I could feel this entire situation getting away from me, like sand slipping through my fingers.
“Don’t go,” Grayson told Eve, the words soft. And then he turned to me, and that softness fell away. “Tell her not to go.” This was the tone he’d used with me right after I’d inherited, the one made for warnings and threats. “I mean it, Avery.” Grayson looked at me. I expected his eyes to be icy or blazing, but they were neither. “I have never asked for anything from you.”
It was palpable in his voice: the many, many things he had never asked for.
I could feel Jameson watching me, and I had no idea what he wanted or expected me to do. All I knew was that if Eve left, if she walked out of Hawthorne House and past the gates, into the line of fire, and something happened to her, Grayson Hawthorne would never forgive me.
“Don’t go,” I told Eve. “I’m sorry.”
I was, and I wasn’t. Because those words just wouldn’t leave me alone: Don’t trust anyone.
“I want to meet Mallory.” Eve lifted her chin. “She’s my grandmother.
And at least she didn’t know about me.”
“I’ll take you to see her,” Grayson said quietly, but Eve shook her head.
“Either Avery takes me,” she said, equal parts challenge and injury in her tone, “or I walk.”
CHAPTER 50
Oren wasn’t happy about me leaving Hawthorne House, but when it became clear that I wasn’t going to be dissuaded, he ordered security teams to all three SUVs. When we departed, a trio of identical vehicles pulled out past the gates, leaving the paparazzi hoarde with no way of knowing which one Eve and I were in.
Xander was the only Hawthorne with us. He’d come for Rebecca’s sake, not Eve’s, and Eve had allowed it. We’d left Grayson and Jameson behind.
“What’s she like?” Eve asked Xander, once we were clear of the paparazzi. “My grandmother?”
“Rebecca’s mom was always… intense.” Xander’s response pulled my attention away from the heavily tinted window. “She used to be a surgeon, but once Emily was born and they found out about her heart, Mallory quit to devote herself to managing Em’s condition full-time.”
“And then Emily died,” Eve said softly. “And…”
“Kablooey.” Xander made an exploding motion with his fingers. “Bex’s mom started drinking. Her dad goes on these monthlong business trips.”
“And now I’m here.” Eve looked at her hands: her fingers were thin, her nails uneven. “So this is going to go really well,” she muttered.
That was probably an understatement. I texted Thea to give her a heads-up. No response. I pulled up her social media and found myself staring at the last four photos she’d posted. Three of them were black-and-white self-portraits. In one, Thea stared directly at the camera, wearing heavy mascara, her face streaked black with tears. In the second, she was curled into a ball, her hands fisted, almost no clothing visible on her body. In the third, Thea was flipping off the camera with both hands.
Beside me, Eve looked at my phone. “I think I might like those even better than poetry.” That sounded like the truth. Everything she said did.
That was the problem.
I focused on Thea’s fourth picture, the most recently uploaded, the only color photo in this set. There were two people in the picture, both laughing, their arms around each other: Thea Calligaris and Emily Laughlin. That picture was the only one with a caption: She was MY best friend, and YOU
don’t know what you’re talking about.
I goggled at the enormous number of responses the picture had, then glanced at Xander. “Thea’s doing damage control.” I couldn’t fight the gossip sites, but she could.