I guess bleeding out thanks to the brother I’d just met isn’t exactly happy, but a part of me is. At least I can die knowing I had something worth dying for, that I loved someone enough to give my own life. The way my parents sacrificed themselves. The way Griffin was willing to do for me.
I did change the ending—our ending.
“Don’t forget it,” I mumble, my eyes fluttering closed. I nuzzle into his chest, because his presence is the only thing helping me deal with the pain. “I love you, Griffin. To any end, to whatever end.” To this end.
His fear and pain are palpable, clear on his face. He doesn’t want me to die. I don’t, either, but if it had to be one of us? I’m glad it’s me.
I shut my eyes. The rain calms down until there is nothing to hear. The feel of his hands on mine fades until I, too, am no longer here, either.
I’m not anywhere.
I’m in utter darkness.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
There is warmth coating my skin. Warmth encasing my heart. Everything is light. Nothing hurts. Huh, I never actually believed in an afterlife. But all this warmth? It must be something. Heaven maybe, or some version of it.
But there’s this low beeping in the background, invading the warmth and the silence. Why the crap is there beeping in heaven? Why would dead people need beeps? Oh no, there better not be any cell phones in the afterlife.
I squeeze my eyes, though they’re already shut. The beeping grows louder. I twist my head and attempt prying my eyes open. Light. I can see the light peeking out from behind my lids.
Warmth and light and beeping.
What a hell of a heaven.
But then I do manage to open my eyes, peer around the room, which is all white at first. Then I see the chair beside the bed. The machines propped against the walls. The white cabinets and the TV set turned off, hanging from the ceiling.
I’m in a hospital.
I lift my right arm and look at it, see the IV stuck in there, and suck in a breath that hurts. So much for feeling nothing.
But feeling…it means I’m alive.
I’m not dead.
I’m not…
“Quinn?”
I turn at the sound of my grandmother’s voice, blinking.
“Oh, Quinn.” She’s standing next to the bed now, her brows moving up and down and her pale lips dipped into a deep, horrified expression. She’s wearing a jogging suit. Grandma doesn’t jog, and I didn’t think she owned any jogging suits. Have I been out so long that Grandma Ruth picked up jogging? “I was so worried. You… I didn’t think. Oh, I’m so relieved you’re okay.”
And the smile on her face proves it. But I’m confused. I’m not supposed to be alive. I was supposed to die. I took Griffin’s place.
Didn’t I?
Then I see him to my left, a pained, yet hopeful expression on his face. His haunted eyes immediately brighten. I breathe in, relief and confusion overwhelming me.
Tears spring to my own eyes. Griffin isn’t dead. I really did save him.
“Hi, Quinn.”
My name on his lips is officially the most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard. “Hey.”
“My God, you’re okay.” He rushes to my side and kneels, holding out one hand like he’s going to touch me but is hesitant to.
“Thanks to you.”
His lips pull upward, and I can spot a hint of that grin that only he can pull off.
“How long have I been out? And how am I alive?” I ask, flipping my gaze back and forth between them.
Grandma gives me a knowing smile, patting me on the arm. “You were brought here late last night.”
“So the whole me being alive and Griffin being alive thing…”
“You did exactly what I expected you to do. It’s the same thing your mother did.”
“But she—” I stop and swallow. “We’re both okay. I didn’t think that was possible.”
“If you had been shot any lower, you wouldn’t be here,” Griffin says, taking my free hand. “The bullet missed any vital organs or arteries.”
I shift in the uncomfortable hospital bed, and pain shoots through me, so I stop moving. “No, I mean, how are we both alive?”
“You sacrificed yourself,” she says simply. “It’s the only way you can change the future.”
“What happened to Jack?”
Grandma purses her lips and shakes her head. “Griffin. He…well, he did what he had to do. It was honest-to-God self-defense.”
“Jack is…dead?”
She nods, and that motherly look of sympathy crosses her face.
My lungs tighten. He threatened me with a gun. He was going to shoot Griffin. Yes, yes, and yes. But…he was also my brother.
“I need to ask you something,” I say, blinking away tears.
“Anything, dear.”
“Jack told me…he said he was my brother. That he’d been given up when he was a baby. And that we met before, when I was younger. Then Mom and Dad turned him away. Do you know anything about it?”
She rolls her head, presses a hand to her forehead. Then she steps back to sit in the chair angled toward the bed. Her face shifts in contemplation for a long while before she finally looks up at me again.
“I knew you had a brother out there somewhere. But I had no idea who he was. Your mother told me the story about one night when a boy showed at your house claiming to be their son.”
“So they sent him away?” I ask. “After showing up on their doorstep?”
“Your parents were young when they had him. They weren’t ready. They’d thought long and hard about it, but ultimately decided the best decision was to give him up. In their eyes, giving Jack a life without them was the best life they could give. And when he came around, yes, they sent him away. But he kept coming back. Eventually, your parents found out he was a troubled boy who’d been entangled with the law more than once. They didn’t want you being influenced by him.”
“At least they thought giving him up was for the best…” I frown. “But he showed up clearly wanting to get to know them. Mom and Dad just shunned him. Maybe he just needed a little help. Having parents and not being in the foster system would’ve helped.” A thread of anger pulls at my stomach. “I wish he’d just told me who he was. Maybe he wouldn’t have had to die.”
Grandma’s lips pull down, and she furrows her brow, deepening the wrinkles around her eyes and forehead. “There was more to the story than just your parents shunning him. By the time Jack was six, he’d been suspected of killing two pet dogs and a handful of rabbits he’d managed to catch. He was not a healthy child, dear. And he needed more help than simply a loving home.”
“Jack told me it wasn’t fair that they kept me and gave him away… He told me his life was horrible. He—”
“None of that was your fault.” She grabs my hand again, brushing gently with her fingers.
“But he blamed me.” My voice squeaks. “Because he found out Mom and Dad were dead…he could never find any closure. So he wanted it from me.” And he was willing to do just about anything for it.
“I’m so terribly sorry, Quinn,” she says. “But it’s not your fault. And I’m also sorry it had to end like this, with him… Well, he never got the help he actually needed.”
He’d likely been stalking me for some time. Months, maybe even years. He used my best friend to get closer to me. He tried to hurt Griffin so he could have me all to himself. And when that didn’t work, something inside him turned. He tortured me. Like he said he was going to.
“Try not to stress, dear,” Grandma says. “All you need to worry about now is healing.” She stands. “Well, I’ll go take a walk and give you two a few minutes to yourselves. You’ll see the silver lining in this.”
“No,” I say before she can go. “I already see it. Isn’t it obvious? I did eve
rything I could and…it worked. Griffin is alive. I’m alive.”
A quick smile plays on her lips. “Hold on to that.”
She leaves, and when Griffin appears at my bedside, I stretch my hand out to grab his. Our fingers intertwine, and I breathe in, this time without any pain—probably thanks to the morphine drip.
“You’re my hero,” I say with a hint of laughter in my chest.
“Nah. I’m nobody’s hero,” he says, brushing the back of my hand with his thumb. “I’m just an honest coward, like everyone else.”
“A real hero is never a hero on purpose. He does it by accident. That’s what makes him a hero.”
His eyes are watery, and I’ve never seen him come close to crying before. Griffin leans in to gently kiss my forehead then places his other hand against my cheek. “And hey…you’re the hero in this story.”
For a few moments of overwhelming relief, I am filled with nothing but warmth. Unrefined, undiluted happiness. Because we are both still here, still breathing.
This isn’t the end.
“How did you know I was outside with Jack?” I ask, clenching his fingers. “There’s no way you heard us.”
“No. But when it started raining, I texted you. I sent three messages, and when they all went unanswered, I knocked on your door and it wasn’t shut all the way…” His Adam’s apple bobs with a thick swallow. “I was headed for my car. I don’t even know how I planned on finding you, but then I did hear you.”
“But I told you about my vision, about how you were going to die. Why would you come running, knowing that?”
“If I’d have stayed inside, it would’ve been you on the ground, and I wasn’t going to let that happen. I didn’t care about the vision. I cared about you.”
My heart expands until it feels too big to stay contained within my chest. I lick my dry lips, reaching my free hand out to touch his cheek. His half smile returns, and he leans in to kiss me. I run my fingers through his hair, inhale his scent, and lay my hand down on the bed. “You stood in front of me, ready to die.”
“I wouldn’t say I was ready to die.” He grins. “But I wasn’t going to let you take a bullet for me.”
“But I did.”
“Not because I let you.”
I laugh. My chest burns in response. “Ouch, don’t be funny.”
“I’ll do my best.”
“Looks like my love of photography saved your life.”
“How’s that?” he says.
“Without my beloved camera, I wouldn’t have spent so much time in museums looking for inspiration.” I might’ve never met Griffin. Never would’ve stepped in front of the gun, keeping him from being shot. “Actually…if we’d never met, there would’ve been no need to save your life. I’m just really, really glad you’re okay,” I say, though a few words slur together.
“You’re glad I’m okay? You’re the one who got shot. It was touch and go for a while. I thought…I thought maybe…” He looks away, then back at me, the moisture still in his gaze. “I thought I’d lose you.”
“You can’t get rid of me that easily,” I joke, offering him a smile.
He grins and leans in to kiss me softly on the lips. His mouth lingers there, and though the kiss is far too short, so much is expressed through that silent exchange.
“I don’t want to get rid of you,” he says. “Ever.”
“Good. Because I’m really not going to make it easy.”
He palms my cheek and lays another kiss against my forehead, looking back at me with hope and relief and—by some miracle—love in his eyes.
Fate didn’t turn out the way I’d planned. But fate apparently doesn’t care about plans. It doesn’t care about anything. And maybe we’re all just one decision away from a totally different life.
Epilogue
A month later, I start checking the mailbox every day. Three days pass with nothing more than junk mail. Before I make it outside on the fourth day, Grandma Ruth pins me with a well-practiced your mother has something to say look that is identical to the one my own mother wore perfectly.
“What?” I say after her silence lingers.
“Why do you keep checking the mail like clockwork?”
“Uh.” I’m too surprised to hide my confusion. “You know I’m waiting to hear back about the scholarship. I—”
“You could be checking that mailbox every day for two more weeks, and how will it feel if you look fourteen more times and walk inside with that sad, mopey face?”
I keep from laughing, but a grin pulls on my lips. “What point are you trying to prove?”
Her serious expression falters, and she waves a hand flippantly. “I might not know how to end the curse for you or for any of us, but I’ll be damned if I watch you torture yourself one more time without asking you this: did you do everything you could?”
Understanding finally dawns. “Using my own words against me. Clever.”
“Did you do everything you could?”
I nod. “Message received.”
“Now please leave the mailbox alone and make that boy take you out. Somewhere nice. With flowers.”
“I can likely manage the somewhere nice, but flowers? I wouldn’t count on it. That’s not really his thing.” I can almost hear Griffin in the back of my head whispering judgy, and it gives me a warm, fuzzy feeling that feels so simple, but so free. She’s right, though, the scholarship is out of my hands. “I’m definitely going to pay him a visit. I at least deserve Timbits.”
“You deserve flowers, Quinn. He seems like a smart boy, he’ll figure it out eventually.”
I’m still smiling by the time I leave the apartment.
Griffin opens the door, and I don’t know if it’s Grandma Ruth’s ramblings or the way he’s looking at me, but a light clicks on in my brain. Something I don’t immediately have words for.
“I don’t have a clue what that look on your face is about,” he says, “but I’m going to assume it’s because you think I’m sexy.”
I stifle my laugh. “Whether or not I think you’re sexy is so—so not the point. Now stop, or you’ll ruin this warm and fuzzy moment for me.”
He tries to hide his grin, failing, and gestures with his hand for me to continue. “For the first time, I have no idea how this will end, and…and wow, I don’t know how to describe it without sounding even more cheesy, but no matter what ending plays out, you’re the reason for the warm and fuzzy feeling. I wanted you to know…it’s worth whatever end.”
Griffin shifts closer and brushes hair away from my cheek. “Please correct me if I’m wrong here, because I’m clearly no expert in the warm and fuzzies, but that sounds a lot like love.”
“It feels like love.” That was definition enough.
He kisses my forehead then, leaning in, he whispers, “Play your cards right and I might put you in a song one day. Or hell, play them wrong, and you still might end up in a song.”
My head finds a place against his chest. “So what you’re saying is you promise to put me in a song one day.”
“At least one.”
“You know, my grandma said I deserved flowers, you say I deserve a song, but I’m thinking I might deserve a whole flipping album. I mean, I did take a bullet for you.”
“The way I see it, you deserve whatever the hell you want.”
“I really only want one thing, though. Timbits.”
“Hang on. I’m going to pretend you said that’s all you want right now. I know you’ll thank me later. And hey, that sounds a lot like love, too, right?”
It does.
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Acknowledgments
There are so many people to thank, so many people who played a part in bringing this story to life. To everyone who read this story, thank you, thank you, th
ank you. To my agent, Naomi Davis, you’ve been SO wonderful. To the entire Entangled team, thank you for making dreams come true. To Liz, Jessica, and Lydia, your edits, love, and time have made all the difference. I am eternally grateful. (Lydia, I owe you coffee and cookies for life.) I am also thankful to those who’ve supported me while editing To Whatever End. My parents. Katie. Andrew. Eric. Without all of you, this book wouldn’t exist. I love you all.
About the Author
Lindsey has been writing since she was nine years old, when she discovered the awesomeness that is Harriet the Spy. Her books always include a romance, though sometimes there’s an added sci-fi or magical realism twist. She lives in Columbus, Ohio (where the weather is never quite right). Her BFA in Photography and Graphic Design has granted her a wide assortment of creative knowledge that serves as inspiration (and not much else). When she’s not crafting YA and NA stories, you’ll likely find her spending waaay too much time on Pinterest, playing a video game, singing show-tunes, or performing in a burlesque show—because she enjoys giving her introversion a worthy adversary. (Plus, it’s the closest to Broadway she’ll ever get.) Lindsey was a proud 2016 Pitch Wars Mentee and thoroughly adores being a part of the wonderful writing community.
Also by Lindsey Frydman…
The Heartbeat Hypothesis
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To Whatever End Page 21