At three in the morning, I awoke with a gasp in my throat.
Forcing back bile, I jerked upright and began ridding myself of the venom in my system. My shoulders shuddered forward as I coughed. My lungs burned.
As my chest expanded to take in greedy gulps of air, I fought against the sudden nausea. Although I never forgot my nightmares after waking up, if I did, the sickness that followed was a sure signal.
I got to my feet. Since darkness enveloped the room, I stumbled blindly toward my door. In December, it seemed even darker in Hawthorne House.
Although that might have been because three fourths of the Hawthorne brothers were still at college. Grayson and I, however, had already finished our classes for the semester.
As I wandered down the hall, my sights set on the stairway, I paused in my tracks. Light was seeping from beneath Grayson's bedroom door. Amidst the faint light, I heard soft shuffling, as though he was pacing his room.
Cautiously, I pushed the door open an inch and knocked.
The shuffling stopped. For a few moments, silence abounded.
When he continued to remain mute, I opened his door a few inches more.
I was surprised to find that, instead of a suit, Grayson Hawthorne was wearing flannel pajama bottoms. And no shirt.
Swallowing, I diverted my attention to the suitcase on his bed and several neat piles of dress pants. "What are you doing?"
"Packing," he replied, still studying me with those solid gray eyes.
Surprised, I leaned back against the door, locking myself in Grayson's room. With him. "Where are you going?"
"Back to Harvard."
"Why? The semester's over."
"It's never too early to start studying for next semester," Grayson replied.
"It is when Christmas is in a few days."
He paused, his fingers hovering over his suitcase. "Ever since the old man died, Christmas hasn't exactly been the same."
"So you're picking up and leaving because you're afraid of change?"
His eyes darted to mine, anger flashing briefly. "I'm not afraid of change, I just have no desire for it."
"What if it's good?"
"How could it be good?"
Hurt crossed my face before I could stop it. "I'll be here."
"Yeah," Grayson mumbled. "In which case you'll be flirting with my brother."
"We're not — I'm not —"
"Save it," Grayson said, slamming his suitcase closed.
As the Hawthorne boy zipped his luggage and lowered its wheels to the floor, he rolled it in a narrow line towards the door. Before he passed me, however, Grayson's eyes latched onto my goosebump-strewn arms.
"Are you cold?" he asked.
"No."
His gray eyes met mine. The wheels of his suitcase paused before he let the handle go. "Then why are you shivering?"
Since Grayson was now noticing my bloodshot eyes and sunken posture, I decided not to fib about why I'd ended up in his room in the first place. Quietly, I said, "I had a nightmare."
His eyes remained on mine, unchanging. "Would you like to talk about it?"
"I'm not sure," I admitted after a pause.
Sighing, Grayson pressed two fingers against his forehead. "Avery, I don't have all night."
I wanted to tell him that he did, in fact, have all night. He was simply choosing to fly back to his college dorm.
"I don't want to talk about it," I decided. But before Grayson could walk out of his bedroom alongside his luggage, I added, "I just don't want to be alone."
"I would recommend calling Max," he said.
"It's three in the morning."
"And?" Grayson said. "Aren't best friends, like, on call twenty-four seven?"
The way he said it made me wonder if he'd ever had a best friend. Or, for that, a friend.
"I'm not waking her up," I told him.
Grayson sighed. "Is there a reason you're requesting my presence?"
"Since you're the only other human being in this house, you're my only option," I told him.
"Back luck indeed."
Rubbing my weary eyes, I headed into the hallway. "I'm going back to my bedroom," I said, turning my back on him. "You can leave, like you said you would. Or, you can stay and make sure I get some sleep tonight."
I begun walking. Grayson didn't reply.
After I was halfway towards my bedroom, I resigned myself to the fact that Grayson Davenport Hawthorne was, indeed, a jerk, and had left.
But after I'd settled into bed, there was a rap on my door and he let himself in.
"I can only stay until six." He crossed the floor, carefully perching on the edge of my bed. "But that will give you three hours of sleep, given that you don't have any more nightmares."
"You'll stay with me?" I ask, my eyebrows shooting up.
"Yes. But keep in mind, Avery, I will not be doing this regularly."
"Understood," was the last thing I murmured before falling into a deep, dreamless asleep.
• • •
When I awoke, it was 6:04.
Grayson was passed out beside me, his head and body tilted into mine.
He'd missed his flight.
But the safety that his presence brought made me hope that he'd miss every flight after, too.
