“Damn,” I tease, following him deeper into the house, “where’s the butler? This shit is real, how many servants do you have?”
Even though I’m joking, Gray’s face hardens a little. “It’s not all it’s cracked up to be,” he mutters under his breath, leading me through a living room that looks like it’s never been used. “Trust me.”
I bite my lip. I’m not sure exactly what his comment alludes to, but I get what he’s saying. Reality isn’t as sweet as the outside looks, which I guess is true whether you’re rich or poor.
But damn, I think, if I had all of this, I’d find it real hard to get pissed about anything.
“Like I said, my parents aren’t here,” he adds. “They're not going to be here for the rest of winter break, so it’ll just be you and me.”
We finally stop in a room that looks a little more lived in—it’s a bit less stuffy and more inviting. I could picture chilling in here with the guys, talking or messing around or some shit, and not worrying about breaking something valuable like I would in the other rooms I’ve seen.
I glance up at Gray. Despite my earlier joke about servants, I have a sudden strong suspicion that we’re the only two people in this house.
Worry still lingers in his eyes, but I catch a hint of heat simmering there too, contained and controlled in true Gray fashion. Vaguely, I wonder how long it will be before we end up with our clothes scattered on the floor around us, our sweaty bodies wrapped around each other.
Clearing my throat, I drop his gaze as I look around the room again, my attention snagging on a framed picture of a pretty girl, maybe fifteen or so.
I don’t have to work hard to guess who it must be.
Beth.
“She looks like you,” I murmur, picking up the picture from the side table to look at it closer.
They’re not identical twins, but the resemblance is clear. Even if I hadn’t spent as much time with Gray as I have, I’d know they were brother and sister in an instant.
“I wish I could’ve met her.”
The words come out before I have a chance to stop them. Maybe I shouldn’t have said that, but it’s true.
Gray takes the picture from my hands. Raw grief flickers like an open wound over his face, his swallow catching in his throat. I watch as he tries to push it away, tries to stifle it—and he does, just barely. It still haunts the depths of his eyes, and his pain hits me like a blow to my chest.
“She was one of my favorite people,” he says, his voice a little hoarse as he sets the picture back down. “I’m a fucking asshole.” He laughs humorlessly, glancing at me. “You know that as well as anyone. But Beth made me better. She made me want to be better. I don’t like a lot of people, but she was the best. The absolute best.”
My heart twists in my chest.
You’re not alone.
I understand.
How many times have I wanted someone to tell me that? How many times have I wanted someone to be there for me? How many times in the past couple months since I’ve known him has Gray been there for me?
After Caitlin and her cadre of bitches tried to fuck with me, after Cliff tried to rape me. After my drawings were torn apart, just like my soul.
I don’t think, I just act. Without hesitation or thought, I grasp Gray’s chin gently and guide his face to mine, standing on my tiptoes as I press my lips to his. Maybe it’s insane to even try, but I want to kiss away all the pain and hurt I see inside of him. Just put a band-aid on it for a little while, just numb it for the time being.
“I don’t think you're as big of an asshole as you think you are,” I murmur, my voice low.
His eyes are stormy, as if he’s still battling with himself. But his grip tightens o
n my hips as he tugs me closer. His nose skims the line of my neck as he drops his head, wrapping his arms around me.
I can feel him sigh, as if just that small gesture has brought him a little bit of peace. His soft murmur brushes my ear.
“I hope you’re right, Sparrow.”
5
Max wasn’t kidding about inviting herself over to Gray’s place. Over the next several days, she comes to visit me often. Elias and Declan come too, when they can.