Page 49 of Seeing Grayscale

When the door is shut, I grind my teeth. Palming the roof, I take a breath, then another. My muscles stiffen into one mass as I ball my fist, ready to throw it.

Someone mugged him…again.

SomeonehurtGray…again.

With jerky movements, I walk over to the trunk, place the clothes off to the side, and close it. While I grab one of his dry hoodies from the back seat—one of several he left behind—I mentally sift through contacts.

“Put this on. You’re freezing,” I tell Gray.

Eyeing the dry fabric and sucking in a sharp breath, he takes it. While he swaps his wet jacket and shirt for the dry one, I watch from my peripheral, spotting fresh bruises on his sides. My nostrils flare instantly, a burning so rampant I’m sure I’ll catch flame.

“Why—you brought all this?” he asks once he’s clothed again.

I turn on the heater, reach over to aim the vents in his direction, and click on his seat warmer. “I did.”

“Hunter, I’m sorry, man. I didn’t mean to lose your bag or break the phone charger. I—”

“Are you hungry?” I ask instead, needing to focus on his care and not the unrelentingragesimmering beneath my skin.

“Huh? Dude. What’s going on? You’re here with all my shit, and,” he swallows, “you look pissed. I’msorry.”

Flicking my eyes at him, I nearly explode, seeing his desperate expression.

Like, I blame him?

As if I could ever bemaddue to something he has no control over?

The issue is that I demand justice and haven’t formulated a legal way to get it yet. Whoever did this to him is going to pay for it severely. Whoever twisted this man so inside out that he can’t see that I’m angryforhim, not at him, will rue the day they crossed paths with Gray. And even more than that—I’m angry at myself for not preventing this sooner.

“You’re coming with me now,” I say gently. “Please don’t argue about it.”

“I wasn’t—can you just tell me why you’re mad at me? I thought…” He scowls. “Man fuck this. I didn’t do anything wrong—”

I grab his hand. Wide icy blues stare down at where we are connected. “I’m not mad at you, Gray. I'm madforyou. But I do expect a name.”

“A name?”

I nod once, swiping my thumb over his pinky finger. “The person who did this to you. I want their name.”

When he looks back at me, the faintest tremor spreads through his full bottom lip before he bites it. “Okay.”

“Okay,” I repeat, letting go of his hand and driving us away from the residential corner.

TWENTY-FOUR

NowthatIunderstandwhere this silent rage is being placed, I slump into the leather seat.

It’s been a long time since anyone has cared about my well-being like Hunter appears to. Not that he didn’t give off those vibes last time we were together, but it’s more now.

I’m scared to admit that it feels good.

The urge to drop my guard entirely is stronger, too.

Maybe his disheveled appearance or the bags under his eyes make me believe he was genuinely worried about me.

The guy came here with the stuff he bought me, determined to pull me back off the street.

Having hope is a fickle thing, a delusion, even. That deceptive ideology is damn near addictive in the way that it fills you up with seductive anticipation, joy, and even pleasure. But I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t falling into temptation. Someone actually gives a fuck about me, and I’m losing the battle against it’s pull.

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