“I did come up with a few lyrics,” he says against my ear. “That day we met.”
“You what?”
He nods, ignoring my surprise. “Does that mean you’re going to sing for me?”
Griffin pulls his head back just enough to look me in the eye. “If you want me to.”
“Is that a question? Of course I want you to sing!” My laugh is muffled against his chest. I shift so I can look into his eyes. “I figure most guitar players are capable.”
He stops moving, a smile playing on his lips. “Capable? Are you trying to hurt my feelings?”
“What, of course not.” I grin. “I’m just saying, if you have lyrics, you should test them out on a real, live audience.”
Griffin laughs, releasing me to move back toward the PS4 controller. “You really know how to make a guy nervous,” he says before clicking a few buttons. The song starts over, and he wraps his arms around me again. We’re gently swaying to the music when he starts singing.
I’ll never forget that smile, those eyes,
Your beautiful everything.
The way you said my name,
The way you said anything.
Beautiful girl,
On top of the world,
You’ve never been found.
If it were up to me, you’d be crowned.
When the song is over, I pull away enough to grin up at him. Holy crap, he wrote a song because of…me? “Wow. You have an incredible voice.”
“You say that like you’re surprised.”
“Oh, I am.”
Griffin chuckles. Even though the music has stopped, he’s still gently swaying side to side, dancing to his own rhythm.
“So tell me…what got you started playing the guitar?”
This grants me a partial smile from Griffin. “I wish there were a cool answer for that, like something or someone inspired me into it. But honestly, I knew it would be cool to learn to play. Plus, girls fall all over a guitarist, right?”
I snort and almost roll my eyes. “That’s what I’ve heard. But I’m not one to fall for the cliché guitar boy.”
Half of his mouth twists downward. “You really think I’m that cliché?”
He guides me toward the bed, then sits on the edge. I hesitate only a moment before sitting beside him.
“No—well. I mean, the guitar-playing guy who’s tall, dark, and handsome? Yeah, that’s kinda cliché.” I scoot until I’m against him, feeling bold, and also hoping that being closer will keep the conversation light and distracting.
“Thought you said you changed your mind about me.”
“I did. You are still all of those things…but you’re not cliché. Not at all.” His nearness quickens my pulse, so I shift the few inches back, breathing slowly.
His frown flips into a grin. “You think I’m handsome?”
“I think you know you’re handsome.”
“I do?”
“Come on.” I let out a half-assed laugh. “You own a mirror. You have vaguely decent pickup lines, or at least you get points for trying… You walk around like you know exactly who you are.”
“I’m glad that’s what I project. I don’t know if it’s who I really am, though. I think… Sometimes I think I know exactly what I want and where I belong. Think I know exactly what I’m doing. Think I fit in anywhere. Think I can make friends with anyone.”
I take a deep breath, waiting for him to continue. When he doesn’t, I say, “But?”
“But…” He grabs my hand. The action is so casual, so easy. His “but” lingers in the air, though I don’t push for him to continue. His touch is soothing and warm, filling me with this sensation I shouldn’t feel, but despite it all, I do.
Griffin’s chest moves up and down a few more times as his fingers caress the back of my hand and he leans his head toward mine, barely touching.
I shut my eyes, breathing in this moment, because maybe if I can learn to live in the moment, like Grandma Ruth seems to think is best, then maybe I can ease some of my anxiety. Because no matter what, this feels good. Even if I know it’s wrong. I’m leading Griffin on, pretending to be this girl he could fall in love with. I’m not lovable, and I’m surely incapable of loving anyone back. He doesn’t deserve this.
My thoughts are like razor blades, impossible to ignore. I don’t tell him any of it, though. I don’t know how, so I let the silence prevail. And also because I’m selfish, because I do like it when he touches me, when he looks at me like maybe he’ll kiss me… I’m not ready to give that up.
“Sometimes,” he says in a voice so low I’m not sure he even wants me to hear it, “I feel like I don’t fit in anywhere. I don’t belong anywhere. Maybe I’ve got no clue who I am or what I want. Ah, okay, not no clue… There are some things I know for sure. Like guitar and music, because I love it. Because it feeds my soul. You, because you make me think. You make me feel.”
Warmth I’m not used to floods my system. His words work their way inside me, wrapping around every nerve ending until I tingle like I’m on fire. My heart beats too fast, and I’m certain he can hear it. “Is that another one of your lines?”
His smile tells me he knows I’m joking. “I mean it. It makes me feel cheesy as hell to admit, but yeah, I think I like you.”
I smile in return, our faces mere inches apart. My heart rate picks up. The words I think I like you, too are on the tip of my tongue—
The shattering of glass explodes in the living room window downstairs. Shock screams in my head. My heart skips a beat. I make a squeaking noise. What happened?
Griffin is down the steps in two seconds, barely even flinching, while I’m scared to move or even breathe.
The silence that follows is eerie and makes me sick as I tiptoe down the stairs, seeing Griffin’s chest heaving, fists clenching. Then he turns his head, taking in the shards of glass. I put the pieces together, understanding the scene before me. I watch Griffin bend down to pick something off the floor.
After a few strangled heartbeats pass, I ask, “What is it? What happened?”
In a voice cold as ice, he says, “It’s a brick. With a…note attached.”
What the hell? I thought stuff like that happened only in movies.
I dart my gaze to the window for fear of another flying rock, but if the point was to leave a note, there’ll be no more bricks. Crossing my arms around my waist, hoping to hold myself together, I shift my weight to the other foot and back again. I don’t want to know what the note says. But I do want to know. But then…everything will be different.
I’m worried that being closer to the cement rock will make everything more real, so without stepping forward, I ask, “What does it say?”
Griffin fixes me with a pinched and desperate look. “Stay. Away. From. Quinn.”
Chapter Thirteen
My realization splits me in half—two broken, desperate parts. I bite the inside of my cheek and shake my head, feeling everything crumbling beneath my feet at my newfound understanding. I’ve been wrong this whole time. The floor and my center of gravity finally drop out, leaving me dizzy. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.
Griffin turns to face me, hair flopping to one side of his face, nearly hitting his eye. His shoulders rise and fall with deep inhalations. But when he speaks, his voice is flat, showing no emotion. Not even anger or confusion. “Someone broke my window. With a fucking brick. And a note. To stay away from you.”
The walls might as well be collapsing in on us. Because I see it now. I see the truth.
This whole time, I’ve been searching for answers in the wrong place. Griffin isn’t in danger because of something that happened to him miles away. The answers never lied in his past. Not with his dad, or his screw-ups, or even an ex-girlfriend.
He’s going to die because someone is after me. Griffin is simply getting in their way.
He’s just collateral damage.
“What the hell is going on?” He whispers it, more to himself than to me.
The stony look on his face unnerves me. Silence encases the room, aside from my now rasping breaths and ramping heartbeat.
Stress expands in my head and trails through my arms like razor blades down to my fingers. Anxiety burrows deep into my bones, rattling my insides. The answers I’ve been desperate for have nothing to do with Griffin, and if he’d stayed in Arizona—or moved to literally any other state, this wouldn’t be his fate… If we’d never met, he would never have been given the chance to fall in love with me.
If he loves me, he’ll try to keep whoever this is from getting to me. He’ll put himself between me and danger, and it’s going to cost his life.
I’m the reason this vision is happening. Which means…Griffin can’t fall in love with me. I can’t let him. God, that sounds so silly. Can’t let him. But…if he never loves me, the vision can never happen exactly as it’s destined. If I can change that one small thing, it might cause a ripple effect, and maybe he won’t die. I don’t care that I haven’t been able to change a single vision yet—I need to do it only once to save him. I have to keep trying.
“Quinn.” Griffin’s voice is soft, concerned. “Are you okay?”
I meet his gaze, remembering how I felt in my vision when he told me he loved me. My heart was bursting with love in return. I want it to be real. I want that kind of epic happiness.
But I’m not allowed to want it anymore.
“Quinn?” Griffin repeats.
Finally, the apartment floor is solid beneath my feet. The dizziness subsides. Now all that’s left is a slightly sick feeling flowing through my veins.
“I don’t know who would do this,” I say.
He sets the brick onto the coffee table and comes close enough to grab my hand, squeezing it reassuringly. “Some asshole is getting a kick out of vandalism and cryptic threats.”
“But this person is targeting both of us.” No way your will-be murderer is just an asshat looking for kicks.
The urge to spill the truth overwhelms me. If he knew—and if he actually believed me—we might be able to figure this out together. Or he might run far away from me. Either option would be better, but the more I spin the thought around and around, the more I’m sure that spilling the truth will make me feel better only momentarily. Thinking he might actually believe I can see into the future is unrealistic.
Ugh, Grandma Ruth was right. This is my burden to shoulder, my mystery to solve. If I warn Griffin about his impending death, there’s no taking it back. Even if he believed me, would it truly help? I have to take something out of the equation in order to change the ending. Love is the only something I can think of. But will it be enough to spare Griffin’s life?
“Are you okay?” he asks.
Absolutely not at all. “I’m…a little freaked out.” Like I could just say Oh, so, I’ve seen how you’re going to die, and it’s probably going to be soon. I have to find a way to save you. Also, maybe don’t cut your hair—like ever?
I can’t drop a bomb on Griffin, hoping he’ll understand. He’s already confused and concerned enough. If I tell him the truth…he’d spend every day waiting for death, and what if me telling him is what makes it happen? That’s happened to me before.
My head spins. I don’t know I don’t know I don’t know.
Inspecting the carpet, I say, “We’ll go back to the police. Maybe…maybe there are fingerprints somewhere. Maybe—” I inhale and blink back the urge to cry.
Griffin wraps an arm around my shoulder, and the weight of it is comforting. It’s the only thing keeping me centered right now. His touch. His presence. But then guilt surrounds my thoughts—I’m keeping so many secrets.
I eventually lift my gaze. “I’m more than a little freaked out. Someone who knows me did this. But I don’t know anyone who would… What if it’s someone who knows me but I don’t know them?” The shadow in my photo—maybe it wasn’t someone stalking Griffin. They were there to stalk me.
He gives me a reassuring smile. “We’ll tell the police everything. Whatever is going on, we’re going to figure it out, okay? I won’t let anyone hurt you. Ever.”
That’s what I’m afraid of.
I nod, though, smiling a little. If we were in any other situation, I’d appreciate his vow to protect me. He really does care.
I’ll just have to change my approach to this. There isn’t a single thing I won’t do to save Griffin, and I hope it doesn’t come to this, but it’s possible the only way might be to push him away.
As far away from me as possible.
…
Who would want to hurt me? I’ve never done anything to offend anyone so badly… I’ve never been in a fight. No one has ever called me names—not to my face anyway. Hell, I can’t even stand the thought of killing spiders. If I’ve never knowingly pissed anyone off, and I’ve never harmed anyone, what would be someone’s reason for hating me? Hating me so much that they’d…kill the guy who I’ve seen watch me with love in his eyes. Right before all the light leaves him.
I roll over on my bed and swallow the disgust gathering in my throat, trying to clear my brain. I’m unsuccessful. What does shooting Griffin accomplish? Does that mean someone also wants to shoot me? If ignoring Griffin will help save his life, it’s still possible I might get shot—or killed. The more questions I consider, the more I’m certain I’ll never unravel the answers.
I force myself off the bed and sit at my computer desk. I tap my foot against the carpet, staring at the blank screen. I have to start somewhere. After pulling up Instagram, I begin scrolling, looking for anything that might jog a memory of something. Anything is a possibility. My feed is mostly selfies and pictures of beaches from those lucky enough to be on vacation. Then I see a picture of Kyle Jolten, the guy I dated for three months last year.
He was my longest-running relationship, which is sad and highly unimpressive. He’s the only guy I dated and saw a vision of us ending with me being the one to break it off. I know I hurt him. Sure, he might’ve been pissed, but I definitely did nothing to deserve all of this insanity. Besides, we dated for only three months; what kind of real heartbreak could I have caused?
Guess that’s not fair; I’ve known Griffin for what, a couple weeks? But here I am, feeling all kinds of things I shouldn’t. Feelings I know I’ve never felt before.
Feelings that are going to get Griffin killed.
I groan into my palms before shoving my hair off my forehead. Staring at my keyboard, I try to think of any other reason for the creeptastic note. But I can’t, so I sit back, pull up my internet browser, and type my ex’s name in the search bar.
Kyle’s smiling face beams as soon as I click on images. A lot of other dudes show up, but there’s no missing his bright, wide smile. I search the internet for anything more than his Instagram and discover he writes a blog. Looking through it, I realize most of it’s poetry. There are some short stories also, but none of this is helpful.
I make a screwed-up face at the screen and sigh, not knowing what to do. There’s no way Kyle did this… Why would he? It’s been over a year since we broke up. He wouldn’t wait this long.
The silence in the room has my skin crawling. Back on Instagram, I click to message him.
Me: Hey. This might sound weird, but I had this feeling you might’ve been trying to contact me. May—
I groan, unable to finish it. Why would Kyle even respond if he’s the one responsible? No stalker is going to come right out and admit it. I stare at my half-written message, waiting for the right thing to come to mind. I sit for five minutes. Ten. My jaw hurts from grinding my teeth, so I finally push away from the computer, choosing instead to pace my room. What else? I keep repeating it to myself. There has to be a reason Griffin’s going to get shot. No one shoots someon
e for fun.
God, not even that’s true!
I’m five seconds away from screaming at my static computer screen when my phone buzzes with a text from Olivia.
Olivia: Jack and I are going to Therapy Café tonight for a poetry slam. Wanna join? Bring Griffin. Jack’s going to perform!
Me: Not sure I’m up for it.
Less than a minute later, my phone rings. Olivia calls only when she means business.
“What’s going on? You love that place. You love poetry.”
“But I have so much going on. With work and my portfolio and—”
“Girl, you’re always working on your portfolio, and you work only maybe twenty hours a week. You do not have so much going on that you can’t come enjoy a night out with your best friend. Especially when she asks so, so nicely.”
I laugh, but my thoughts quickly turn sour. “It’s not that I don’t want to hang out with you, Liv. I do have a lot going on. I’m pretty sure…someone is stalking me.”
She gasps. “A stalker! Are you freaking kidding me?”
“I wish it were a joke.”
“Tell me everything,” she insists.
Not wanting to reveal too much of what she can’t know but also no longer able to stay silent, I tell her what I can—about the brick incident, and about how all these terrible things have been happening because of me. By the time I’m done, my fingers are shaking, and my heart bangs against my rib cage, surely leaving a bruise.
“So many pieces that just don’t fit,” I say, clutching my hand around the phone. “I’m the reason he—” I cover my mouth. Shut my eyes. “The reason he got his brakes cut, the reason his guitar got broken. Someone broke his window just to send a message. A message about me! I’m to blame for all of it.”
To Whatever End Page 11