Secrets, Lies, and Summer Skies

Chapter Forty-Two

When I looked up at Grayson, he averted his gaze.

God, I hadn't realized that we'd reached the point where he couldn't even stand to look at me.

"How's your arm?" he asked, having fixated on the cast rather than my face.

"Annoying," I said. "Showering is a pain in the ass."

Not so long ago, Grayson would've offered to help. He'd have taken me in his arms and kissed my neck, his lips curled into a smile, and said that he was willing to do whatever it took to make things easier for me. It felt like a lifetime ago. Honestly, we'd been together so much over the summer that I'd started to believe that we might carry on like that forever. That he'd just move into Dad's house, and we could live in it like it was ours. Despite all the times I'd told myself that we were a fling, and it would all come to an end, I'd foolishly allowed flickers of hope to burn brightly in my heart. The moment Dad had come home, they'd been snuffed out, and I had no idea of them reigniting.

Grayson cleared his throat gently. Clearly grasping for a subject of conversation, he settled on, "Have you started packing for college?"

"Not yet. Why, are you eager for me to leave?"

The comment was enough to make him look at me properly. Grayson stared at me like I'd slapped him. I supposed I might as well have. It was a low blow. He'd not said that he wanted me gone. Sure, he'd stayed away, but that was about it. Not a single malicious word had crossed his lips. Not a solitary indication that he wanted our relationship to end. There was just the unspoken implication that he would stay away so long as I lived in Dad's house. I couldn't say if that was because he found it easier, or because he hoped to someday repair his friendship with one of his oldest friends. I just felt that he was waiting for the day when I wouldn't be around to complicate his life anymore. Whatever his reasons, it didn't lessen the hurt I felt, and that was obvious in my spiteful comment.

"Chaise, I–" Grayson took a step towards me, and I moved back. He paused, realizing perhaps that marching up to someone who'd been pretty much flung down some stairs in an intimidating manner probably wasn't the best move. His fingers flexed around the flowers. Quietly, he asked, "Do you mind if I put these down?"

I gestured wordlessly to the table.

Grayson stooped and set the bouquet gently atop the stack of magazines Dad had left lying around. Satisfied that they weren't going to prove a hindrance, he raised his hands in a somewhat submissive gesture and said, "I didn't mean to spook you just now. I just... I don't understand why you'd think that."

"You don't?" I shot back. "How about the fact that you haven't called me since I woke up in the hospital?"

Grayson pushed a hand through his hair the way he always did when he felt uneasy or frustrated. He turned his back on me and walked a few steps, paused, and hung his head. I wished that I could've read his mind the way he seemed to be able to read mine. It didn't seem fair that he could remain such a mystery to me while I was an open book.

After almost a minute of silence, Grayson turned back and pointed out, "You didn't call me either, you know?"

"Oh, sorry," I said sarcastically. "I didn't realize that I should be in a rush to hear you tell me that you were breaking up with me."

"Who said that I was breaking up with you?" Grayson asked. "Kitten, I told you that I would wait for you. No matter what happened. No matter how long. How could you not believe that?"

"Again," I pointed out angrily, "you didn't call me. Not once! You didn't even stay in the fucking hospital with me, Grayson! You just saw that I was awake and walked out like – like – I don't even know! Like you'd satisfied yourself that I wasn't dead and that was enough for you!"