Twenty
GRAY
My grandfather rolled his cigar between his knuckles. “So, where have you been?”
Underneath my wife’s skirt while you fucking threatened her.
My grandfather looked between West and me. “What is the interesting story that teamed you both up, and pulled Grayson away from his family?”
I narrowed my eyes. My grandfather never opened presents with us—my only memory of him on Christmas morning was to make sure I knew Santa didn’t exist, so I knew who put those presents under the tree: not some “fat fucking socialist”—his hard work.
He didn’t give a shit where I was, he only wanted to know how I’d slipped my guards again.
“It’s an interesting story, isn’t it?” West looked to me, grinning wide like the cat that ate the fucking canary. I remembered the confusion on Story’s face as I’d left her with Josephine, obviously wondering why West wasn’t betraying us.
Truce.
That was the proposition he’d posed last night, but I didn’t buy it for a second.
West turned from me, to my grandfather. “I don’t know if you’ll believe it.”
Around us, du Lac men and Crowne extended family sat on old leather wingbacks, their feet propped up, snowflakes falling past seven-foot windows onto the beach.
You know how unpredictable the weather can be.
As my grandfather waited for an explanation I had no answer to, what I’d overheard with Story sprinted back and forth in my mind.
My father died in a car accident on a perfectly sunny day.
My grandfather’s eyes narrowed. “Try me.”
How long have you known, Story?
I don’t think Story had any idea what she was saying to him; I think she was just trying to stand up for herself.
And fuck, any other time I would have cheered her on. But once again, I had that feeling I was missing something vital. I was outmanned. Outgunned.
What if she’d confirmed something in his mind?
Something deadly?
“Grayson saved my ass.” West put his arm around my shoulder again, his garish suit blinding my fucking eyes. While the morning dress code was always somewhat lax compared to the evening, West took that to the extreme. He wore a bright red suit with Christmas trees and snowflakes, complete with a matching tie.
West continued. “I switched up some presents—nearly sent them addressed to the wrong girl. But Grayson handled it for me—he’s pretty good at juggling women. Isn’t that right?” West squeezed my shoulder; I tamped down the urge to elbow him in the gut.
“Right,” I gritted.
My grandfather watched us for what felt like an hour, then set his cigar down without ever lighting it.
“It’s always good when brothers-in-law get along. See you both tonight then.”
Giving us an ambivalent smile, he left to join an extended uncle across the room.
With my grandfather just out of earshot, West grabbed my hand and said, “You smell just like Story.”
I shoved him off, rubbed my eye.
Don’t punch West.
At least, not in public.
Again.
“The fuck are you doing?”
West exhaled. “Now you’re pissed because I didn’t betray you? I’m not the fucking bad guy here.” He paused at my glare. “Fine, I’m not the worst guy here.”
“Not the highest bar.” I dragged a hand through my hair, pushing strands out of my eyes and narrowing on him. “You could just sink me now. Take over the company. You don’t need a coin for that.”
“I could.” He nodded. “I promised her I wouldn’t.”
I laughed. “You suddenly a good guy, West?”
He worked his jaw. “I’d still be under my father’s thumb.”
There it is.
“I wonder if you know what that feels like. To have everything and nothing.”
I have all the luck in the world…
I rubbed my jaw, hating the feeling of commiserating with fucking West.
“I want Story. I’ve wanted Story since I was thirteen and my father has…” he trailed off and folded his arms.
“So what the fuck do you want, West? What’s your big fucking wish?”
“I want what you want, Grayson. I want my happily ever after. I want to win her over. I want her to love me. I want your child to call me daddy. Then I want to fill her with more babies who call me daddy. That’s my endgame. That’s always been my endgame. Who’s the real monster here, Grayson?”
At that moment, my grandfather looked over and raised his glass to me.
“You,” I said without hesitation, but my eyes were still on him.
Everyone broke for dinner, and again I was forced to watch Story leave without a word to her. She stared at me as West pulled her toward their wing. I stayed, leaning against the wall, staring at the spot like she was a ghost I could summon with strong emotion.
It would be hours until I saw her.
The smell of salt air mingled with gingerbread being baked in the kitchen. I rustled the coins in my pocket. I’d been thinking for a while now—there was a way to get Story out. I have four coins in my pocket, four coins I could use to just fucking end all of this.
One caveat: I don’t get to go with her.
It was a game of chess…one for her, one for our baby, and two so my grandfather doesn’t challenge. Finding the fifth is that Hail Mary for me, that hope for our happily ever after.
But I could get her out now.
Get them out—
Josephine St. Germaine stepped in my way. She stared at me, eyes a broken emerald shining different colors of green—jade, shamrock, deep pine. It was wrong to see those eyes; Josephine never stepped in my way.
“Christmas always makes me miss home,” she said.
Josephine never spoke to me, even on Christmas. It was enough to make me pause.
“I miss your father the most on this day.”
Then she brought up my father, and anger drenched like hot acid. I worked my jaw, brushing past her.
“Your father already tried it, Grayson. He gave those coins to your grandfather and was dead the next day.”
I stopped. Coins—she said coins, as in, plural. Everyone else has only talked about finding the one. I slowly turned around. Josephine still smiled into her champagne, as if we were discussing the weather.
“I did everything I was supposed to do, but…Story didn’t find it. She didn’t find the coin.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
She sucked in air, eyes crossing the room to where one of my cousins had stumbled into the hallway, drunk and singing sexist Christmas songs. “Not here. Tonight, after dinner when everyone is drunk and fighting and distracted.”
“I don’t know what you’re playing at, but I don’t want any part in it.”
Her brow knitted. “Don’t you ever wonder who gave you those coins at the funeral?”
I stared at her, jaw clenched. I didn’t say it aloud. I couldn’t. But the question burned in my mind.
You gave them to me?
It seemed like forever until she spoke again, then slowly her eyes traveled back to mine. “There is no getting out of this world, Grayson. Not alive.”