No.
I can’t fucking leave him.
I knew we only had five minutes, but I couldn’t process anything. Not the advancing pain in my abdomen, letting me know that another, much more urgent clock was ticking down as well.
“Story!” Grayson gripped my cheeks. He lowered his voice, until only I could hear. “Go to the tunnels. Find Lottie.”
“Come with me, Atlas,” I begged.
Everything was foggy.
This wasn’t happening.
This couldn’t be happening.
We couldn’t have lost.
“You promised you wouldn’t miss the delivery. You promised.”
Grayson dropped to his knees, pressing his head to my stomach. A single second spanned a lifetime. “This was always how it was going to end,” he said.
Then he stood.
His jaw tight, eyes dark.
Panic seized my lungs and I doubled over in pain. I gripped his bicep as another contraction hit me.
Beryl laughed, and Grayson flexed his fingers into a fist.
“I should have ripped him out of you,” he growled. “I should have fucking ripped him out of you when I had the chance.”
The sirens grew louder.
“The weight is too heavy for your shoulders,” I cried.
“My shoulders will get strong. Now leave, but do one thing for me.” He shoved fabric into my hand, wet and cold. “Survive.”
His green pocket square, sticky with blood. Inside, bloody and cold, wrapped around my locket, was the final coin.
How—what—I couldn’t ask him, not with Beryl watching our every move.
He turned from me.
“Grayson, you survive too. You promise me. You survive too.” He wasn’t responding, and the longer I went without a response, the higher my fear rose. “Grayson?”
“Leave, Snitch!” he yelled, and I jolted, running out of the room, pausing only to give one last look.
“My song will wait until you return, Atlas.”
I ran to find Lottie; the last thing I saw was Grayson standing tall before his grandfather.
A fault line formed along my heart at exactly 2:02 in the morning. With every beat, I felt it digging. I swallowed, throat dry, as I left the love of my life forever.
Sixty
STORY
Lottie was waiting just outside the entrance to the tunnels.
“Where is Grayson?” she asked.
I rolled my lips, shaking my head, unable to say the words. The realization dawned on Lottie slowly as her mouth parted. Grayson Crowne was out doing what Grayson Crowne did best—sacrificing himself.
The gravity of the situation was apparent in the low way she spoke, the tight draw of her brow.
“I don’t know if this is a good idea, but I don’t have any ideas left and she—” Lottie broke off on a breath. “She was the only person home I could think of…the only person who isn’t them.”
“Who?”
“Jesus Christ. If I look between your legs, am I going to see little baby Gray giving me the finger? How the fuck are you standing?”
Oh no.
Wearing a baby pink sweatshirt that said MOOD: FUCK(ing) YOU with a leather and diamond choker, Gemma Crowne looked like she belonged trending on Insta, not here. In the tunnels of Crowne Hall, shepherding two pregnant fugitives.
“Gemma?” The fate of my and my baby’s life hung with Gemma Crowne?
We were doomed.
“Where’s my brother?”
“He’s…” I sucked in a breath through my nose. “He’s not coming.”
Gemma’s brow caved, but only for a second. “Well, let’s fucking go. I’m not delivering your babies.”
“Babies?” I jerked my head to Lottie. “You’re in fucking labor?”
“Well, so are you!” she snapped.
“How is this happening?” I rubbed my temple. “How is any of this happening?”
Gemma snapped her fingers. “Let’s go!”
Lottie, Gemma, and I snuck out in the dark of the labyrinth under Crowne Hall. It wasn’t lost on me that these tunnels had once been reserved for purposes like these, sneaking out mistresses in the dead of night.
The farther we got from Crowne Hall, the more real it became. I was leaving Crowne Hall, leaving Grayson, about to deliver his baby.
Unsure when I could return.
Soon, the brackish sea air overwhelmed the stony dark.
I could barely breathe, walking was a struggle, my back hurt. The coin in my hand was sticky with blood, and so many questions ran through my head. How did he get it? Who gave it to him?
That coin grants wishes, but only one. You only get one.
My uncle’s words echoed in my head.
Only one.
Another deeply painful contraction cracked through my body. I cried out and fell to the soft, cool sand. Early summer wind whispered across my cheeks as I took deep breaths, trying to steady the pain.
“Oh no.” Gemma snapped her fingers in my face. “Stand the fuck up. We have to get you both to a hospital.”
I pressed my hands into the sand, but I couldn’t fucking stand. An instant later, I had company. Lottie fell beside me, a blank and numb look on her face.
I glanced at her and a sudden, sharp pang hit my chest, this one having nothing to do with the baby.
West was dead.
I don’t know if I’d ever see Grayson again.
We had one coin to Beryl’s four.
Gemma eyed us with a low whistle. “I don’t think we’re going to make it. Fuck.”
“What do you mean—” Lottie broke off on a groan.
Gemma placed a hand to her lips, staring at us, brows drawn. “You’re delivering this baby on this beach.”
Gemma looked around at our dark, sandy surroundings. We were somewhat hidden by the rocks, and the beach itself was private.
“No fucking way—” I tried to stand again, wobbling and failing.
Another beat of silence pressed. I gritted my teeth through contractions that were coming faster and harder, as waves crashed violently on the shore.
I slowly looked back to Gemma, the realization landing like a rock in my gut.
She’s right.
“Have you ever done something like this?” I asked.
Gemma blinked her big, blue eyes at me. “I mean, what the hell do you think?”
“Of all the people I wanted to deliver my child, you, literally, are the last.”
“Gross, you’d rather have my mother? Or my grandfather?”
I grimaced. “Third to last.”
Another wave of contractions started and I dug my hands into the sand. I vaguely registered Gemma dropping to her knees before me. I heard the sound of Lottie’s cries—or maybe mine—over the ocean’s roar. Could hear Gemma cursing, and what sounded like her calling for help.
I don’t know how long it lasted.
I focused on the stars.
Yeah, Snitch. I’ll bring you the stars. The moon. The ocean. You name it.
“You’re having this baby. Now. Like…” Gemma looked at her phone, then lifted up my nightgown. “Like right fucking now.”
She then did the same to Lottie’s. “Yikes. This is gross.”
I fisted sand and chucked it at her. “You suck at this!”