Page 55 of Gray Area

“Please don’t cry,” Declan pleads, a tone I didn’t think he was even capable of. It makes me cry more. He tries to wipe them away with his thumbs, but he can’t keep up with the flow of them.

I close my eyes. “I need to go,” I say, fully aware that I can’t form coherent thoughts around him. Being with him makes me want to be swayed and push my decisions to the border to make it right. But what will that do to me? I need to remember what I went through in the past with those close to me who did illegalthings. I need to think about this and not let my heart blur the lines. And I can’t do that here.

“Viv, please,” Declan says, but I spin away from him and grab my jacket and bag, then make my way to the splintered doorway. “Let me take you home,” he says.

“No, Declan,” I say firmly, holding my hands up to keep him away. “I need to be on my own starting now,” I tell him.

His face becomes stern. “It’s not safe out there,” he reminds me.

I look at the clock behind his head. “There is a bus stop on the corner, and a bus should be around in the next five minutes,” I tell him, having memorized bus schedules all over the city for years. “You can watch me as I wait for it, and I will get off at my house.”

I watch his nostrils flare, but I turn and leave before he speaks or acts. I am in charge of my life, I remind myself. I can’t depend on others, and while for a moment it was nice to have that, the universe once again showed me why it’s best to only depend on myself.

The bus comes less than a minute after I get to the stop, and I don’t look to see if Declan has watched me. I don’t have to—I can feel his stare on me the entire time.

And I hate that it is comforting to me.

Chapter 29

DECLAN

I’d driven to Vivian’s apartment after she’d left me to make sure she got off the bus safely. Then I’d gone home, helped my brothers finish cleaning up my dad’s house, and then made them help me fix my door for the night.

Axel and Slade said nothing about Vivian to me, which was smart. Once the door was fixed they left me alone, and I sat on the couch drinking from a bottle of Absolut until I fell asleep.

The next morning, I wake up close to ten, the sun pounding on my face and a banging at my door.

I get up and find my dad outside my door, hammering some of the salvageable door frame back in. I glower at him.

He takes me in. “I’ll work on the door. Why don’t you shower and change because you look like shit, and then we’ll talk.”

I want to curse him out and tell him to fuck off. But instead I do as he asks, and when I return, my door is back in place and my Dad sits on my couch. He’s distracted at first—the local news is on and he’s gripping the remote tightly as they talk about Palmer Lexington being in the area, checking out boarding schools with his teenage sons.

“Palmer Lexington came into town today with his wife, Sasha Matthews-Lexington, and their son Edrick, to attend an event at Harvard Law School honoring the business moguls youngest son August, who is set to graduate from the prestigious Law School this May. In addition to the graduation Lexington and his older son Edrick, who works for Lexington Worldwide with his father, checked in on some of Lexington’s local favorites from the area, where he grew up ,” the news anchor reports with footage of the billionaire and his family smiling and waving at the camera.

My father looks like he’s about to smash something, but when he sees me coming, he shuts the TV off and tosses me a Gatorade.

“You finally going to talk?” I ask brazenly as I plop myself into my recliner.

“Watch your tone, Declan,” my father warns me. “Hungover or not, I’m still your father.”

I nod. “What’s your number one rule, Dad?” I ask him.

My father sits back with a huff. “No lies,” he says, clearly irritated at being caught by his own words.

“Yup, so the floor is yours.”

“Like I told you last night, I’ve been having more symptoms over the last six months,” he tells me, picking up the conversation where we left it the night before. “I’m working with a neurologist in Boston, and there are a couple of new treatment options I am looking into trying. Next week, I’m having a high-dose steroid treatment at a clinic in the city. They said thatshould help with some of my symptoms while I get my ongoing treatments set up.”

“I can take you if you need.”

My dad shakes his head. “No, I got it,” he says. “But I’m thinking I’m going to retire sooner than I had expected.”

“Like when?” I ask. My father had planned to stay doing the same shit until Roman got out of high school. I had noticed he had slowly given each of us a little more responsibility, but for him to retire totally means he must really not be feeling well. And that scares me.

“I have a couple of things I need to wrap up, and then I’m going to step back,” he says. “I’m thinking about this summer sometime.”

“This summer,” I repeat back, giving myself a few seconds to let it sink in. “So you’ll divide up what you’re taking care of now between me and Slade and Axel, and—”

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