Page 144 of Wicked Minds
Half an hour later, I’m freshly showered, my damp hair in a messy bun on the top of my head as I walk into the kitchen wearing a pair of old sweatpants and a hoodie Logan left behind.
I stop two feet through the doorway, staring at where Grayson is standing, gazing down at a photo frame in his hand. “She looks exactly like I did at that age,” he says without looking up, voice hoarse.
I pad across the floor in my socks, and he tilts the photo frame toward me. Then I smile as I look down at a photo of Aurora wearing a bright pink princess dress, complete with a tiara. I remember that day like it was yesterday. I spotted the dress in a shop window on my way home from work last summer. It was only a couple of weeks before I was due to leave for Halston, and I was spoiling her rotten to ease my anxiety about abandoning her again.
We had a princess tea party, and she got dressed up in the dress and crown, filling the other seats at her small table with her teddies before putting on a Disney movie and cuddling on the sofa until she fell asleep.
I only have a few photos dotted around the place of her or the two of us. Most of them are on my phone, which I unlock andnavigate to my Aurora album before handing the device over for Grayson to swipe through.
Minutes tick by, the air so thick it makes it impossible for me to get oxygen into my lungs. The room is deathly silent as Grayson swipes through photo after photo until he reaches the ones of Aurora as a baby. I don’t have many of them. I was rarely allowed to see her, and we weren’t permitted cell phones at Breakthrough Academy. Plus, getting my mom to send me any physical pictures was next to impossible.
Unable to stand the silence any longer, I begin talking. Rambling, more like. “Her name’s Aurora. She’s three—four next month. Her favorite colors are pink and purple. She claims she can’t pick between them and will throw the world’s biggest temper tantrum if you try to make her. She loves Disney movies and Paw Patrol. Right now, she’s really into gymnastics, and last Christmas she asked Santa to bring her a big brother.”
Grayson’s head snaps up, his eyes shining with unshed emotion as they bounce back and forth between mine. “She doesn’t know about you,” I tack on. “It was too complicated to explain. She has just always wanted a big brother. For whatever reason, she thinks it would be the best thing ever—she says a younger brother would be a baby and he wouldn’t listen to her, and for some reason, she believes an older one would happily play dress up and attend teddy bear tea parties with her.”
Grayson merely blinks at me, and for a moment, I worry I’ve broken his brain. I wouldn’t be altogether surprised if I had.
“Shouldn’t she want a sister to do that with?” he eventually croaks.
I chuckle half-heartedly. “You’d think so, especially given what a girly girl she is, but nope, she’s only ever wanted a brother.”
His throat works as he swallows, the bob drawing my eyes as he slowly turns back to the photo staring back at him from my phone.
“I don’t know what to make of all of this,” he admits, the honesty catching me by surprise. Frankly, I was anticipating a lot more yelling. Blatant denial. Accusations being thrown, and cutting remarks lobbed like sharp blades.
Shock. He must be in shock. It’s only reasonable and explains this uncannily agreeable side to him I’m witnessing.
His head slowly cants toward me, and I can feel his eyes perusing my face as I continue to look at Aurora’s cheesy smile. “You’re not the first woman he’s hurt,” he confesses so quietly that I almost wonder if I misheard him.
Stunned, I lift my eyes to his, catching the inner turmoil churning in their depths. Pain. Confusion. Hurt. Remorse. It’s all there to see.
“My mom,” he explains, seeing the question written on my face.
Fuck.
If that’s the case, no wonder he’s a mess. How long has he known that? He can’t surely have thought that when he convinced Royce and Logan to go along with his half-baked kidnap plan, which means something new has come to light that has him suspecting…
Is that what Royce was alluding to? What his Gran has been implying in her sick state? I have so many questions, but I don’t dare voice them, not wanting to break whatever fragile tendril of hope is currently stretching between us.
“I’m sorry,” is all I whisper instead.
His gaze drops to the floor, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he nods before clearing his throat, standing taller as he regains his composure. Awkward silence reigns. I guess this is usually wherewe end up fucking one another, but there’s no sizzling chemistry in the air to distract us today. Only scraped raw emotions.
“The food court that day,” he begins, unable to look at me. “I shouldn’t have told you like that.”
Swallowing around the lump of emotion in my throat, I tell him, “I doubt it would have mattered how the news was delivered.”
He finally looks at me, his stark gaze skating over my face. It’s jarring not to see it pinched in anger. For those dark hues not to be spitting fire. He both resembles the Grayson from my past and yet looks nothing like him. He’s older. Hardened, though somehow still the same.
“I also wanted to give you this,” he says, pulling a piece of folded paper from his back pocket and holding it out to me.
I glance between it and him before taking it. Unfolding the page, it takes me a minute to realize I’m looking at test results.
“You already told me you were clean,” I murmur, forcing my eyes from the page to look at him.
He gives a too-stiff shrug. “I haven’t given you a reason to take me at my word.” I’d gotten tested after winter break, however it doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate his sentiment.
“I have the implant,” I supply. “In case you were worried.”
