Page 194 of Wicked Minds
“I’ll make dinner,” Grayson says behind me, the statement so mundane that it stops me in my tracks. I gaze down at him through the balustrades, but he’s not looking at me as he sheds his coat and kicks off his shoes before striding down the hall to the kitchen.
When he’s out of sight, I shake my head and head up the stairs to shower.
Half an hour later, I’m lounging on Logan’s bed in a pair of his athletic shorts and a hoodie of Royce’s that I stole from hisroom. I’ve been scrolling through my phone, blatantly ignoring the now furious growls of my stomach, but it’s nearly ten at night, and my stomach is done being ignored.
“Fine,” I snap, throwing my legs over the side of the bed. “I hear you. You’re hungry. I guess I’ll subject myself to Grayson’s delightful personality so you can be fed.” Perhaps he’ll have taken his dinner to his room.
In my socks, I pad down the stairs, quiet as a mouse as I strain my ears, listening for any sounds that would tell me where Grayson is in the house. He has a nasty habit of creeping up on me, and I’m not in the mood.
“I was beginning to think you were too chickenshit to join me,” he drawls when I step into the kitchen, finding the asshole himself sitting at the circular kitchen table with a bowl of pasta in front of him. Another bowl sits in front of the chair opposite, and I toss a glare his way before striding over and pulling out the seat.
We eat in silence, the clinking of cutlery against porcelain sounding loud in the otherwise quiet room. With every chew, my eyes rake over the tight lines on Grayson’s face. The tension from earlier still lingers in the air between us, but it’s quietened to a low simmer.
Too lost in his thoughts, Grayson seems unaware of my blatant perusal. It’s been years since I’ve had the opportunity to openly stare at him like this. I used to do it across the dinner table when we were teenagers, not that he ever noticed, too engrossed in conversation with his father or sneaking peeks at his phone beneath the table.
Occasionally, he’d catch me looking and wink, unaware of the visceral reaction such a simple action had on me.
My gaze catches on his eyes, once filled with warmth and a mischievous spark, are now clouded with a storm of emotions.I’m a lost fucking mess, and I don’t know how to control anyof it.I believe it. I think Grayson has been angry for so long that it’s become all he knows. Letting go of those bottled-up emotions scares him, because without them, who is he? What more terrifying feelings lie buried beneath?
He clings to his anger like a toddler to his pacifier. It’s a comfort. It’s what he knows. And facing the unknown without it… well, that’s just too daunting to contemplate.
His phone lights up on the table, and his brow creases as he glares at the screen before returning to his food. It lights up again, those creases only deepening. It sends a flutter of unease swooping through my stomach.
“When will Logan and Royce be home?”
His eyes flash to mine before returning to his phone. “Soon.”
“Where are they?”
“Out.”
I grind my teeth. “Out where?”
“They’ll explain when they get home.”
I strangle my sigh in the back of my throat, changing tactics. “Why do you look so worried?”
When his gaze rises to meet mine this time, it pauses on my face, some of those creases smoothing out. “I’m not. Everything is fine.”
I slam my fork down on the table. “I am so sick of hearing those words. I’m not a child to be coddled. I’ve survived twenty-one years on this earth just fine—most of them spent looking after myself and the last four looking after another person. I did not need or ask for three domineering assholes to step in and take charge and keep me in the dark like I’m incapable of handling the grittier aspects of life.”
“Are you done with your temper tantrum?” he drawls, and my gaze drops to the small nick on his throat as I momentarily consider stabbing him with my fork.
“You’re hot when you’re contemplating homicide.”
It’s such a Logan thing to say that it snaps me out of my violent thoughts, my eyes snapping to his. “Tell me what’s going on. I can handle it.”
“I know you can.” He says it so casually that my head rears back, and I blink at him, his words taking a second to process. “You’re more capable than I give you credit for.”
“Then why will none of you tell me what is going on? Is it about Bertram?” My voice grows shaky. “H-has he been released?”
Grayson’s voice softens. “No. Not yet.”
“Ben, then?” I surmise, wracking my brain for anything else it could be.
“No.”
“Then what?” I demand, getting to my feet so I’m peering down at him. “Because I’m not an idiot. Royce has been absent all week, and Logan has been doing his hardest to distract me from noticing. Now they’re both missing, and you’ve had this worried look on your face every time your phone has buzzed today. Something is going on, and if you don’t tell me what it is, I will assume the worst.”
