Page 63 of Deceiving Grier

“Hey.” He squatted next to the couch, so we were at eye level. “They’re not taking your scholarship away. You’re in your final year. The season’s almost done, and what happened to you was not your fault. And if they’re dicks and try to pull your scholarship, I’ll write ascathingpiece for the university paper and turn the student body against them.”

I chuckled, but the ache in my head that had dulled sharpened once more, and I winced.

“Don’t make me laugh,” I groaned.

He brushed his lips gently against mine. “It’s going to be fine. Get some rest.”

“Okay.” My eyes were growing heavier, and it was getting harder and harder to keep them open anyway.

Sawyer stood up, and I finally gave in, letting my eyes close. I heard him turn on the T.V. and the laugh track of some old sitcom, then drifted off into nothingness.

Over the next week, the ache in my head faded. Though I had to take it easy, make sure I got enough sleep and not spend too much time reading or on the computer. All of which I was happy to do if it meant I could keep that headache at bay. My arm hurt less too, and the bruises splattered over my body like an abstract painting faded from dark purple to a yellowish brown.

Sawyer had been right about my scholarship. I had played most of the season and would only have to miss out on the finals. My scholarship was safe. When my father called, I didn’t mention falling or breaking my arm. Since I wasn’t going to lose my scholarship, I knew that’s what really mattered to him. No point in worrying the man for no reason.

Learning to work with my wrong hand was another story. I recorded most of my lectures using an app on my phone, so I didn’t worry about taking notes. However, for everything else, not being able to use my right hand properly was endlessly frustrating. I tried telling myself that when this was all over and the cast came off, I would emerge ambidextrous. However, if my left-handed abilities so far were any sign, it wasn’t likely.

Finn showed up with the security company on Thursday, and they were planning an install for Monday. As far as we could tell, the intruder hadn’t been back. Though, instead of reassuring me, my uneasiness grew.

“I’m worried that increasing security here at the house might make things escalate,” I mentioned to Sawyer. He was curled up against his side and lying in his bed later that night. Since I’d come home from the hospital, I’d been staying in Sawyer’s room. That first night, he’d asked if I wanted to sleep in his room or mine. I’d chosen his room and continued to sleep with him even after I felt better. He’d even moved some things around in his dresser, opening some drawers for me so I wouldn’t have to keep going up to my room to change.

Sawyer frowned. “You don’t think we should make the house safer?”

“No, we should, obviously. We can’t have someone who might be dangerous coming and going when they feel like it. I just think we need to be… vigilant, just in case.”

Sawyer agreed. We were making an effort. I’d hoped Jett was too, but he’d been more than a little withdrawn since I’d come back from the hospital. I was worried, but I’d hoped he’d come around in time.

By the time the weekend arrived, I felt as though we were getting back to normal, or at least close to it. Saturday night, after dinner, we curled up together on the couch to watch a movie, something light and funny. Jett had gone out with some guy he’d been seeing for a while. He lived in The Square and I sort of knew him, but I was still worried.

I figured the movie would be a welcome distraction. It had only just started when my phone buzzed from the coffee table. I pulled away from Sawyer and leaned forward, lifting my phone and looking down at the screen.

My sister’s number glowed up at me.

“Shit,” I muttered. I’d gone nearly three whole days without a headache or having to take any more of the painkillers. A single conversation with my family was likely to change all that.

I was tempted to let the call go to voicemail, but I hadn’t spoken to anyone since talking to my dad the day after I got home from the hospital. I swept my thumb across the screen and pressed the phone to my ear.

“Hi, Fiona,” I said.

On the other end of the phone, Fiona sniffled loudly, and my insides turned cold.

“You have to come home,” she said, her voice thick and wet as if she’d been crying. Something akin to panic squeezed my chest and turned my blood to ice.

“Why? What’s wrong? What’s happened?” But I thought I already know, and I was terrified that I might be right.

“It’s Dad,” Fiona managed to choke out on a whispered sob. “He’s gone.”

Chapter Twenty-Six

Grier

“So,thisisit,huh? Where you grew up?” Sawyer asked, slowing the rental car as we approached a stop sign.

“Turn left up here,” I said, then pointed through the windshield to a long brown brick building on the opposite side of the street. “That’s my old high school.”

Sawyer grinned and glanced over at me. “Where you were a soccer star?”

I offered him a half-hearted grin. “Something like that.”

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