Fragments of gray, p.20
Fragments of Gray, page 20
Carefully, I pry my hand away from his face. I study him as his gaze falls off of me. No longer a look of rage, but rather, sorrow has him frowning. He retreats into himself, and I know he’s getting lost in his head.
I want to know what’s on his mind, but the clock is ticking, and I need to get into the kitchen.
“I’ll see you tonight.” I brush my lips against his, and he holds me for a brief moment before letting me go.
He nods once more, giving me a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.
As much as I’m longing to stay and talk with him, I make my way downstairs. I’ll answer whatever questions Gray has later tonight.
THIRTY-FOUR
Grayson
“You look like shit,” Rae says, spotting me lounging on her couch when she enters her condo.
My hand is wrapped around a Gatorade, nursing my hangover. With a pounding pain in my skull, I glare at her.
She places a grocery bag down on her kitchen island. “Guess I didn’t look much better during my glory days.” No, you looked worse. “But I’m glad to see your face is still intact, and your limbs are attached to your body. I’m assuming Emma’s dad didn’t find out.”
I shake my head while watching her put food away. When quiet falls between the adjoined rooms, Rae clicks her tongue.
“So, what, you need to be drunk in order to talk to me? Because you sure were a chatterbox last night,” she snaps.
“I have a headache,” I mumble.
Going back to putting the groceries away, she purposefully makes loud noises, slamming the cabinets shut and plopping things down. I roll my eyes at the dramatics and adjust the placement of my head.
When she’s finished, she stomps her way toward the couch. “I’m just going to level with you. I don’t know what your history is like with other girls, but if you’re playing Emma, I will hurt you.”
I scoff. “I don’t have a history with girls. I’m not a fucking player, Rae.”
“Well, I don’t know anything about you, Grayson!”
“And who’s fault is that?”
Her jaw sets. There’s an intensity around her icy eyes, and I wait for her to dish something back to me, but she doesn’t. Instead, she keeps going with the original topic. “As I was saying,” she states. “If I find out you’re just using Emma, I swear on Cara, I will fuck you up.”
“I’m not using her—and can you not swear on our dead sister?”
“That’s how serious I am. Emma is the sweetest person I’ve known. Not to mention, she and Miles are the best people to enter my life in ten years, and I’m not going to lose her because of my douchebag brother. So, if you’re her boyfriend, you better be an amazing one.”
The thought of being a decent boyfriend—hell, more than a decent boyfriend—has my heart faltering. Deep in my bones, I know I can’t give Emma all that she deserves. But I know at the very least, I won’t inflict any pain on her.
Dropping some of my defenses, my gaze lands on Rae’s. “I’m going to treat her right,” I say with utmost sincerity.
Rae tilts her chin in understanding, but I can still feel the pressure shooting out of her.
She goes out onto the balcony to smoke, and while she hangs out there, I close my eyes hoping if I squeeze in a nap, I’ll wake up feeling hangover-free.
It seems like only thirty seconds have passed when Rae reenters, still having a conversation with me.
“Emma texted me saying that her dad’s going away for a week starting on Monday,” Rae starts speaking about the information I recently found out. I blink a few times before focusing on her. “She invited me and Miles over during that time—and I’m assuming you, too. Is it cool with you if the four of us hang out?”
“Yeah. That’s fine.”
She goes to her phone and starts texting, then walks away from me.
Slightly more alert, a round of excitement twirls around my insides. My mind is in a bunch of different places, but right now it’s zeroed in on the fact that me and Emma get to be alone in her house for seven days straight.
We just have to get through tomorrow. Sunday.
My thoughts automatically shift gears when I realize the day of the week. Emma has been devoutly going to her dad’s church every Sunday since it’s been built, tomorrow will be no different. Only, this week I’m going to find out who else attends.
Emma licks the salt off her fingertips. “Thanks for taking me to get fries,” she says before diving into the bag to grab her last handful.
When I told Emma I wanted to take her out tonight and that she’d get to pick the place, I didn’t think she’d opt for similar scenery to our first outing. But, she wanted some McDonald’s and to sit by the docks. So here we are, perched on the hood of my car listening to the gentle splash of the water coming up to meet the anchored boats.
Thankfully, the both of us are feeling better from this morning’s hangover.
We decided not to find a boat to hang out on this time, but we still watch them occasionally rock side to side if a big enough wave rolls through.
Emma even brought the captain’s hat we stole and is currently wearing it. The white and navy colored fabric tame her hair every time the sea breeze brushes past.
“Of course,” I state, taking a sip of my soda, although I would’ve liked to step up my boyfriend game and do something a little more special. But I have several ideas up my sleeve which I plan on using during Emma’s week of freedom.
“Are you ever going to address the elephant in the room…well, technically, the parking lot? Because you’ve been skirting around asking me questions about Kane all night, and I know you want to.”
Rubbing the back of my neck, I debate which question I want to ask her first. And wonder how long I’ll be able to contain my anger once I receive the answers. My mind is still reeling from the bomb she dropped this morning about him still attending her dad’s church. I’m struggling to process it all, so I decide to start with the basics.
“You were ten when he moved here and thirteen when he…” I can’t even get the goddamn words out. Emma nods, waiting for me to continue. “Which would’ve made him twenty-fucking-three.”
“Yeah,” she replies timidly.
“And even though your father witnessed a grown man taking advantage of you, he blamed you and didn’t kick him out of his church?” Fury simmers beneath my bones, enough for me to feel a slight tremor in my arms.
“That pretty much sums it up.”
“What the fuck!” I spew my words out into the air, polluting the tranquil environment.
“My thoughts exactly.” Emma twists the vile metal that’s suffocating her delicate finger around.
The blood coursing through my veins gets louder in my ears, but I know I have to keep it together, so I stuff the turmoil down further into the cruxes of my being. “How-How do you manage seeing him every single fucking week?”
“It sounds messed up, but I’ve gotten accustomed to him being there.” Emma continues to fidget with her purity ring, keeping her eyes off me. “Don’t get me wrong, I still feel awful whenever I see him, but I’m used to feeling that way. I’m not allowed to speak to him per my father’s rules—which is one rule I’m thankful for. And we just go on pretending that all is fine. It’s been years of compartmentalizing and pretending.”
I furiously shake my head.
This is wrong. All of it. Every word that comes out of her mouth makes my anger grow tenfold.
With every fiber in my body, my hatred for Kane intensifies. Not to mention her father, who is supposed to be someone who protects her from predators, not someone who plays mind games and makes her believe she’s the one a fault all so he can keep getting money from the predator’s fucking family.
“You said Kane’s family doesn’t know, right?”
“Yep. My dad told them some story, I’m not sure what, but I know it wasn’t the truth.”
Anger claws up my spine. “And everyone just acts as if everything’s normal?”
“For the most part, yeah. Thankfully we stopped doing any family outings together. Aside from that, it’s a normal Sunday.”
“Except for the fact that it’s not. Especially for you.”
She nods, chewing the inside of her cheek as if to hold back any emotion that might be surfacing. “I just got used to the pain.”
“You shouldn’t fucking have to!” I slam my fist into the hood of the car, the sound echoing in the parking lot. Emma jumps in place, and I’m immediately remorseful and pissed at myself for not keeping my anger in check. “I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to scare you.” Add that to the list of shit I hate about myself. “It just makes me fucking furious for a multitude of reasons.” My head spins with everything that’s causing my internal chaos until it finally lands on something to pinpoint. “You shouldn’t be afraid to go to church. Just like people shouldn’t be afraid to dress a certain way, or kids shouldn’t be afraid to go to school—”
I cut myself off, biting my tongue on that last sentence. My brain couldn’t help but go back there—it always does. But I don’t want to bring up my memories about Cara, I’ve never even told Emma about her or how she died.
Besides, this conversation is about Emma, not about my baggage.
“You’re right,” she states, her voice becoming firmer. I let out a small breath of relief that I didn’t scare her away by my minor outburst. “I agree with everything you’re saying, and I get livid about it, too.”
“Yeah?”
“I hate that these terrible things are a reality for so many people.” She freely talks with her hands, staring out to sea. “I hate that kids are still being groomed—that’s what happened to me. I have never said it out loud before but here it goes: Kane fucking groomed me.” Her face tightens with repulsion. “I spent so long researching and learning about it. I realized he hit all the fucking marks—building trust, buying me things, pushing boundaries little by little, being secretive. It was all right there, and I—”
Emma stops herself, and I can tell just by where she was headed that she was about to put some blame on her shoulders.
Instead, she takes a deep inhale, and I watch as she settles her emotions. She turns to look at me, vulnerability pouring out of her. “I was a child,” she whispers, finishing her sentence.
Those four words slice my insides, shattering my heart.
Without realizing, my arm wraps around her, tugging her into my chest.
I don’t know how she manages this day in and day out.
And yet, here she is, the brightest light I’ve ever seen, gracefully handling it all alone.
For an endless amount of time, Emma stays tucked in my embrace. We relax on top of my car breathing in the salt air and listening to the soft current.
The night grows darker, and by the time we’re sneaking up her back porch toward her bedroom window, it begins to drizzle. Small, cool droplets of water scatter across our bodies giving us a nice break from the summer heat.
“Looks like we made it back just in time,” I whisper, glancing upward at the hovering raincloud.
Emma shrugs. “I like summer storms. There’s something alluring about the intensity.” With that, she climbs back into her bedroom.
As I follow her, I’m struck with the drunken memory of what Emma finds romantic—kissing in the rain being one of the items on her list. As much as I’d love to hoist her back outside and make that fantasy a reality for her, she’s already yawning and getting into her nightgown.
I’m sure there are other ways I can fulfill her romantic wish list.
As I lay my head down on the pillow next to her, my thoughts jump back and forth between protection and romance, until I finally fall asleep.
THIRTY-FIVE
Emma
Dad’s sermon seems extra long this morning. Or perhaps I’m just at the end of my rope when it comes to tolerating what he has to say.
Speaking with Gray last night and seeing his reaction to how I was mistreated, validated just how fucked up this entire situation is. While his strike of anger startled me, it also made me feel seen. He’s hurt because others have hurt me.
I normalized everything and kept it to myself because I was ashamed.
But now, it’s as if another layer of myself is shedding as I step out of the mold I was forced to conform to.
The sound of the organ ricochets off the hollow walls, and normally I wouldn’t glance over to Kane playing, but this time I do.
He’s focused on the sheet music, his fingers powering down on the keys. As the music builds, so does my nausea.
Kane has gotten to sit up near the pulpit for years, the parishioners praising him for his talent. He gets to carry on with his life, brushing everything under the rug while I get left with the ruins.
Waves of torment crash into me. Over and over again as I listen to the rich timbre of the pipes. As it gets louder, my heart beats faster. The waves smash harder.
Since I was thirteen, I have had to put up with this.
Both Kane and Dad placed the blame on me and went on as if nothing happened.
Tears prickle behind my eyes, and I glance up, trying to blink them away. My gaze lands on the cross hanging high on the wall. Dad doesn’t live his life as a holy man and never has. It’s always been about notoriety and money for him.
But there’s an intuitive pull deep within my broken heart telling me that Mom was nothing like him. She was the epitome of benevolence, and it’s her spirit that I hope to embody.
As the organ stops, and Dad starts up again, I find myself internally speaking to Mom, hoping that wherever her soul is, she can hear my thoughts.
I need an out, Mom.
Please send me a miracle—anything.
Please guide me where I’m supposed to go because I know this isn’t it for me.
The welling behind my eyes continues, starting to sting as I hold it in.
“Let’s all pray together,” Dad’s voice booms, interrupting my thoughts.
As usual, everyone rises, reaching their arms out to link hands. Brushing my hair over my shoulder before clasping Mrs. Sterling’s hand, something in the back of the church catches my attention.
Or rather, someone.
Oh my god. Grayson’s at my father’s church.
Gray stands all the way in the back, smirking when we lock eyes.
My stomach drops and rises as I become excited and terrified at the same time. He snuck out this morning as I prepared breakfast like usual, but I assumed he’d go back to Rae’s and not show up at Kingdom Church out of the blue.
Heat rushes to my cheeks.
Dad goes through his prayer, and as I bow my head with the rest of the congregation, I try to steal a glance behind me. And when I do, I can’t help but snicker to myself at Grayson playing the part and following along with everyone else.
“Have a blessed Sunday,” Dad wraps up. “I look forward to seeing the majority of you here tomorrow morning, bright and early for our pilgrimage to this year’s spectacular retreat.”
Everyone claps, eager to assemble here tomorrow and travel together, blindly following Dad’s lead to some fancy resort under the ruse of a spiritual sanctuary.
As Dad walks down the aisle, I trail behind him, my heart pounding as I pass Grayson. His eyes are fixated on me, and the smug, yet sexy, smirk hasn’t left his perfect face.
Unsure of where to look, I glance between him and the back of Dad’s head.
I bite back my own smile as I waltz past him and stand next to Dad at the exit. We go on to shake everyone’s hands, and people are mainly saying how excited they are for the retreat.
My weight shifts from foot to foot as I hurry them along, trying to peek behind them to find Gray.
“We’re all set for tomorrow, Pastor!” Mrs. Gardiner exclaims.
“At least someone is,” Dad jokes and everyone laughs.
“Any last-minute arrangements that I can assist with?” Mr. Gardiner asks.
“No, No. I have Emma here to help me with some loose ends.”
“You do?” I twist my head up to look at Dad, unaware of these plans.
He pauses for a beat, thrown off by my response. There’s a slight flash of annoyance that crosses his features, but he masks it before anyone notices. “I must’ve forgotten to fill you in.” He forces a chuckle. “I just need your help with making some phone calls, then you can get on with the rest of your Sunday.”
“You’ll be missed this week,” Mrs. Gardiner interjects, giving me a sympathetic, yet also judgmental, look as she brings her hand to her heart.
I give her a tight-lipped smile with a curt nod of my head.
As the line continues to build behind them, they start to drift away but not before stopping at my side. “Be good while your father’s away,” she whispers to me.
My jaw drops open at the audacity of this woman.
I have no idea what lies my father told Kane’s family, but either way his mother should learn to keep her mouth shut.
The words burn at the tip of my tongue, urgency flooding my lungs as I wish to scream out everything that her son has done to me. But before I can squeak out a sound, my attention is getting pulled to the voice coming next to me.
“Wonderful sermon today, Pastor,” Gray says, shaking Dad’s hand.
My head spins, now completely focused on the two of them meeting. With nerves jumping around my stomach, I watch their entire interaction.
“I particularly loved the part about obeying those who provide for you,” he adds.
Dad smiles, but his eyelids narrow as he assesses Grayson. “Thank you. I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you at my church before.”
“That’s because you haven’t. I just moved here recently.” He shifts his gaze to me, and my entire body lights up. “I’m Grayson.” He extends his hand toward me.
Fighting back a grin, ignoring the whirlwind that’s released in my veins, I shake his hand. The familiar calloused palm brushing up against mine. “Emma,” I state.
