His Sweet Revenge

Chapter 4.

"Are you sure?" Macy asks, staring at her daughter.

Layla nods, her hair just slightly frizzy from the rain we've been having all day. That's probably why she's wearing a cap. And I honestly don't know why I'm noticing these things like the slight exhaustion in her gait as she heads towards the back door.

"Positive. I'll be outside if you need me." Her response is curt and the door shuts loudly when she leaves. Clearly, she's not having a good day and for some weird fucking reason that bothers me and I can't seem to even begin to understand why.

"It's still raining," David states. "Someone go bring her back inside."

"Let her do what she wants, Dave," Margaret sighs, slopping more mashed potatoes on her plate.

It's suddenly so quiet I can hear Hale chewing next to me. "Should I go try?" He asks, mouth full.

"That's sweet, babe," Macy smiles. "But it's best to leave her alone when she gets like this."

"What happened?"

"She spent time with her dad," Macy explains. "That's what happened. But don't worry, a surprise is coming that will cheer her up. Her big brother is going to be here for the party tomorrow. She has no idea."

I've never met Nate Harrington. According to my uncle, he lives abroad and teaches kids English in Africa.

Once I'm finished with my food I load my dishes up in the dishwater, then I slip out the backdoor. The smell of wet soil and rainwater hits me immediately, and I breathe it in.

Layla's sitting underneath the gazebo with her legs up on the table. Her eyes meet mine and my heart beats just a little bit faster.

"Hey," I say, sitting down next to her. "What are you doing?"

She fiddles with the water bottle in her hand, her gaze cast down and I wish for a moment that she would put her pretty eyes in mine. "Just thinking," she murmurs, her voice soft.

"Your Grandpa thinks you should come inside."

I can hear her breathing. "My Grandpa thinks a lot of things."

She's still fidgeting with the water bottle, her hair covering her face so I pull it out of her grip, her fingers surprisingly warm. Her eyes find mine, wide and surprised. "Grayson," she says, breathy, and god, I could listen to her say my name all day long.

"Yes, Layla?"

Her eyes flash to the back door. "What are you doing here?"

"I know a thing or two about shitty dads. I thought maybe you might like my company."

She eases her shoulders down, relaxing.

"Your name means night, right? Arabic?"

"Yeah," she nods. "We don't have any Arabic ancestry in us but my mom really liked it. She thinks Arabic is a beautiful language, like Latin."

"It's a beautiful name," I find myself saying. For a beautiful girl. The night makes it easy to confess things I probably shouldn't.

She smiles but a part of her is missing in that smile. "How did you know what it meant?"

I could also confess to her that I had immediately searched it up right after I met her. It's nice to meet you, I'm Layla. But I don't. Instead, I arch my eyebrow at her. "Wild guess?"

She laughs and the sound is like music to my goddamn ears and I have a feeling I'm a goner. How do I make this girl mine? Is it even possible? Do I even deserve someone like her? She's good and I'm the complete fucking opposite.

She's afraid of you, my brain kindly reminds me. One wrong look, one wrong word and you'll send her running in the opposite direction.

I shake my head. "Give me the breakdown."

"There is no breakdown," she shrugs. "He doesn't want me anymore. It's like I'm not even his daughter."

Then he's fucking stupid.

I put a hand on her bare knee without realizing it. "That sucks."

She stares at my hand on her leg. Her skin is warm to the touch and I don't want to move my hand away even though I know I should. You'll just confuse her, you know you can't have her anyway.

I quickly slip my hand away. The rain continues to patter around us softly.

"Why did you have Noah Anderson arrested? Why are you here, Grayson? Why do you know those douchebags?"

And just like that she's gone and ruined the moment. "For the last fucking time I don't know them. And why do you even care?"

I teased her for not being able to see right through me, but it's clear that she does. She knows I have an ulterior motive here. She sees right through me, better than anyone ever has. Will she see if there's some good in me, too?

Or will she see the truth? How I want to make them hurt. All of them. How I would gladly watch the world burn to nothing for all the things it's done to me.

The expression on her face changes. "I don't care. My Grandpa told me to watch out for you. You're not that special to me. If you want me to fuck off, fine. I'll happily fuck off."

Her words hurt more than I expect them to. Like a punch to the gut and I have to remind myself that this is nothing. I've heard worse.

"All right, you can fuck off."

"Fine," she scoffs, getting up from the couch. "Thanks for the company. It was shitty."

"You're welcome!" I call after her, watching her walk back into the house. I'm surprised to see her stick the bird back at me.

Good job, Gray. Another thing you can say you fucked up. Add this moment to the list.

But what was I supposed to do? Tell her the truth in all of its entirety? Complicated, sick, and twisted.

No. I'd rather have her hate me.