Glorious Rivals(9)

“I dreamed,” Lyra replied.

Grayson’s expression made it clear he took her meaning. “We will find answers,” he promised. “After the game.”

Lyra couldn’t let herself believe in after. “That kiss.” The word kiss tried its best to lodge itself in Lyra’s throat. “It can’t happen again.”

“And here I’d had you pegged as a realist.” Grayson gave her a look. “But if it’s our ability to focus you’re concerned about, logic dictates we need only wait until the game is won—until you win it.”

He acted like the two of them kissing again was a foregone conclusion, as inevitable as her victory in the game, and Lyra couldn’t even resent his arrogance, because she couldn’t shake the absolutely maddening feeling that Grayson Hawthorne dealt in facts.

That some things really were inevitable. That some people were.

“It’s not fair, really.” Lyra returned his look with one of her own. “You’re a Hawthorne. You have the advantage here.” She was talking about the Grandest Game—and she also wasn’t.

“My brothers and I were not raised to play fair,” Grayson admitted. “And on an unrelated note, it seems our competition has arrived.”

Lyra didn’t see evidence of that until a second or two later when the remaining three players began to make their way onto the hidden beach, one by one. Savannah was the only one of the three in white. Brady held his own longsword in his right hand. And Rohan… Rohan moved over the sand like gravity was an issue only for lesser mortals.

“Now that the gang’s all here…” Xander Hawthorne jubilantly inserted himself between Lyra and Grayson. “May I borrow you, Lyra?”

Lyra had enough sense to be concerned. “Borrow me for what?”

Grayson’s youngest—and tallest—brother grinned. “Gallus Gallus Domesticus en Garde.”

Lyra glanced at Grayson. “Do I even want to know?”

“GGDEG,” Xander clarified helpfully. “It’s a time-honored Hawthorne tradition and not at all a way of getting to know you while Gray here is otherwise occupied.”

Grayson narrowed his eyes. Given that he was not currently occupied, Lyra didn’t blame him.

“Gallus gallus domesticus,” Grayson informed her, “is the scientific name for chicken.”

“Chicken,” Lyra repeated. “Chicken… en garde…” She turned to look incredulously at Xander. “Chicken fight?”

“Don’t mind if I do!” Xander wasted no time whatsoever hoisting Lyra onto his shoulders, and Lyra decided pretty early on in that process that resistance was futile. As Xander straightened to his full height, Grayson went flying.

From her spot on Xander’s shoulders, it took Lyra a moment to register what had just happened—or rather, who. Jameson. He’d just tackled Grayson.

And now, Lyra thought wryly, Grayson is otherwise occupied. “Is a flying tackle what passes for a greeting in your family?” she called down to Xander.

“If you can call that a flying tackle,” Xander scoffed, and then he let out what could only be described as a hefty battle cry. “Who among you shall stand against the mighty team-up of XanLyra? Nash? Avery? You!” Xander pointed at Rohan. “Can you get him on your shoulders?”

Lyra snorted. The him in that question appeared to be Brady Daniels. Xander seemed to be taking it for granted that Savannah would not be chicken fighting anyone, but she took one step toward them, then another.

“I’ll tell you what,” Savannah called out, raising her chin. “I’m in if Avery is.”

Chapter 8

LYRA

After a lengthy, ocean-side chicken fight—during which, remarkably, no one got wet or injured—came the lighting of the bonfire. By that point, Grayson and Jameson were nowhere to be seen, and Lyra was starting to suspect that there was no challenge forthcoming on this beach tonight, no hint to be won for the game to come.

This was just a part of the experience, a memory in the making.

As the first flames began to catch, Savannah took up position beside Lyra. The resemblance between Grayson and his half sister really was remarkable, and as the bonfire surged, Savannah spoke in her brother’s even tone. “He won’t choose you.”

“Excuse me?” Lyra said.

“Grayson,” Savannah replied, her voice high and clear and utterly certain. “Part of you is already falling into the Hawthorne trap, believing in all of this, thinking about what it would be like to be a part of it, to be one of them.” Savannah paused, giving Lyra a chance to deny that—though not much of one. “But you need to know, when all is said and done, when it matters most, Grayson won’t choose you.”

“I’m not asking him to,” Lyra retorted.

“Yet. You’re not asking him to choose you yet.” Savannah stared through the flames at Avery, who was laughing with Xander and Nash. “You’ll save yourself some heartache if you realize going in that he’ll choose them every time. He’ll choose her.”

Avery. Lyra thought about the heiress telling her not to hurt Grayson.

“She’s not what you think,” Savannah warned, and without waiting for a response, without so much as allowing for one, she turned and walked away.