GRAYSON
The minute I saw her I knew I was in trouble. It's nice to meet you, I'm Layla. I've tried my hardest to run away as fast and far possible. And yet, she's still the one haunting my dreams.
Nice to see you again. Was it? Or is she just a liar like everybody else?
My Mom always said: "never trust a girl with pretty eyes or she'll break your heart". That was before she died. Before she left me alone in this world with a psychopath serial killer for a father.
"Tomorrow's the engagement party and I wanted to talk to you about some things," Hale says, sitting across from me at the table. I continue to eat my breakfast in silence. I don't do the uncle thing with him. I know what I am to him and he knows it, too. A burden. A nuisance. The son of his sister he couldn't give a fuck about.
"For starters, behave."
"When have I ever misbehaved?" I smirk and it grows when I see the dissatisfaction on his face.
He proceeds to hold up two fingers. "Secondly, no drinking for you. I don't like how you get when you're drunk."
Yeah, that might actually be a good call.
"Is that all, Chief?" I ask before downing the last of my orange juice.
Hale sighs, staring up at the ceiling. "Just don't do anything stupid."
"You think I'd ruin this for you? Like actually?"
He rubs a hand along the stubble on his chin. "I don't really know you, Grayson. I don't know what you're capable of. You never gave me the chance, you never let me in."
I get up to take my dishes to the sink. "Yeah, I'm not doing this right now. Or ever."
"I'm not trying to be your father. Not even close."
I nod. "I know that. The state practically threw me at your doorstep, you really had no choice but to take me."
"Is that really how you feel? Then why didn't I kick you out the moment you turned eighteen? Why are you still here two years later?"
"I don't know," I shrug, leaning into the counter. "Maybe you're trying to resolve some inner conflict and keeping me makes you feel like a good person. A kind of charity in a way."
Hale laughs, slow but genuine. "God, I can never win with you, can I?"
I start washing the dishes I used so that Margaret doesn't have to clean up my mess.
"And one more thing," Hale says, approaching me. I brace myself. "No funny business with Layla."
"Define funny business."
His lips press into a line. "Don't get smart with me. I'll kick your ass if you even so much as think of her in that way."
Too late.
— — —
Layla has been gone the majority of the day, not that I've noticed or wondered where she is or anything. We're all eating dinner in the kitchen when she walks in with a cap over her head.
"Hi," she says, tossing her keys on the counter and I notice how exhausted she sounds.
"Hi, Honey," Margaret smiles. "Do you want me to make you a plate?"
She shakes her head, grabbing a water bottle out of the fridge. "No, thanks, I'm not hungry."
Margaret looks at Macy and unspoken words pass between them.
"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.