Page 113 of All These Beautiful Strangers
“I didn’t pause,” he said.
“You did,” I said. “Come on. You can tell me. I just made you listen to everything that’s going wrong in my life. The least I can do is return the favor.”
Greyson sighed. “It’s just . . . okay, so I haven’t really talked about it with anyone,” he said. “My mom’s been sick.”
“Like the flu?” I asked.
“No,” Greyson said. “Like sick sick. Cancer. She got the diagnosis a few years ago. And she’s in remission now, but it’s just been really tough on her and the boys.”
“Is that why you moved home?” I asked. “To help out?”
“Yeah,” he said.
“Well, I feel like an asshole, then,” I said. I cringed when I thought about the comments I had made about Greyson’s being a man-child, freeloading off Claire by living at home.
Greyson laughed. “No, you’re not.”
It made sense then, the strange comment Claire had made to me when we were in her kitchen, how it was good for Greyson to get out of the house, have some fun.
There was a knock at my door.
“Shit,” I said. “That’s probably Ms. Stanfeld. It’s almost curfew.”
I stood and picked up Greyson’s gym bag and handed it to him.
“Get in Drew’s closet—quick,” I said.
He scurried to hide and I opened the door.
But it wasn’t Ms. Stanfeld. It was Dalton.
“Hey, Charlie,” he said.
“Um, hi,” I said. “What are you doing here?”
“I just came by to see if you were okay,” he said, but something about him seemed off somehow—the way he buried his hands in his front pockets, the way he squared his shoulders. He seemed tense. “You missed dinner.”
“Yeah,” I said, “I just didn’t really feel like being around a bunch of people right now.”
As I talked, Dalton’s gaze slid behind me, to the plates and food scattered across my floor. And then to something else. I turned and saw Greyson standing there.
“So it’s true,” Dalton said. His voice was suddenly steely, his eyes guarded as he appraised Greyson.
“What’s true?” I asked.
“Harper mentioned she ran into some guy who was looking for you, asking to be let into your room.”
Of course she did.
“This is my friend Greyson,” I said, taking a step back and opening my door wider. “From back home. He’s an old family friend.”
Yes, that was good, knock him over the head with the word “friend.”
Greyson nodded at Dalton, but he looked different too, taller somehow. Tougher.
“Hi,” Greyson said.
“Well, I’ll leave you two to your little party then,” Dalton said. “Or whatever it was that you were doing.”
