the hair around my neck, and I shiver.
“I have an idea.” I say it before I can decide if it’s a good one or not. “What if you let me take pictures of your guitar? Photographs are something you can have forever.”
His face doesn’t change for a few moments, though it feels like minutes. Then Griffin tips his head. “You want to photograph my broken guitar?”
I laugh nervously, shoving hair behind my ears. “Yes. I can turn it into a beautiful piece of art.”
“Since you asked so nicely, and I am eager to see your art skills, it seems I have to oblige.” The skin around his eyes crinkles, his lips press into his cheeks, and his dimples appear.
“Really?” I half expected him to glower at me and deem me an insensitive bitch.
“Sure. If you get a decent picture out of it, then maybe this whole thing will be a little bit better.”
“That’s perfect.” I tap my fingers against my jeans, smiling. “Okay, I’ll go get my camera and be right back.”
Five minutes later, I’m inside his apartment again, scanning the travesty of his broken guitar. It fills me with a sadness that isn’t completely my own. I know how much the instrument meant to him.
A silent moment passes while I work up the nerve to talk, but before I do, he walks closer and grabs my hand. “Look, I’m sorry for snapping earlier. When I told you to let it go. But, see, I moved away so I could forget about everything that happened to me. I moved for a new start.”
“I know that.” My voice betrays me by cracking a little. “I don’t mean to keep bringing up your past to hurt you.” Just the opposite, in fact.
“I know that, too.” Our fingers intertwine, and he smiles a little. “I’m not used to people worrying about me. I’ve pretty much always taken care of myself. I know I reacted kinda like a dick. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay, really.”
“Well, here are all the remaining parts.” He spreads his arm out to envelop all of the scattered pieces. “Go wild.”
I feel a tiny bit silly about this, but I honestly think his smashed guitar is the most interesting thing I’ve come across since the night I found Griffin sitting on his porch, looking devastated. It’s odd, in fact, that he looked more upset that night than he did today. Today he just looked pissed.
I adjust the settings on my camera then run to the window to open the blinds for more natural light. It creates a beautiful stream of fading sunlight through the slits, casting shadows against the dark carpet where the fragmented guitar lies. Crouching down, I take a few shots. The light bounces off the broken pieces like a kaleidoscope. I scoot over a few inches, raise my
camera a tiny bit and snap a few more. If I zoom in close enough, it’s hard to tell it was a guitar at all. I love the abstractness. I adjust the settings one more time, closing the F-stop, and take a couple. Then finally, I stand and take a few from that angle.
“Wow,” Griffin says as I’m scanning through the shots on my viewfinder.
I glance up at him. “What?”
“You…looked really into it.”
I twist my lips, wondering if that’s a compliment. “Yeah, I really, really love photography.”
“I can tell.” He smiles, crossing his arms and taking a step closer to me. “You look like a pro.”
“Ha.” I sling the camera strap over my shoulder, holding it at my side so I don’t bang it on anything. “I’m far from a pro.”
He shakes his head like that’s the most absurd comment I could make. “Are you going to let me see them or what?”
I look down at my camera then back up at his grinning face. “Sure. But not yet. I need to open them on my computer and make sure they’re anything worth looking at.” You can’t judge a picture with the small three-by-four-inch display. You have to wait until it’s full-blown on a computer screen to ensure the lighting and contrast and subject matter are just right.
Griffin’s grin slips a little, but he doesn’t look entirely brokenhearted. “Maybe sometime you’ll show me all of your work.”
“If you’re nice, maybe I will.”
“I’ll be on my best behavior, then.”
If only that were enough to keep him alive.
Chapter Ten
After closing Google, I open Lightroom to check out the photos I took of Griffin’s broken guitar. They’re actually…brilliant. They turned out better than I could’ve imagined. Perfect lighting. Perfectly unique. Creative. I’m pretty damn proud of myself.
But my grin fades when I think about the look in Griffin’s eyes while he stared at the destruction. He might believe it’s a one-time thing, some asshole playing a prank, or some angry neighbor who has a serious hatred of music. But I can’t convince myself to believe that.
I’m still staring at the computer screen when my phone pings on the desk. I look down to see Griffin’s name highlighted, so I open up the text.
Griffin: Do I get to see those pictures?
I bite down hard on my lip, sighing, thinking of the one with the shadow.
Me: I don’t know. What’s in it for me?
It’s the only response I can think of, playing it off like nothing is a big deal. And maybe…I think I’m flirting with him via text. Which shouldn’t feel weird. But it does.
Griffin: Whatever you want.
I set the phone down and stare at it for far too long. I should’ve expected a response like that from him, but now I really don’t know what to say. Whatever I want? What do I want? Aside from saving his life? Nothing.
I scratch the back of my neck then rub out the kinks. Dating isn’t supposed to be this hard. Eventually, after a few minutes have passed, I pick my phone back up.
Me: Surprise me with something super cool, and I’ll show you my pictures.
I hit send without thinking too much about it. I can play the coy, flirting game he’s obviously so good at. But games aren’t my thing. They never were. Is this all a game for Griffin? Nothing but a distraction from the horrible things that happened back in Arizona? It would explain my twisted, futuristic vision where he thinks he’s in love with me.
But then…maybe his dying confession is just that—the last words of a dying man. I don’t know how the scene will play out before it starts to rain, before his blood runs together with the streams of water. Will he believe his own words or know it’s a lie? Will he—
Stop. I need to quit. Just quit thinking altogether.
My nerves kick up when my phone pings with a new text.
Griffin: Sure. How about Saturday? Let’s say 2 pm? I’ll pick you up. ;)
I let out half a giggle at his response, though it’s a result of my mixed emotions. And that damn emoji. I respond, agreeing to the plan, wondering what his idea of a surprise might be.
…
Griffin arrives to pick me up for my surprise right on time. He stands on the porch, hands stuffed into the pockets of his khaki shorts, wearing his adorable grin.
I shut the door behind me. “So where are we going?”
He shakes his head. “Nuh-uh. That’s not how surprises work.”
I roll my eyes but laugh. “Sure, fine.”
“Don’t sound so excited, all right?”
“It’s just…I’ve never really been surprised before.” Thanks to my visions. “I don’t know how to feel about them.”
We step out from under the shade of the porch, and he peers over at me. “You’ve never been surprised before?”
“Nope. But maybe this will be fun.”
“Maybe? You have that little faith in me?”
I shrug. “Is there a right answer to that question?”
Griffin only grins and continues walking toward the parking lot. I follow beside him until we’ve passed his truck.
“Wait. I thought we were going somewhere.”
“We are.”
I give him an odd look he doesn’t see because he’s still walking, and my feet are solidly planted on the cement. After another moment of hesitation, I move again and pick up the pace until I’m beside him.
He smiles at me. “I’m full of surprises. You’ll see.”
He slows his step once we make it to the end of the street and turns to me, pulling his hands from his pockets. Two fingers hold a bright blue piece of chalk. He offers it to me.
I twist my head, inspecting it like it’s really something more than chalk, and perhaps my eyes are deceiving me. “What’s that for?”
Griffin kneels, placing his fingers against the rough sidewalk. Then he uses the piece of chalk to draw a large arrow pointing forward. He stands and looks at me, offering the blue chalk.
“I’m still confused. Is that the point?”
His laugh does things to my heart that I wish it would stop doing. “No. It’ll all make sense. Every so many feet, we’re going to draw an arrow on the sidewalk.”
“And then…?”
“Then you’ll see.”
My lips twist with suspicion. “You know, if this isn’t a good surprise, you don’t get to see my photos, right?”
“The deal was to surprise you. I don’t recall any mention of whether or not my surprise had to be good.” He lifts both shoulders, spreading his fingers wide. “Be careful what you ask for.”
Crap.
“Fine,” I say, taking the chalk from his outstretched hand. “I’ll be more careful next time we make a deal.”
He smiles.
We continue down the sidewalk, and every fifteen feet or so, I draw another arrow. Griffin leads the way, and I decide when to mark our spot.
“This is like some twisted version of Hansel and Gretel, leaving breadcrumbs in the forest.”
“That’s actually fairly accurate.”
“Oh?”
He nods. “Stop assuming things and just keep going. It’s supposed to be fun.”
“It is fun. But…you know…the whole not liking surprises thing has me a bit…”
“Nervous?” he suggests, tilting his head my way.
“Yes,” I say slowly. It’s the truth, though. I’m a walking bundle of nerves every time I’m with Griffin. Sometimes it’s good. Other times, not so much.
“Don’t worry. I think you’ll like where this ends.”
I do my best to smile, to wipe the horror-stricken expression from my eyes and my heart. I already know how this will end, but I whisper, “One can hope.”
We walk for twenty minutes. The sunlight casts shadows, serving as a horrid reminder of the shadow in my
photo. We pass various trees, and I’m thankful for their brief moments of shade. The sun is scorching—I’m already getting burned. Though I don’t mind the sun. It’s better than rain. Or snow.
“Thanks for coming on this adventure with me,” Griffin says.
I meet his gaze, then mine falls to his lips. My insides coil at the thought of him kissing me. I want him to kiss me. Like right now. “How could I turn it down?”
He extends his right hand, offering it to me. Jitters bubble in my chest, and I take his hand. His fingers wind around mine, and I smile while we continue down our path.
A few minutes later, Griffin says, “So how come you don’t have a boyfriend?”
I laugh. “Seriously?”
“Yeah. I mean, sure, that kinda sounds like a cheesy pickup line, but I’m serious. I figure a girl like you would have a boyfriend.” Grinning, he shakes his head as though he’s thinking something through. “All assumptions and jokes aside, you’re an intriguing, beautiful girl. You go to museums for inspiration. So tell me, Quinn, why no boyfriend?”
I bite my lower lip, sort of stuck on the fact that he called me intriguing. And beautiful. If I didn’t have other thoughts overtaking my mind, I’d be a melting pile of girl goo and he’d never get all the droplets of me back together. “Well. Guys and I…it just never worked out in the past. So, I stopped dating months ago. I wasn’t lying when I told you I don’t date.” I am certainly not fit for dating. Never have been. Never will be.
So who the hell knows what I’m doing now?
He drops his voice to a low and deliciously husky tone. “I think you’re a great date.”
I can’t fight the smile tugging my lips. “Sure. So then, are you going to tell me why you don’t have a girlfriend?” I say quietly. “It’s only fair, since you asked me.”
He shifts, rolling his shoulders back. “I’m not sure your question applies.”
“Uh, yeah. It definitely does.”
“I can count on one hand the number of people I’ve met since moving.”
“Uh-huh. But I mean…did you have a girlfriend you left behind in Arizona?”
“No.”
“Okay. So why no girlfriend, then?”
To Whatever End Page 8