Page 7 of Cruelly Fated
“Have you been eating?” I asked gently.
He shook his head, and the small, defeated motion crushed something inside me. I bit down on my lower lip, searching for words, but nothing came. I had never seen my grandfather like this—so hollowed out, so hunched and broken, as if the weight of shame alone had stolen his strength.
My throat tightened. “No matter what happened…I want you to know…you didn’t disappoint me. I don’t—”
“Stop.” His voice cracked as tears spilled from his good eye. “I wronged you, my child.” He paused, breath shuddering. “Your mother didn’t want you to know. And I stopped—fates bear witness, I did. I had it under control. But then a new neighbor came by when you were at work…told me about this quick-money scheme. And I thought, what a perfect way to surprise you—so you could pay for college without worry.” He covered his mouth with his large, weathered hand and closed his eyes.
What did he mean?
I sat frozen, wide-eyed and still as stone, trying to process the confession unraveling before me.
At last, I slid my trembling hands onto the table and laced my fingers together, gripping tight enough to ache—anything to ground myself.
“What didn’t Mom want me to know?” I asked, my voice low, afraid the answer might break me.
He exhaled through his nose, shoulders sagging further. “When I lost my job, I started gambling. At first, I told myself I was helping, trying to provide for you and your mom—even when I kept losing. She didn’t know for a long time. I burned through my savings first. Then one day, your mother gave me money to pay the electric bill…and I bet it instead.”
A memory surfaced of Mom stashing a wad of lottery tickets into her purse, her hands shaking. She didn’t want me to witnessit. At the time I didn’t think much about it. How long had she been covering for him?
His eyes, red-rimmed and full of regret, finally met mine.
“She tried everything after that. Interventions. Counseling. Some of it helped, for a while.” His voice faltered, but he pressed on. “I truly believed this scheme would work and change everything. But I should never have touched your savings. I am so, so sorry.”
When I lifted my eyes to his, mine were filled with sorrow. My family kept life-altering secrets from me. If I’d known, I’d try to help. I sure as hell wouldn’t have blubbered about my hard-earned savings to him. I’d practically tempted him to break his sober streak for months.
A sharp bell clanged overhead, yanking me out of the stupor. The door hissed open, and a guard poked his head in. “Visitations are over.”
“That wasn’t even thirty minutes,” I protested, my voice tight.
“Word is high-profile visitors are on their way. So…” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder.
I turned back to Grandpa, mouth parting, desperate to say something. But nothing came. He’d just dropped a truth so heavy, so devastating, it hollowed me out. How long had I lived inside a carefully constructed shell, blind to the reality my mother carried alone for years?
Grandpa bowed his head and slowly leaned back. He had no words left in him either.
I rose on shaky legs, glancing at him one last time before I shuffled into the hall, where I joined other disappointed families. The guards corralled us again, but in the opposite direction. They ushered us through the front door, out onto a smoldering pavement in front of the building. Daylight speared my eyes, and I pulled my sunglasses down to shield them.
The image of Grandpa alone in there, surrounded by thugs and predatory shifters, twisted my gut. For the fae gods’ sake, he was a badger shifter—sturdy but gentle, built for quaint life and quiet work, not survival among monsters. Aggression wasn’t in his blood.
If he’d told me about his gambling addiction, I could’ve picked up a second job, scraped together enough to get him the counseling he needed. Anything. Instead, he was behind bars, serving time he might not survive. And now, as if the punishment weren’t enough, he sported an angry bruise shadowing one eye, and a split lip crusted with dried blood.
The prison fence rattled as a bulky body bounced off it, startling me. The prison basketball courts set apart from the main blocks, enclosed by a double chain-link fence with high-voltage wires zigzagging across the no-man’s-land between the barriers. Male voices barked harshly, the spectators and players alike. The constant thudding of basketball seemed to put me in a trance.
I approached the fence on my side, not entirely sure why. I jammed my hands into my pockets and scanned the players and bleachers. Perhaps I could at least get a better look at Grandpa’s prison mates.
Judging by their rogue appearance, most inmates were shifters and predators. The loose orange jumpsuits only accentuated their tall and brawny postures. Quite a few exuded alpha and beta dominance, too many to be confined in such a limited space.
I continued perusing the men like I was picking through a catalog. My gut told me to keep going, conjuring a weird sensation in my heart like longing.What am I doing?I slapped myself mentally, I had work…
I swept my gaze over him and swung it back in an instant.
The most imposing man of them all sat sprawled on a bench, elbows resting on his knees, fingers laced together. Black tattoos coiled over his forearms, the muscles beneath them taut and unforgiving. The ink crawled up his neck, disappearing into a tousle of dark, wavy hair. A jagged scar carved through his left eyebrow, drawing the eye like a battle mark. The others around him looked dangerous too—but this one? He radiated something else entirely. Something primal. Unshackled. Even the other inmates kept their distance as if proximity alone might provoke him.
I squinted. Maybe…
“Like what you see?” The words rang out in my head, smooth and laced with heat. Mind-speak?
My chest tightened. He stared directly at me, unwavering. Only powerful fae wielded a rare gift like telepathy. I hadn’t expected to see one here. I glanced behind me to ensure I hadn’tsimply overheard someone. No one there. The other visitors had already cleared out.
