tricks of time ― grayson hawthorne [the inheritance games]

015. HOT STITCHES

"This is going to hurt," he warns me.

"Do what you need to do to stop the bleeding," I told Oren. My voice only shook a little. For some reason, Grayson had brought Xander and Leslie, Xander and Leslie bickering about ice-cream and Grayson shifting his eyes from me to back to them, but scowling nevertheless.

Removing the bark hurt. The disinfectant hurt a hell of a lot more. The med kit included a shot of local anesthetic, but there was no amount of anesthetic that could alter my brain's awareness of the needle when Oren began stitching my skin back together.

"You can't talk Grayson. You eat your freaking cookies with a knife and fork."

I snort and yelp out in pain when Oren's stitch moves.

"Stay still, Leah."

I nod, gritting my teeth, promising myself to not laugh at any more jokes. Focus on the stitching. Let it hurt.

After a moment, I looked away from Oren and saw Mrs. Laughlin, who must've quietly entered the room at some point. Or maybe not - considering Leslie and Xander's bickering was loud enough to be heard at least 4 miles away. I tracked Mrs. Laughlin's movements. Before handing me my tea, she laced it—heavily—with whiskey.

"Done." Oren nodded to my cup. "Drink that."

I hesitated. For all I knew, Mrs. Laughlin or her husband, Mr. Laughlin, could've been the one shooting at me and Grayson last night. He was reassuring me constantly that it was safe to drink. But he'd told me a lot of things. I didn't know what to believe anymore.

Someone shot at me. They tried to kill me. I could be dead. My hands were shaking. Oren steadied them. His eyes knowing, he lifted my teacup to his own mouth and took a drink. It's fine. He's showing me that it's fine. Unsure if I'd ever be able to kick myself out of fight-or-flight mode, I forced myself to drink.

The tea was hot. The whiskey was strong. It burned all the way down, but it felt good. It felt like fire.

I gulp it all down. I look at Oren. "Thank you."

Oren's eyes widen slightly, but he smiles a bit. "You're welcome, kid. You've been through a lot. Relax."

I smile. "Thank you. I mean it."

He looks at the clock and then back down at me. "Yeah, yeah. Stop saying thank you. Run along and have fun."

"I'm not seven, Oren."

"I know, kid." He smiles warmly. I can't help but feel warmth in my heart.

"I need a drink," I say.

Oren practically chokes. "Excuse me? A drink? You're not even eighteen!"

"Yes, I did say drink," I repeat. "And I turn eighteen in four months. How come Grayson can drink and I can't?"

"Because I am eighteen." Graysons cold voice fills the air.

"And legal drinking age is twenty one," I retort with raised eyebrows.

"I'm telling you, this is all Jameson's influence."

"You can't talk about bad influence. Remember when you convinced Emily it would be a good idea to do your chemistry experiment in a wooden study?"

At the mention of Emily, Grayson stiffens up. As much as he tries to hide it, I don't say anything. I have no clue what her significance is in the Hawthorne family, but something terrible just have happened.

Oren senses the change in the air.

"You know what, kid? Jameson will be down there. Go— Go enjoy." For the first time, Oren is at a loss for words.