Page 63 of The Bloodfeather Promise
Emotion swamps me. He wants me to stay with him. To provide comfort as he deals with the day his brother died. But a small prick of panic needles me, too. I’ve forgiven Greyson for hurting me, but when should I tell him of our history? How I’ve adored him before I even knew him? How I’ve loved him from the moment he kissed me and came inside me so many months ago? How do I tell him I will stay as long as he wants me? And will he still want me after finds out I lied to him?
“Greyson. I—”
My confession dies on my tongue with the musical chimes of the doorbell. It must be Geoffrey…he probably forgot something. Now, I must wait to unburden myself.
The front door opens. We hear the sound of multiple bags being dropped on the marble floor, several voices talking at once. Confusion momentarily freezes us in place, and Greyson frowns.
“Yo, anyone up? Grey… you there, man?”
“Damn, that coffee smells good,” someone else says, tromping from the foyer into the kitchen. “Cool. He’s got breakfast ready for us, guys.”
“What the fuck?” Greyson mutters. Unwinding his arms from my waist, he captures my hand in his. Together, we walk toward the voices, and before we reach the kitchen, we come face to face with Jett.
It’s the band. They are all here.Every single one of them.
“Fuck, there you are! Surprise! Gonna finish up that album, right?” Jett says, diving in so he can give Greyson a quick embrace. “We would have called with a heads up, but Jack said we should come on down. Hey, when did you get a Tahoe?”
What’s not said aloud is the anniversary of Alex’s death is two days away. Jack and his friends do not want Greyson alone in this house. Not with his history. Not with him being so newly clean and sober. They are here to watch over him. Babysit him. Guard him. Keep him from doing something stupid. Something dangerous.
Greyson is vibrating with frustration. And maybe anger.
Dylan emerges from the foyer. He looks tired. More worn out than the last time I saw him in that bar. Puzzlement spreads across his features as he looks us over, then his eyes gleam with a spark of recognition. His face lights up, and my heart sinks to my stomach. It curdles there into a lump of sour fear.
Oh, no. No, no, no, no…
“Didn’t realize you’d have company, Grey.” Dylan comes in for a brief, awkward embrace. “You’re looking good, man. Looking good.” Then, as if in slow motion, the lead singer gives me a hug. It is much more familiar, tighter than it should be, and the motion pulls my hand from Greyson’s. “Hey, darling. How have you been?”
Greyson nearly snatches me back to his side. Dylan cocks his head at this strange reaction while I’m on the verge of hyperventilating. My house of cards is tumbling down around me.
Jett looks completely confused, but there is a faint glimmer of recognition in his eyes as well. After all, there’s not an overabundance of girls who’ve slapped Greyson Finch and triggered a brawl in the timespan of ten minutes. I’m the only one. A rarity. It makes me hard to forget.
To complete the awkward reunion, Brant sticks his head around the corner. A croissant dangles from his mouth like a flaky, edible cigarette. He waves a hand at Greyson in greeting. “Damn, this spread really for us? Because I’m starving. Dude, I gotta say, this house is off the chain.”
Brant is ignored, which doesn’t bother him at all. Leaning a shoulder against the wall, he shoves the rest of the croissant into his mouth, chewing slowly while his dark eyes take in the scene. His chin tips upward at me in a subtle greeting.
Dylan rocks on his heels, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his cargo shorts. Bright blue eyes dart between Greyson and me. I want to melt into the floor. I want to click my heels and be far, far away. My heart is already breaking. Again. After promising myself I wouldn’t let it happen.
With a casualness that belies the tense of the situation, Dylan asks the question I knew was coming. The one I dread.
“So, when did you and Emerson hook back up?”
