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littlemissmentallyunstable · 9 days

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there’s been lots of requests and comments so here it is PART 3!!! (SHE’S HERE first anon, hope you survived this long second anon and it was not a dream third anon, I’m posting/making it now fourth and fifth anon)

some of you were going feral for part 2 so I hope this lives up the expectation 😭😭 if not I’m severely sorry

title: the dancer and the angel part 3

pairing: grayson hawthorne x reader

synopsis: grayson has just admitted to kissing lyra kane, the girl you’d been worried about, the girl that was stunning, the girl he said didn’t matter… he chose her over you so now what??

parts: part 1 part 2

warnings: swearing, SPOILERS FOR TGG

a/n: okay so I hate switching POVs but I felt it was necessary here and I know the start is the same as the part 2 but in Gray’s POV but trust me there is lot more

tag list: @tornqdowarnings @whatsamongus @wish-i-were-heather @inmyheaddd @never-enough-novels @sweetlikeanangel @midiosaamor @sweetreveriee @emelia07 @f4iry-bell @zaraaaabear @thoughtdaughter3 @benny1989fredd @elysianwayy77 @maybxlle @sheisntyou @anintellectualintellectual @aleatorio1234 @adalia-jaycee @off-to-the-r4ces @lyra-kane @reminiscentreader @lyrakanefanatic @imaseabear @elizaa31

GRAYSON’S POV

Guilt has chewed me up and spat me out the whole walk back to our shared room. There’s a pulsating lump in my throat that aches relentlessly, reminding me of what I’ve done. I am a terrible person. I never deserved her and now I’ve done the worst thing I could’ve possibly done, that anyone on this whole planet could’ve ever done. And she will never forgive me for it. I wish there was a way to turn back time and alter certain events. As soon as the time machine is invented, no doubt by my very own brother Xander, I’m coming back to moments before now to stop my idiot brain from-

I can’t even think it. Maybe it’s because it makes it more real. It’s like the last few moments of my life have been erased from my brain, it’s a blank canvas and I have no paints. I know what I did but I can’t remember exact details. Still, I can taste her on my lips, an over sweet taste that was almost too sickly has now morphed into something bitter. Her perfume lingers on my clothes and adds to my ever growing headache. I don’t want to smell her, I don’t want the reminder of the awful human I have become. The monster that now inhabits my body, lives in my skin, breathes my air and poisons the people I love. The ones I truly love.

Y/n. At one point she was the only reason I was still existing, still carrying on. She somehow managed to give me the fight to keep carrying on. I got up most days because I knew I would get to see her face. And now I’m going to throw everything away, our whole relationship. Everything we’ve been through or planned to go through together. It will reduced to nothing in a few minutes.

I’m outside the door, my feet have carried me here through muscle memory. I must go in, I must face her I’m aware but I’m afraid. I’ve never felt so pathetic. I wonder if she is still asleep. Though, I can’t work out whether I’d rather she be awake or asleep. I don’t think I could bear to look at her angelic feature either way. Those wide eyes, round lips, heavenly- I can’t bear it, I��m going to lose her, all of her.

I fiddle around with the key, hoping the door will just never unlock so I don’t have to face this. The mechanism clicks, mocking me. I step in silently and face the door to lock back up again. I don’t understand why, I know I’ll be kicked out in a matter of seconds, what good will a locked door be? And yet I’m still facing the door, fumbling with the key, my back towards her. Though I can hear her getting out of bed. She’s awake. My body’s immediate response is to go into a state of paralysis. I can’t move as the guilt ridden cement hardens over my body, creating an outer shell of the cruel creature I’ve become. Her body is behind mine. I can feel her bright presence radiating her usual tentative nature.

“Are you okay?” I hear her whisper as she touches my arm so gently it stings.

It stings so sharply because I know what I’ve done. The shameful crime I’ve committed. I jerk away suddenly.

“Are you hurt?” she asks, deep concern in her tone.

It kills me. It’s a poisoned dagger wedged deep within my heart, hitting every vital artery. Her voice is so soft, so melodic. She cares so much, too much and I’m about to destroy it all. And as much as I could not say a word I couldn’t live a lie, the guilt would eat me alive. How could I look her in the eye and tell her she’d always been the only one when I know she hadn’t? She’d already noticed earlier today my distant mood. She had always been observant, vigilant about those things concerning me and I’d always been grateful. I wouldn’t have that anymore. Lyra had been on my mind earlier and I couldn’t tell her. Now she would realise.

“No,” I reply.

My voice is unfamiliar to myself, it’s sharp and blunt. It sounds horribly harsh. I could feel it hurt her, the air ripples with a touch of dimness when I hurt her. Even with my back to her it’s obvious to me. I know her so well, too well and from this day on we might drift to perfect strangers. That thought hurts me more than anything.

“Where have you been?” she says. Her voice so sweet, so innocent, cruelly naïve.

I don’t want to break her, I don’t want to do it. It would be like smashing a glass ballerina. Something so beautiful, something so delicate should be preserved not purposely broken. I force my eyes to meet hers. I immediately regret it. The soft mellow colour all melts into one, clawing at my heartstrings and ripping the organ to shreds. She’s so beautiful. How had I ever looked at any other? How had I let myself?

Suddenly I’m drowning in guilt. I don’t know how, it just comes over me suddenly. Like a tidal wave I had my back to. I’ve been swept under by an endless ocean of shame. My lungs swollen full of my own black sin. I don’t know how but I manage to choke out two shaky words.

“I’m sorry.”

My voice cracks. My voice never cracks. She knows that. I’m sturdy, I’m strong, I’m the rock that never breaks and here I am. Here I am crumbling into dust. She’s too smart to miss the signs, she’s too clever not to immediately know something so horribly wrong, her mind is too sharp not to have worked half of it out. She’d already been suspicious of Lyra. She’d already seen what might happen between us even before I did, before it did actually happen.

“Gray?” she asks, my name sounding too sweet on her tongue. The next time she says it will taste bitter, I’m sure of it. She barely whispers the word but I hear her, it rings in my mind. It forever will.

I’m full of pure regret and guilt, it wracks my soul, shaking me relentlessly back and forth until I’m dizzy with it. Remorse’s doors suddenly burst wide open, ready for my grand entrance. My hopes and dreams snicker and smirk smugly as I walk down the runway, my head hanging in embarrassment.

I need to tell her. My heart races in my chest and there’s a lump stuck in my throat, so large it’s started to block my airways. I don’t know how to get the words out, I don’t know how to talk. I feel like I’m suffering some sort of aneurysm. She looks at me, her eyebrows pinched in and eyes narrowed and then I see it. Her eyebrows part and slowly sink. She knows already.

“Tell me,” she murmurs, her voice of an angel shaking.

I close my eyes, trying to suppress the tears. I haven’t cried in years I’ve forgotten this feeling, this heavy weighted agony that ripples through me causing water to infiltrate my eyes. I bite the inside of my cheek and still my shaking hands.

“I’m sorry,” I tell her, an uninvited raw desperation ripping through my voice, “I never wanted to hurt you, I never meant for it to happen, I-“

“Tell me,” she grits through her teeth sharply, her eyes glitter so beautifully fierce and fiery, like she wants to kill.

But I know she’s trying to steady her rising sadness by covering up with her fury. I can see through her, like she can see through me. I freeze and the pause elongates. The aching silence is deadly, it’s fatal. I wish she didn’t have to make me say it.

“I kissed her,” I murmur, the words making me feel sick as I say them.

“Who?” she asks, he tone low and ferocious, “who did you kiss? I want to hear you say it.”

I’m twisting a knife into her heart and I know it. But she wants me to cut deeper. She’s a woman of principle, I’ve already hurt her, I might as well do the job properly in her eyes. And I can’t deny her this. Not I’ve stripped her of her dignity, her trust, her love, her everything.

“I kissed Lyra,” I whisper, suddenly aware of the dampness on my cheeks.

A sour taste fills my mouth. The words send lightning sparks across my jaw, sending ribbons of agony down the sides of my face. The truth hurts. Literally. Tears are rolling the side of my face, but I don’t bring my hand to wipe them and nor do I stop them. I’ve never felt more broken.

But she doesn’t care, there is not pity in her eyes. Good. I don’t want he to pity me. She should hate me. She should want me to miserable and hope for me to have a lifetime of the torture I’ve just forced her to endure.

“Get out,” she murmurs, the anger bringing out her natural stunning features. A flicker of boldness in her eyes, the striking angles of her eyebrows, her strong thick lashes and her full lips.

“I’m sorry.” they’re the only words I remember how to say, through my internal fit of torment.

I expect her to hit me around the face, a good strong punch I know she can make or a sharp smack that’ll leave a red hand mark pressed against my cheek. I imagine she might scream at me and ask me all the questions I wish I had answers to. But she does none of that. She only looks at me darkly and utters two last words.

“Leave Grayson.”

I can hear the tears she’s trying to hold back, through the numb façade. I know her better than she’ll ever realise. But it’s not fair for me to stay, not after this. She’s only asking one thing of me when she should be doing so much more. So I do. I turn my back on her again. And I leave.

***

Tears pummel down my cheeks like never before. I can’t remember the last time I cried. I don’t think I’ve ever cried like this. I’m blinded by them as I stumble sideways. I don’t know where I’m going. I stand on the edge of the cliff and sink to my knees, letting out a loud guttural scream. I’m there until my throat is so raw I can’t feel it. I bite my lip so hard it draws blood. And then I’m up again and running, following a path my footsteps are dragging me towards. I can’t think straight, I’m dizzy with pain. Before I know it I’m outside the safe house on the island. My hands tremor on the handle and I swing open the door, falling to the floor for my sobs to take me over. My chest aches and burns and tightens. That’s when I realise I can’t breathe properly. I fumble around for my phone, a tear splashing into the illuminated screen. With uncontrollably shaking hands, I typed no words. Just three numbers.

911

***

The wait feels like years, maybe even decades. Each second taunts me, with a mocking tick. I’d crumbled into the corner of the room at some point and stayed there, curled up and choking on my own sorry sobs. What had I done? What had I done? What had I done?

The question circles around my head like the nostalgia of a distorted tune of a merry go round. I’ve never made such a big mistake and my life and deep down there’s a sinking sensation that is telling me I’m not going to be able to make this better. I sob, loud harsh sobs that hurt my lungs and knock the air out of my stomach. My whole being shakes with every strangled noise that escapes my lips. Grieving. I’m grieving over something I chose to throw away. It’s cruelly ironic. But I think part of me is also grieving the good man I once thought myself to be, that she made me believe I could be.

I turned my back on the one and only person in this world who just cared about me, took me for who I am and believed I could do anything. She only wanted the best, she only wanted happiness and she deserved so much more and here I am, stabbing her in the back and dancing in her blood like a madman. She was my everything and I managed to mess it up, just like everything else in my life. I can’t have normal relationships, I can’t do something without messing it up. I’m one big screw up the opposite of how the old man raised me to be. He’s looking down on me now and I can feel his disappointment, like an infection coursing through my bloodstream. I failed him, I failed my brothers, I’ve failed her, I’ve failed myself.

She thought I was better, she believed I could be more than his expectation. And I was stupid enough to believe it, encourage it and let her belive the lie too. We’re all idiots.

I can recite her favourite song, her favourite flower, her favourite food and favourite colour. I can tell you all about her favourite novels and how she orders her books on an endless bookshelf. I know that she tells people her favourite film is ‘it’s a wonderful life’ but it’s actually secretly ‘tangled’. I know she prefers to stay inside and cuddle under blankets rather than have a night out. I know she’d rather reason a thousand books than watch a thousand movies. I know she wanted a library in her dream house and two, maybe three children with her husband and I know she’d sometimes debate about getting a cat as well. I know how she loves brownie batter more than the actual brownies and can’t sleep with any lights on. I know she still uses the bunny rhyme to tie her shoelaces and how she fiddles with her collarbone when she’s nervous. I know exactly what diamond she wanted in her engagement ring and her favourite country. I know what people she despises and I know what people she adores. I know every inch of her face, every hair on her head, every sparkle in her eyes and every cell on her skin.

I know her.

I know her, but that can’t help me now. Pain ripples across the left side of my chest and my hand clamps over it as I grit my teeth to try and bear it. I hear the door creek open and can’t tell whether it comforts me or not.

“Grayson pookie!” Xander calls out, “we’re here.”

His cheerful voice doesn’t provide me with the cushion to this pain I thought it might.

“And we have some in incredibly strong whisky,” Jameson adds, I can here the mischievous grin in his voice, it’s been the same all of his life.

“My nose hairs are officially burnt off,” Xander agrees.

I can’t speak. I try to call out for them but the words die in my swollen throat.

“Where are you Gray?” Nash calls out, he sounds a little more worried than the other two but is concealing it well.

“Here,” my voice is hoarse and laboured, even I can’t recognise it.

The mood immediately shifts, you can feel it. The air becomes tainted with concern as their footsteps approach my cowering figure. The case of whiskey is dropped as there is an audible thunk as it hits the floor. I can feel their bodies enveloping around mine creating something of a circle of safety. I look up to worried face and shiny eyes.

“Help me,” I gasp for air, greedily trying to gulp down the oxygen that I feel so deprived of, “please.”

“We’re here to help you Gray,” Nash murmurs softly. His voice had always been something comforting, especially when I was younger. I wonder if he will be so kind when I tell him what I’ve done. He’s going to hate me, there’s nothing he despises more than a man who can’t respect a woman.

I shake my head and choke out another struggling sob, instead of the words I don’t know how to say. Jameson’s eyes flit between mine and Nash’s, the concern rippling across his features. He’s never looked this concerned for me in his life. I think to all the times as children I’d helped him settle after a nightmare and wiped his tears that he hated falling when the old man had humiliated him. Oh how the tables had turned. Now it was my little brother wiping my tears.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, his touch so gentle it shocks me.

“I can’t-“ I barely get out, wrapping my hands around my neck.

“Gray…” he trails off, unmasked emotion hitting his face like a train.

“I can’t breathe,” I wheeze as the invisible blanket that was set out to suffocate me tightens over my nose and mouth.

“Hey, Gray, look at me,” Nash says, his voice smooth and reassuring, “in and out okay, in and out.”

“I can’t,” I pant, my limbs shaking embarrassingly uncontrollably.

Xander takes both of my hands into his and squeezes them until they still, “yes you can, follow Nash’s instructions okay?”

“Slowly, do it with me,” Nash nods, “in through your nose and out through your mouth.”

I do. In and out, a rhythmic pattern. Each time Nash reminds me how to breathe. There’s an aura of calmness about his voice that lulls my panic into a narcoleptic sleep. Once my breathing is halfway regulated I look at him, dead in the eye, with shaking sorrowful lips.

“I fucked up,” I sob, “I fucked up and I don’t know what to do.”

They all share a look, this is the worst state they’ve seen me and we all know it. I begin to pathetically sob uncontrollably once again, the feelings building up in my chest and tearing me apart from the inside out. It’s like a rabid pack of wolves had been set loose to feed on my internal organs. I don’t know how to stop the ocean of tears, I don’t know how to shut my mind off, I don’t know how to help myself. Reel myself in from this abominable mess I’ve become. I’m hyperventilating, my chest throbbing up and down unevenly. Nash nods towards Jameson, a short, soft, sharp nod of approval.

“Hey! Calm down!” Jameson snaps, giving me a hard slap around the face, “snap out of this!”

The shock shuts me up and the sting stops my tears. I’m back to reality instead of a wallowing mess. Nash must’ve been approving the slap I realise in the sudden cleared head I’d obtained

“Sorry,” Jameson mumbles at me, looking a little guilty.

I massage my jaw, “no I think I needed that.”

He grimaces and then softens his tone, “what happened Gray?”

I tense, growing very still, “I can’t say it out loud, I can’t, I’m awful, I’m horrible-“

“What happened?” Nash drawls.

I choke out yet another unnatural sound. Seems the slap didn’t snap me hard enough into reality. I exhale slowly. I have to say it, now or never.

“I kissed Lyra.”

The words hurt even more this time, that they did when I’d admitted it to y/n. Neither one of my brothers can mask their honest reaction.

“Oh fuck,” Jameson blurts out, “you cheated?”

Anger. He’s fuming with me. I can see the rage trailing through his eyes and blossoming into his expression.

“I didn’t mean to,” I reply, feeling like a small child.

Jameson’s eyes widen and fury flashes across his face, “how can you not mean-“

Nash shoots him a look and his mouth glues shut. Then he turns to me and I can’t quite read him yet. I gulp.

“No one does that kind of thing for no reason,” he says sternly, “I never thought you’d be the one of the four of us to ever do that, seems I was mistaken little brother.”

Disappointment. He’s disappointed. A horrible sinking feeling settles in my stomach. Nash is disappointed in me. It’s one of the worst feelings imaginable. There had only been few times in my life when he had been and I remember the feeling all too well. Shame has me in a chokehold an it’s succeeding in strangling me. I can‘t bring myself to meet his eyes, I don’t want to see that look I can feel is on his face, that look of pure disapproval.

“How did she find out?” Xander asks quietly.

Shock. He hadn’t said anything until now, but his lips had been slightly parted and he’d paled a little. He never thought I’d do this to anyone, he’s yet another person I’ve let down.

“I told her,” I murmur, “the guilt was consuming me.”

“As it should,” Jameson snaps, twitching with a fiery ferocity.

“Jamie,” Nash says, trying to keep some kind of diplomacy.

“No,” he growls, “you don’t do that to a girl, your girl, you can’t do that!”

“Don’t take the moral highground now,” I spit.

“When you’ve cheated on your girlfirend? Yeah I think I will,” he replies, the bitterness rolling off of his tongue like a deadly poison. He doesn’t know I’ve already poisoned myself with my own actions, his words can’t hurt me.

“I didn’t mean to,” I falter.

“Bullshit,” he grits through his teeth, in two definitive and threatening symbols.

“Careful Jamie,” Nash warns.

“All this is your fault anyway,” I continue, ignoring the warning.

“So it’s my fault, you kissed another girl, yeah, okay Gray,” he nods his head with a sarcastic smile.

“It is!” I exclaim, throwing my hands in the air, “if you hadn’t locked me in a room with her-“

“So it’s my fault you couldn’t keep up dick under control,” he quips, interrupting me.

“You could’ve locked me with my one of my sisters but of course you just had choose the only girl who isn’t related to me,” I seethe.

“Odette isnt related to you,” Xander pipes up. I’d forgotten he was there, that anyone besides me and Jameson were there.

“Odette is old enough to be my grandmother,” I scowl at him, immediately feeling bad as the words leave my lips, but don’t dwell on it as I turn back to Jameson, “why did you make me a player in your sick excuse of a game?”

“You can’t use the game as an excuse,” he laughs darkly.

“I will,” I reply sharply, “this is your fault and Avery’s fault too.”

“Avery? Don’t make me laugh,” he rolls his eyes.

“The game never should’ve been created by her,” I yell, “that’s why I’m in this mess!”

“No, you’re in this mess because of you,” he shouts back, “but don’t you dare bring Avery in to this it’s not her fault.”

I feel like I’m one of those circus acts, the ones that lay on a spinning board and get knives hurled at them. Only in my case the knives are the truth and they actually hit me.

“Why did you make me a player?” I ask quieter now, my voice hoarse, “why?”

“I didn’t know making you a player would result in this,” he says.

“It was so irreverent,” I snap becoming angrier by the second, a sudden burst of red overriding any rational sense in my head, “I never needed to play.”

“You can’t pin this on me Gray, if it didn’t happen with Lyra, who knows who else it would’ve happened with,” he hisses.

“So you think I’m just like this? You think this is me?” I ask him, prodding the hollow space where my heart used to be.

“I didn’t before….” he trails off, sighing, “but now I don’t know what the fucking think of you.”

“Jamie,” Nash repeats again, in the same warning tone as before. We both ignore him.

“Just because you and Avery are all peaches and roses-“

“Leave Avery out of your anger issues,” he roars defensively.

“No,” I counter, raising an eyebrow, mirroring his usual argument demeanour, “you think you’re so perfect now you’ve got your dream girl and the two of you are so much better off than the rest of us, because your love is undeniable or whatever bullshit people feed you about it-“

Jameson’s features twitch for a split second. He’s hurt, but won’t show it. He’ll refuse but I know that it hit a nerve that won’t heal for a long time. I stop mid-sentence.

“I am far from perfect, I think we both know that,” he says, in a low voice, “look you’re hurting, I get it, but I’m not going to mollycoddle you and tell you it’s okay when it’s not. I’m not going to stand here and lie to your face because as your brother that would be the worst possible thing for me to do to you.”

“My brother would try and understand what it’s like from my side,” I say, desperation clawing at my voice.

“You’re looking for a fight Grayson and it’s not going to end well, not with me,” he warns, shaking his head.

“Maybe I do want a fight, but you know you do too,” I growl rolling up my sleeves, “so fine, I’ll give you a fight Jamie.”

“I don’t want a fight, I want some justice for y/n,” he states simply, “she did nothing to deserve that Gray, she’s been so good to you, the sweetest soul on this earth and she’s helped you through a lot of shit and this is how you’re repaying her?”

“Jameson,” Nash says.

He ignores him for the third time and I can see his calm facade beginning to drop, “you think because you called a 911 and you’re here crying that I should feel sorry for you?”

“I thought you were going to be here for me,” I reply numbly, my tone dead, “clearly I’m mistaken.”

“I can’t be there for someone with no morals,” he replies, “you cheated and you’re the one who’s upset about it, how do you think she feels?”

“You think I don’t know her?” I fire back, my throat burning, “you think I don’t know exactly what she’s doing right now? I hate myself, I hate myself for doing what I did!”

“Good you should!” he screams back.

Before I know it I feel myself charges towards him, ready to throw a good punch but Nash and Xander launch onto me to quickly and managing to hold me back. Nash’s grip is so tight I don’t dare try and budge.

“Out. Now.” Nash says sharply to Jameson, “go and cool off.”

His tone sends a shiver down my spine that I won’t admit to. Jameson opens his mouth to argue.

“Jameson.”

He skulks away, with a sullen face. We all wait frozen until the door has been slammed shut. Nash lets my arm go, dropping it harshly and Xander follows suit.

“And you’re no better,” he turns to me, placing his cowboy hat on a nearby surface, “I’m only sending him away because you can’t be left alone in this mess and so the two of you don’t rip each other to pieces.”

Silence stills the room. His voice echoes but makes no sound all at the same time.

“Take a second, take a breath and we’re going to talk this through like adults,” he says, “if you want to carry on being a child then leave. Calm down, you’re not a toddler having a tantrum, you’re a grown man, act like it.”

Nash has a way of snapping me back to reality. I nod shakily.

“Talk.”

I begin, “I don’t even know why I kissed her, I didn’t mean to it just-“

“Happened?” he guesses, “no little brother, that doesn’t just happen.”

“The I don’t know Nash,” I say, tipping my head back and resting it on the wall behind me.

I hadn’t meant for it to happen. I didn’t want it to happen. It just did. She was there, just stood there. Her hands looped naturally around the back of my neck, warm and gentle, “someone sent me that ticket Grayson. I thought it was Avery but if it wasn’t…”

She trails off, her voice small and tentative. Her golden eyes filled with the utmost worry. I wanted her to know she’d be okay, that she’d have someone to keep her safe. Her arms get more comfortable around my neck. She’d felt it too, the electrifying spark between us. It was exhilarating but something about it was off, synthetic.

“Then who the hell was it?” I questioned, my hands magnetised to her cheek all of a sudden.

Lyra didn’t pull away and neither did I. I lower my head and she raised onto her toes and titled hers back a little. She was graceful, like a dancer. My lips brushed over hers. They were sweet like honey. For the first few moments it was bliss and the realisation hit, like a stone to my stomach. I jerked backwards suddenly, shaking my head.

“I can’t do this,” I said, my fingers trying to wipe her taste off of my lips, “I don’t- this isn’t-“

I was tongue-tied, not able to explain to her how wrong it was. The words wouldn’t work the way I wanted them to.

“Gray?” Lyra murmurs, a tender voice. Her amber eyes are widened and slightly confused.

“No,” I yell. She flinches and another wave of horribly strong emotion rushes over me, drowning me. “No I’m in love with someone else. I don’t know what that was. I can’t-“

I stumbled backward a few steps and the turned around and ran. Like the coward that I am.

“It did just happen,” I murmur, lifting my head from the wall to look my older brother in eye, “I swear to god, I didn’t intend for it to happen, I didn’t even know I had feelings for her.”

I can see he disagrees still and isn’t convinced. I don’t know how to prove it to him.

“Let’s establish one thing here, who do you like?” Xander asks me.

“I like Lyra,” I say slowly, “but I love y/n.”

Nash shakes his head, “if you loved her you wouldn’t have done that.”

“I made a mistake,” I press on.

“And you will pay for it and regret it for the rest of your life,” he shrugs, “it’s not what you wanted to hear but it’s the truth. Listen, I love Libby and loving someone means so many things. One of those things is that I don’t even look at other women, to me they don’t even really exist. Libby is my world and no one else even comes into the equation, so the fact is someone else came into the equation for you, meaning the love wasn’t there.”

“But it was, I felt it,” I say, my voice breaking as I press my chest.

“What do you feel for Lyra?” he asks plainly.

“I don’t know, she’s intriguing and smart and beautiful,” I murmur, “and I like her, but I don’t know if I have romantic feelings for her.”

“Then why did you kiss her?”

“Comfort? Lust? Greed? Selfishness? I don’t know it just happened,” I repeat for what feels like the hundredth time.

“Stop using that phrase as a get out clause,” Nash shakes his head, “you have to admit to yourself more than anyone that this didn’t just happen.”

“I leaned in and I put my lips of hers, and I didn’t stop it, it didn’t feel wrong straight away,” I admit out loud finally.

“It didn’t?” Xander says, looking wounded.

“No, it didn’t feel wrong until I realised what I’d done,” I say, looking down, suddenly finding my shoelaces to be the most interesting thing in the world.

No one replies for a long while. That’s when I realise how exhausted I truly am and how much I crave sleep.

“I vouched for you,” Xander says quietly, “I told her that you’d never do that, that you weren’t that guy.”

“I’m not,” I say, in denial at first. I take a moment to analyse his sentence and then come to a sickening realisation, “oh my god I am…”

“She was already anxious about where your loyalties were Gray,” he winces.

“I proved her right, I proved every worry she had right, I just proved to her that she shouldn’t have trusted me,” I spiral, hating that I hadn’t seen it sooner.

Xander looks to Nash for support for a reply.

“Yeah,” Nash sighs, “you did.”

“I need to fix this, there has to be a way-“

“Grayson,” the acuteness of his voice cuts through my sentence like a machete.

I freeze and clamp my mouth firmly shut.

“This isn’t a broken vase, you can’t glue it back together or buy a new one,” he tells me softly.

He was referring to a time where Jameson and I had been seven and eights years old. We’d been brawling of course, Hawthorne style and accidentally smashed a vase. Usually it wouldn’t matter, there were vases all over Hawthorne House and they were smashed frequently. But this wasn’t just any vase. It was nan’s priceless vase that had belonged to her daughter, our grandmother, Alice. We were never allowed within a five mile radius of it, but like the rebellious children we were, we didn’t listen. Through our fight we’d smashed the whole thing, it was truly destroyed. The two of us stayed up for nights on need gluing together the pieces only to realise it was never going to look like the original again. So we’d hunted to buy another, problem was, this vase was one of a kind. It turned out after four weeks or trying to ship a similar one in that nan had known the whole time. She didn’t speak to either of us for a good few months.

“This is real life, she is a real person and you hurt her,” he explains, “fixing this isn’t an option. There isn’t a way to fix it, there are no pieces to our back together, okay?”

I’m silent but it’s the loudest voice in the room. My face pinches together in agony. For the first time, a little of the disappointment fades and my brother’s face softens. He wraps a strong arm around me and I flop into him like a lifeless bag of nothingness. I bury my head into his shoulder and try to cry but there seems to be no tears left. He understands and holds me for a moment. Suddenly I’m six years old again and crying in Nash’s in my arms over Jameson hiding my favourite teddy bear at the time, then I’m eleven in his arms with pneumonia after being stupid enough to get caught in the rapids un the dead of winter wanting a good photograph of a rare fish, then I’m seventeen, crying over a redheaded girl who I thought I’d managed to murder. And now here I am, at twenty-two years old in his grasp once again, having made the greatest mistake of my life.

Suddenly I feel another set of arms wrap around the both of us.

“Group hug!” a familiar voice sings.

Leave it to Xander to make me crack a half smile in the darkest moments I’ve ever experienced. After a while I pull away and sigh.

“Do you think she’ll ever forgive me?” I ask, pulling away.

“Honestly?” Xander asks.

I nod

“No,” he says. I wish I could see that little glimmer of a lie in his eyes, but I can’t. And it kills me.

“Think about it like this,” he sighs, “would you forgive Eve for what she did?”

“This is not the same thing,” I reply coldly.

“Eve cheated your trust, she betrayed you,” he explains gently, “that’s exactly how she feels.”

Dread fills my every pore as I murmur lifelessly, “I’m as bad as Eve.”

“No wait,” he says, looking guilty and panicked all at the same time, “that’s not what I meant!”

“I know,” I reassure him so some of his guilt subsides, “but it’s true and now I’ve just realised.”

“Look Gray, you aren’t Eve. You’re never going to be Eve, but think of how you felt then. That’s how y/n feels,” Nash soothes, “she’s not going to just forgive you, that’s not how it works.”

“You just broke her heart Gray,” Xander adds, careful to keep his tone as light as a feather, “for a girl you just met.”

“Why am I horrible person? Why do I always find a way to mess to something good?” I groan, smacking my head on the wall behind me. There’s an audible thump as pain spreads through the back of my skull. I wonder if I can concuss myself to forget all of this, but I don’t attempt the idea.

“You don’t-“

“No I do,” I say firmly, cutting him off, “I’m not meant for love, to love or to be loved, I’m not built for it. I’m not a good enough person for it. I’m never going to find my Libby or my Max or my Avery.“

“Grayson-“ Nash begins.

“Emily knew it and now so does y/n,” I snap.

My brothers still at her name, not moving a muscle. I never bring up Emily.

“Listen to me,” Nash says sharply, getting my attention, “you are meant to be loved. You are meant to love. I love you, Xander loves you, Jameson loves you and y/n loved you too…”

The change of tense makes my soul ache.

“…but this time around, you made a mistake, a costly mistake. But that doesn’t mean you don’t deserve love.”

I nod numbly, robotically.

“What can I do to make it up to her?” I ask, my voice beginning to tremble, “to show her I’m sorry? Something there has to be something.”

Nash gives me a grim look and Xander’s face remains blank, they’re the only answers I need. My head sinks into my hands. The door reopens and I look back up. Jameson has returned.

He meets my eyes, “Avery’s with her.”

Blood surges through my heart and I can almost smile. He checked on her. For me.

“Is she okay?” I ask quickly.

Jameson looks at me and for a split second I almost see the ghost concern is his eyes. He shakes his head softly, “no, but she will be,” he replies, it’s an attempt to comfort me and I am grateful.

“Thank you,” I mumble.

“I’m not apologising for what I said, because I still stand by it and you won’t change my mind,” Jameson says, “but I am sorry for being so angry about it.”

“You were right,” I whisper, “you were right about me. I never deserved her, so was nothing but an angel to me and I just turned around and threw it all away. I abused the luxury I had, I stabbed her in the back and then gifted another with the knife, I’m a horrible person.”

“What you did was wrong, but that’s doesn’t make you a horrible person,” he sighs, “you need time Gray, this is going to take a lot of healing. On both sides.”

“I don’t deserve to heal, I deserve to be in pain,” I murmur, the dullness in my tone echos around the empty walls.

“Oh no, we’re not going back to emo Grayson,” Xander says quickly, shaking his head.

“I agree with Xander on this one,” Nash nods, readjusting his cowboy hat.

“I don’t want to hear you blasting my chemical romance at three a.m and then denying it later again, you came out of that phase we’re not going back there,” Jameson tells me.

I bark out a laugh that thaws my icy chest. I then bite the inside of my cheek.

“I can’t fix this, can I?” I say, looking at the ground,

Nash shakes his head softly.

“But that doesn’t mean you can’t be fixed,” Xander says.

“You’ll get through this Gray,” Jamie agrees, “I know it.”

The room grows still.

“Can we drink that whiskey now?” I ask, to cut through the silence. I feel like getting drunk, I feel like I need some relief.

“Big brother,” Xander nods at Nash handing him the bottle.

“Little brother,” he tips his cowboy hat in reply before taking the bottle into his hands and cracking it open.

“Let me pour these things properly,” Nash grins, “Jamie, come help.”

“Wait me too!” Xander jumps up,

“Stay with Gray,” he shakes his head.

“I don’t need to be babysat,” I grumble, annoyance written all over my face.

“I want to watch them pour whiskey properly,” Xander explains, “so I can impress Max.”

My eyebrows fly to my forehead, “Max drinks?”

“No I want to impress her though,” he grins.

‘You’re an odd human,” I almost laugh, tilting my head to the side.

“Why ta very much!” he says, almost skipping away.

Once I know they’re all gone, I lean back on the wall, my heart feeling a tiny bit less heavy. The pain isn’t gone. I think I’ve just gone numb. I feel hollow, empty, nothingness. Guilt is still gnawing at my insides but slower. A satifying clink against the fragile rim of the glass takes me out of my own head for a split second. There are hushed voices from the kitchen, I notice. I walk over to the door that lay ajar, I lean in to listen.

“We need to tell him,” it sounds like Jameson.

“Not now,” the accent indicates Nash.

“Then when?” Xander’s voice asks, “how long can we prolong it.”

“I can hear you,” I tell them, raising my voice a little.

They turn to face me, awkwardly remaining silent. The expressions on their faces don’t offer me comfort.

“Whatever it is, spit it out,” I say, “it’s not like tonight could get any worse.”

They share a look. Apparently it can. I feel sick to my stomach.

I can barely breathe, “who died?”

“No one has died,” Xander says quickly, “yet.”

“What?” I say, my tone deadly,

Nash glares at him, then turns back to me. There’s sorrow laced delicately, deep within his hazel irises.

“Gray,” he says gently, “Gray we hate to do this but…”

“What? What is it?” I ask urgently.

“Gigi’s missing.”

The words shock me to my core. I feel my throat begin the close up as panic returns with a smirk and triumphant greeting. My whole world has collapsed in less than 24 hours.

***

YOUR POV

I don’t hate him. Call me naive or call me stupid. But I don’t. I don’t think I ever could. The kind of love I have for him is unconditional, irrevocable. Time can’t heal a wound this deep and although it is still fresh now, I can tell. But if he were to say sorry I think I would forgive him every time. And if he asked me back I’d fall into his arms into an instant. And I hate myself for it, it’s stupid and it’s a little cruel. How easily I would take him back after what he did. I know I shouldn’t but something inside of me is drawn to him. Like an invisible magnet has been planted in our hearts. I wish I didn’t love so hard, fall so deeply, maybe I wouldn’t get hurt so badly. But it’s in my nature, it’s who I am. I wonder if he knows how much pain I’m in, the rippling agony that rolls across my chest relentlessly with no hint as to when it will cease. I’m tired of being the second choice but unfortunately I wouldn’t mind being his. And I know it’s completely stupid of me to think that way, completely wrong but love makes you do stupid things so they say. I sit on the beach, by the sea in a state of numbness. Silent tears roll down my tears as the waves lap my feet. Deja vu washes over me and the memories of Grayson and I the night of the game flash through my mind.

I grip his hand and run with him as he guides me the just beyond the shore. He sits down swiftly on the sand and pulls me down to sit between his legs. I lean my back onto his chest and let him nuzzle his face into my collarbone.

“I love you,” he whispers, kissing my neck, “only you.”

Only me, huh? Only me…

The waves crash against the rocks, hurtling a salty spray towards me. I hear footsteps and turn around. Avery stands there, a mournful expression over her delicate face. She knows. I stumble towards her and collapse into her arms in a fit of uncontrollable sobs now and she holds me. Her touch is gentle and warm but it’s nothing compared to his. I realise he might never hold me in his arms again and I cry even harder.

***

I don’t hold Lyra accountable. She is not to blame. Some girls in my position might dream about different ways to brutally murder her but I can only ask what comfort would it bring me? My feelings are already dead, what good is more pain doing?

There was a choice that Grayson Hawthorne was given: his dancer or his angel. He chose his dancer and I hope he’s happy. Because angels have wings and we rise up stronger.

idk guys I think I wrote Grayson’s POV really awfully to be honest… also I feel like the 911 meet up was not like their normal ones where they try and like do something (e.g drink or dare) and then talk about the pain but that’s bc Grayson was in such a mess and then they had to drop the bomb that Gigi was missing. so anywayyyss…

I am sorry this took so long and I hope it lived up to any expectation you wanted it too (sorry if it didn’t) and I hope you enjoyed 🤍🤍 thanks for reading as always

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littlemissmentallyunstable · 21 days

Text

title: the dancer and the angel part 2

pairing: grayson hawthorne x (first person) reader

synopsis: lyra kane is closer to your boyfriend than ever seen as grayson has just been put of her team in the grandest game and it’s making you a little nervous, you don’t trust her and you don’t want her too close to him

parts: part 1 part 3

warnings: mild swearing, SPOILERS FOR TGG

a/n: I had quite a few requests for a part 2, so here she is… trying to get into my productive era right now (fake it till you make it right??)

tag list: @tornqdowarnings @whatsamongus @wish-i-were-heather @inmyheaddd @never-enough-novels @sweetlikeanangel @lxvebelle @xoxo-vee @emelia07 @f4iry-bell @zaraaaabear @thoughtdaughter3 @benny1989fredd @elysianwayy77 @maybxlle @sheisntyou @anintellectualintellectual @aleatorio1234

RECAP

“Whose team is he on?” I say quickly.

“Odette Morales and Lyra Kane.”

***

Lyra Kane. Lyra Kane. Lyra Kane. The name rattles around my brain, echoing off of my skull, only to replay in my mind again. Of course it just has to be Lyra Kane that he’s on a team with. That breathtaking woman with beauty that shouldn’t be possible for a human. Yeah, that Lyra Kane. I feel like laughing and crying all at the same time, so I express nothing instead. Why did it have to be her? Out of all of the players.

I’m not jealous, I try to convince myself, I’m just concerned. Yes, that’s it. Except it isn’t and the only person I’m lying to is pathetic little old me. I am ferociously jealous. It scolds me torturously, raging from the pit of my stomach, crawling under my skin to settle comfortably.

Grayson loves me, I know this. I felt the kisses we’d shared on the beach moments before he’d gone into the stupid house. They still linger on my lips now, I could taste him slightly, I’d heard him say he loved me, only me and yet I can’t get the feeling out of my system. The jealousy always manages to seep its way back in. I’m sick with a disease called envy.

I don’t want to be the jealous girl, the possessive one that people roll their eyes at or avoid. That’s not me. I didn’t want it to be me. But deep down I’m petrified that that’s who I’m becoming. I sigh, realising I was just going to have to swallow it. What could I do about it now? Besides I know Grayson, I trust Grayson. He wouldn’t let her try anything on, would he?

***

Hours of waiting and not watching. We couldn’t see the players at all. Or hear them. Anxiety is killing me slowly from the inside out, gnawing happily at my organs. I spin the ring on my middle finger as my leg jigs up and down, counting down the seconds until sunrise, four-thousand one-hundred and eight-two to go.

“You know you don’t have to look so panicked all the time,” Nash sighs, slumping down beside me.

“I’m not panicked,” I say, forcing a laugh.

“Sure darlin’,” he says, “my name’s Roger and I have a pet turtle.”

I roll my eyes, fighting the urge to smile, “I mean it, I’m fine.”

“It’s completely safe in there, we designed it that way,” he explains slowly, soothingly, “no one’s going to get hurt and there’s an emergency button just in case.”

“Okay,” I nod, exhaling.

I don’t believe him and his words don’t offer me much comfort. My overthinking brain is currently listing all of the ways Grayson could possibly die in the next ten minutes. But Nash is trying and I’m thankful to have him.

“At least pretend you’re convinced,” he drawls, a twinkle in his eyes.

Maybe I’m not convinced that everything’s going to be fine but I am convinced Nash has a sixth sense called ‘big brother knows all’ because for some reason he always knew everyone’s thoughts and feelings, even when they were trying to hide it. Either that or he’s a mind reader.

“I am,” I tell him, as convincingly as I could muster, “everything’s going to be fine.”

“Shit!” Jameson yells from across the room, perfect timing as per usual.

“What?” I hear Avery ask quickly.

“The powers gone out,” he says, smacking the table so hard I didn’t know how he didn’t break a bone.

“What do you mean the powers gone out?” I say, standing up and walking over.

“I mean they have no light, no heaters and they ate completely locked in by the mechanisms,” he explains, gesturing to the blank screens.

“We’ve lost all connection to them as well,” Xander murmurs, eyes darting from left to right at each and every screen.

“Everything?” I exclaim, trying not to get over-anxious and failing miserably.

“Yes,” Jameson confirms.

“You’re panicking her,” Nash scolds him.

“Well she asked I’m not going to lie,” he defends.

“Not the time to argue guys,” Avery rolls her eyes, getting back to the computer. Jameson follows her lead, trying to reconnect the lost signals.

“Shit shit shit,” he groans as more things shut off. He slams his hands down on the keyboard and starts guessing random buttons, “Xand help me out here,”

“Don’t you worry, dearest brother,” Xander replies calmly, “I’m working on it.”

Silence hits us like the dead. We’re all intently staring up the layers and layers of code coming up on the several screens. I can’t understand any of it.

“This is Python,” Jameson points at one of the scenes.

“Yeah and this is Java,” Xander nods, “but I have no clue what this is.”

“Shit,” Jameson curses, running a hand through his hair, reminding me of Grayson when he was overstimulated.

“Not yet,” he replies, turning to the other Hawthorne brother present, “Nash do you remember when I was in fifth grade-“

“The de-coder book?” he says before Xander even finishes.

“Please,” he nods sharply.

“Got it,” he replies, rushing out of the room.

“Do you have any idea what they’re talking about?” I whisper to Avery

“Absolutely none,” she shrugs, looking as clueless as me offering me some comfort.

“Who would even cut the power?” Jameson asks to nobody in particular.

Avery and I share a look. I already know we’re thinking the same thing.

“Grayson is in there, does she know that?” I ask quickly.

“I don’t know,” she replied, chewing the inside of her cheek

“She?” Jameson interrupts. We both ignore him.

“Don’t you think he’ll be her prime target,” I say, the worry warping my tone a little in a way that made me sound a little too vulnerable for my liking.

“Target?” Jameson says. We ignore him, again.

“Most likely, if it is her,” Avery sighs, tapping her bottom lip melodically.

Jameson looks at Xander, baffled, “are they speaking in code?”

“I’m kind of concentrating right now Jamie, please don’t talk to me,” he responds, not taking his eyes off of the computer screens as he attempts to decode.

“Who are you talking about?” Jameson raises his voice a little, forcing me and Avery to address his question.

“This could be Eve,” Avery says softly.

“Eve?” Xander says, freezing mid-type and actually lifting his head up.

“No surely not,” Jameson shakes his head in denial.

“Think about it,” I say, “who else can you think that would want go sabotage this game?”

“Anyone who fancies a good bit of money,” he states, “and it could be nothing at all.”

“A power cut isn’t nothing,” I argue.

“I hate to agree the circumstance,” Avery exhales, “but it’s true, this feels like a threat of sorts.”

“And we can’t contact the players meaning anything could happen right now,” I say, worry bleeding into my voice.

Jameson’s face softens.

“But they’re locked in,” Nash points out, sauntering back in, “no one is getting in or out, that means they can’t be hurt.”

He hands the decoding book to Xander who frantically flips through the pages to find something in particular.

“Windows can be smashed,” I point out.

“You think whoever this is would risk smashing a window,” Nash asks, with his eyebrows raised.

“I don’t know how these people work,” I snap, throwing my hands up in the arm.

“You’re shaking,” he says softly.

I look up to see my shaking limbs. Immediately they drop to my sides and I desperately try to still them, “no I’m not-“

“Breathe a little okay, Gray will be fine,” he reassures me, his tone placid, as he delicately takes my shaking hands between his.

“Look as long as they all stay put no one should get hurt,” Avery says calmly, “the glass on the windows are double glazed and harder to smash than the average window, that is if they’re going to risk that.”

“Besides Xander’s on it,” Jameson adds.

Xander sticks a thumb into the air, still audibly tapping the keyboard with the other, “whoever did this is incredibly skilled at hacking and annoyingly so,” he mutters in reply.

No one talks. We are all just stood in silence, barely daring to breathe not wanting to break Xander’s concentration. Mine and Avery’s hands are intertwined, gripping the others so tightly that our fingers are white. Xander is frantic. He’s practically sweating as he types quickly and clicks buttons I didn’t even know existed. And just when it seemed like he might be getting somewhere more and more boxes of undeciphered code popped up. I’m close to being hopeless when Xander leans back in his seat.

“We’re back up and running,” Xander announces, “lights, buttons, connections, locks, everything.”

Avery and I squeal, hugging each other tightly. Relief floods through my body and I’m giddy with it. Xander stands up and breathes out slowly.

I kiss his cheek in affection and gratitude, platonically, “thank you Xander.”

“You’re welcome,” he says.

“I owe you a scone,” Jameson tells with a slap on the back.

“That, you do,” he nods with a wide grin.

“What do we tell the players?” Nash asks, reminding us that the game is still going and the players will be wondering what the hell just went on.

“Do we tell them the truth?” Xander asks.

“We don’t even know the truth,” Jameson tells him.

“Then we tell them what we know,” Avery says, “Nash?”

“You got it kid,” he nods.

Xander slides an arms around me.

“Sorry ‘bout that folks,” Nash drawls through the microphone, “brief technical snafu on our end, but we’re back. You still have sixty three minutes until dawn. As long as at least one team makes it down to the dock by the deadline, the rules still stand.”

It’s fine, everything will be fine. Three thousand seven hundred and eighty seconds left. I rest my head on Xander’s shoulder and he puts his head on mine. I think he’s the only thing that’s holding me up at the moment. If he weren’t I’m pretty sure my body would be some sort of odd shaped puddle of consumed thoughts on the carpet. Only one sentence goes through my head, over and over and over. I can’t wait to have my arms around Grayson again.

***

It’s almost sunrise when we make our way to the dock so we’ll be there for when the players make it out. If they make it out. I walk in between Xander and Nash, trying to keep up with their obscenely large leg strides. Avery and Jameson lead the way holding hands. My heart squeezes, it won’t be too long before I see Grayson again. I know it seemed stupid, we had only been apart for a few hours, but those hours had felt like weeks given all of the events that had taken place. Not to mentioned the long prolonging wait of which I couldn’t see or hear him.

And there was still something going around in my head. Something about him being with Lyra Kane for this long in such close proximity. It was grating at me, but I push the feelings down and bury them under a mound that I’m trying to ignore.

“Want to have a bet?” Xander ruffles my hair, stealing me from being consumed by my own thoughts.

I slap him away, “I’ve heard it’s dangerous to wager with a Hawthorne.”

“What’s my brother been telling you?” he asks.

“Mum’s the word,” I wink back, tapping my nose.

“What’s your bet on little brother?” Nash asks.

“What team will make it first,” Xander grins, mischievous glint in his eye.

His brotehr grins towards the sky, “had a feeling it might be.”

“I’m bias then,” I scoff.

“Okay so your Hearts,” Xander says.

“Hang on I never agreed to this bet,” I exclaim, holding my hands up to surrender.

“Whoever wins gets a scone,” he bribes me.

“That only benefits you,” Nash points out.

“Actually I would also benefit, I like scones,” I smile sheepishly,

“See? Who are you voting Nash?” Xander asks.

“I’ll go with Clubs, I’m rooting for Gigi,” Nash shrugs.

Xander nods, “that means I’m going with Diamonds.”

“You don’t have to,” I tell him.

“Yes I do, otherwise it’s uneven,” he says. I wasn’t going to argue.

“Who would your original vote gone to?” I ask.

He smiles at me, a cheeky glint in his eyes, “no one shall ever know.”

“What are you three wittering about,” Jameson says, interrupting the train of conversation as he turns around.

“Probably something better than the lovesick whispers you two are sharing,” Xander teases.

“Xand-“

The thumping of footsteps cut him off. It’s a race. Hearts and Diamonds are out. Savannah is the fastest, Rohan hot on her heels. Though Lyra takes them both over in a matter of seconds. She must be a runner. Would explain the to-die-for figure. Grayson is close behind her thought Odette trailed behind slightly, but for a woman of her age she’s doing remarkably well. They all arrive within milliseconds of each other, breathless and rosy-cheeked.

“Congratulations Diamonds and Hearts, you’ve made it,” Avery smiles.

“Where’s Clubs?” Savannah asks, its only then I notice how her longs blonde hair has been chopped off unevenly. It makes her look even colder than before, sending a chill down my spine

“Still playing,” Jameson says.

“Gray,” I breathe in relief, as he takes me into his arms.

Something about the hug feels unnatural maybe even slightly uncomfortable, but I brush it off. We’d both been awake for far too long. I couldn’t trust my judgement on this little sleep.

“You okay?” I murmur into his shoulder.

“Fine,” he replies, so only I can hear him.

“Good.”

It hit sunrise and something sinks in my stomach. Clubs haven’t made it. Gigi is out of the game. This is going to destroy her. We all wait in silence. All knowing Clubs have failed, all knowing the disappointment we’d have to see on their faces. My heart is thumping loudly in my chest, I can hear it in my ears. I grip onto Grayson’s hand tightly. I catch Lyra’s honey golden eyes. She looks me up and down as I narrow my eyes at her. I can’t read her body language towards me, it was difficult to make out what she was thinking or feelings. I turn away and try not to think too much of it.

There’s sound coming from the left of us and in the distance there are three figures. Everyone’s eyes snap to the three remaining players who’s hearts are probably all sinking in realisation that they were nit longer players in this game. Then I notice what’s in Knox’s arms or rather who… Knox is carrying a bleeding Gigi. My stomach twists. Grayson freezes beside me.

“Put her down,” Grayson says sternly, his voice commanding authority.

Immediately Knox gently places Gigi down, making sure she was stable before he completely let go. We rush to her side immediately. Grayson putting a protective arm around her shoulder, his eyes flitting between the gash on her head and her face.

“Oh god Gigi,” I murmur tentatively touching her bloodied head to assess how severe it is.

“I’m fine,” she winces, blinking back tears.

“You are not,” Grayson says, his voice hard almost empty, “you’re injured Gigi.”

“Who among us is not occasionally concussed?” she says happily.

“Our team is out of the game, go ahead say it we’be been eliminated,” Knox says turning to Avery.

She ignores him and approaches Gigi, “are you okay?”

She nodded with a smile laced with the pain he thought she could hide. Maybe it was invisible to the others, but not to me. I’ve been under the same mask she’s trying to hide behind now. I understand. Grayson keeps his arm around her and I keep my hand in hers. She squeezes my palm and I squeeze hers back. I’m here, I wanted to scream, I’m here for you.

“Diamonds and Hearts, you’re onto the next phase of the game. Clubs… there’s always next year,” Avery finally brings herself to say.

“Once a player, always a player,” Jameson adds.

***

I don’t leave Gigi’s side until Nash has patched her up properly. ‘Stay with her, please,’ Grayson had murmured after we’d shared a quick kiss. He’d had something to discuss back at the dock with Odette. And Lyra. So I did, I stayed by Gigi’s side through every wince, every hand squeeze, every stitch.

“All patch up darlin’,” Nash nods, tipping his cowboy hat towards her slightly.

“Thanks,” she smiles brightly, it’s an unnatural fluorescent brightness that she radiated. Too bright, too artificial.

“You feeling okay?” I make sure, looking at her head.

“Fine,” she replied, gently feeling over her stitches.

Before anyone can say anything else there is a sharp knock at the door interrupting the thread of conversation. Nash answers. Brady walks in. Something was off about that guy. I got a bad feeling when I was around that guy. Nash gets up to leave and as much as I want to stay, it’s not my place to and I know that.

“Holler if you need anything,” Nash tells Gigi.

“We’re not going far,” I reassure her.

“Don’t worry about me,” she beams up at me, though the smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes, “really I’m fine.”

“I think we both know that’s a lie,” I say, my voice so low I’m not sure if she can hear me.

The way her eyes soften, revealing an ounce of vulnerability, indicates she has, “can we talk later? Maybe on the boat back?”

“Of course we can,” I say, squeezing her hand in mine one last time, before standing up to leave her to talk to Brady.

She nods with a small smile which I return, then turn to follow Nash who’s holding eye contact with Brady intensely. As soon as we’re out of the room and a few paces down the corridor Nash blurts out, “I don’t trust him.”

“Neither do I,” I grimace, at least someone else had picked up on Brady’s sketchy vibes, “he gives me a weird feeling.”

“Same here kid,” he nods in reply, then pauses slightly before saying, “you go and find Gray, I’ll be close by if she needs me.”

I fumble over my words. How did he know again? He has to be some sort of mind reader. I make a mental note to discuss it with Xander.

“Are you sure?” I ask quietly.

“I’m sure,” he says, placing a brotherly hand in my shoulder, “I know you’re still worried, you’re horrible at hiding it.”

“Thanks Nash,” I chuckle, brushing hair out of my face,

“No worries kid,” he says, shooting me a lopsided grin as I rush off to reunite with Grayson.

***

The boat left for the mainland at noon, that was when Gigi, Knox and now Odette were leaving, as she traded her place for Brady’s. But the players had been told to try and get some rest before the next phase. I’d also been up all night and could feel myself growing tired, so Grayson and I were currently laying on our bed in each other’s arms. It feels nice to finally breathe a little. I don’t feel the weight of stress from my jealousy or guilt or worry, I just feel normal.

“Do you think Gigi will be okay,” I murmur into Grayson.

“Nash is used to patching up our ailments,” he responds, his tone a little distant. It made me iffy.

“Yeah but I mean after being cast out of the game,” I reply, “I know I wouldn’t feel great if I were in her position.”

“I don’t know,” he murmurs, blowing out a short breath.

“I’m worried about her,” I say quietly.

“Me too,” he whispers, “I’m really worried about her.”

“I think we’re going to talk later,” I tell him, hoping it might provide himnwith some sort of solace.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” I confirm, “I hope she might get whatever it is that’s hurting her off of her chest.”

“Make sure she’s okay for me, okay?” he makes sure, “no matter what.”

“Of course,” I say, a little confused. Why had he said it like that? Like something bad might happen? Like I might lose him? I brush off the feeling. I put it down to overreacting, as usual.

We fall into a long silence as I trace different shapes on chest with my finger tip. I slowly drag it along, with no specific shape in mind. A blank expression is present on his face and I can see he’s deep in thought. There’s something on his mind and I have a horrible feeling it has something to do with the unseen, unheard happenings of the grandest game.

“What’s on your mind?” I ask him, doe-eyed.

“Hmmm nothing,” he says, refusing to look me in the eye.

“You sure?” I press on.

“I’m sure,” he says, planting a kiss on my forehead.

The kiss was off and I could see something was bothering him but he didn’t want to tell me, I’d wait until he was ready. Even if it were forever.

“What was it like in there?” I ask, attempting to change the subject, “the game.”

“It really was the grandest game,” he whispers, “like nothing I’ve ever experienced before.”

“Really?”

“They outdid themselves thoroughly,” he says.

“I bet,” I nod, nuzzling further into him affectionately.

“You really couldn’t hear or see anything the whole time?” he asks, a hint of worry delicately woven into his tone. It was so brief you would’ve missed it if you didn’t know him. But I know Gray.

“Nothing, it was like hell,” I say with a small tired laugh, “it was killing me that I had no clue if you were okay.”

“I was fine,” he replied quickly, almost curtly.

“Well I know that now,” I yawn and feel my eyes begin to close slowly but I fight to keep them open.

“You’re tired,” Grayson says, the ghost of a smile faintly touching his lips.

I shake my head in denial, “no I’m not,” I protest, “not even a little bit.”

“Go the sleep love,” he whispers.

“I want to talk to you though,” I pout, rubbing my eyes.

“We‘ll have plenty of time tomorrow,” he says, playing with my hair.

“Okay,” I murmur, letting myself fall into a dimension of much needed sleep, finally with my love back in my arms.

***

I wake up in the middle of darkness, though there is light desperately trying to make it through the black out blinds. I wonder how long I’d been asleep for, it couldn’t be past noon though. I’m aware of the coldness on the other side of the bed. Grayson wasn’t there. It wasn’t exactly uncommon. Usually when we were home, if it were the early hours he would either be swimming or having a wander and a read to make himself tired again.

I hear the door handle turn slowly and the sound of his all too familiar footsteps hitting the floor. I crawl out of bed, rubbing the sleep from my eyes, as I make my way toward him. Though as I do he stands still, frozen, like he can’t move. Concern latches onto my throat.

“Are you okay?” I whisper, tentatively touching his arm.

He recoils away quickly, like I’ve hit a tender nerve or a bruise of sorts.

“Are you hurt?” I ask worriedly

“No,” he murmurs, his voice stone cold.

It hurts a little more than it should, he’s never usually so blunt, so cutthroat. Not with me anyway.

“Where have you been?” I say, fishing for an honest reply.

He meets my eyes for the first time. Swimming in endless pools of grey is a mournful sorrow, “I’m sorry.”

His voice cracks. Grayson’s voice never cracks.

“Gray?” I say in a ghost of the whisper, the word not even feeling real once it is said. My pulse quickens suddenly and a large lump that I cannot swallow forms in my throat.

He’s pale, his face is regretful. Hollow. Lifeless. My heart sinks. I already know.

“Tell me,” I say, my voice shaking nearly breaking like weak houses in an earthquake.

He shakes his head glossy eyed, “I’m sorry. I never wanted to hurt you, I never meant for it to happen, I-“

“Tell me,” I grit through my teeth trying to prevent the thick emotion building up in my chest from overflowing.

There is a long pause. A deadly silence that seemed to last for days.

He parts his lips and utters the words, “I kissed her.”

It’s like a masked killer has dragged me from the comfort and safety of my own bed in the middle of the night, taken me into the thick of the wood where the vegetation is overgrown and no one will ever hear you scream. The part where it’s hard to see the sky or tell day from night and where no birds sing. And once we’re there, he takes a sharpened knife, laced with the most excruciating poison and slowly opens the left side of my chest, carefully ripping out my beating heart full of blood to destroy in his hands at his leisure. Grinning as her leaves my broken body to bleed out, dying heartless and lifeless. It’s like the person under that mask is Grayson. The one person I put all of my love and trust into. The one person who I thought would saved me from the masked killer is the masked killer. What a fucking joke.

“Who?” I ask, my tone low, dangerous, angry, “who did you kiss? I want to hear you say it.”

“I kissed Lyra,” he whispers, tears rolling down his cheeks, a state I’d never witnessed him in before. But right now I’m too broken to care.

My heart shatters into a million pieces on the spot. And then I am numb with agony.

a/n: so that was a fun ending :) hope you enjoyed part 2 my loves <33 and thanks to everyone who requested it, I’m sorry it took me so long to get around to it

NOTE I DONT THINK GRAYSON IS A CHEATER!! LIKE AT ALL. MY BABY WOULD NEVER!! but I thought I’d spice things up a bit yk, for the ✨drama✨

ALSO the de-coding thingy when the power went out if probs completely wrong on my part but I was allowed to drop computer science last year and I did ;) so I was just waffling, I know nothing about computers other than they can type, play music and they provide me with google and amazon

TIG masterlist

#grayson hawthorne #grayson tgg #grayson hawthorne one shot #grayson hawthorne x you #grayson hawthorne x reader #grayson davenport hawthorne #the inheritance games #tig #the brothers hawthorne #the final gambit #the hawthorne legacy #the grandest game

131 notes · View notes

littlemissmentallyunstable · 27 days

Note

Hiii! could you maybe write a Grayson x reader fic with a reader who doesn’t feel she is lovable cos her parents were abusive and taught her that?

hi!! thanks for your request, I realise it’s taken me a while to get around to writing it, so very sorry about that. It was a little dark but I’ll gave it a go. pre-warning I’ve never written anything like this before, so if it’s inaccurate or insensitive, I’m very sorry.

title: never good enough

pairing: grayson hawthorne x (first person) reader

synopsis: a make out session brings back some unwanted memories that you’re forced to face

warnings: really heated make-out session, suggestive themes (but nothing bad bad), lots of past trauma, swearing, panic attack, abusive parents

a/n: if any of the warnings trigger you, please do not read on, I don’t want to be responsible for someone else’s pain!! I’d feel so guilty!!

tag list: @tornqdowarnings @whatsamongus @wish-i-were-heather @inmyheaddd @never-enough-novels @heartwithsimplenotes @lxvebelle @xoxo-vee @emelia07 @f4iry-bell @zaraaaabear @thoughtdaughter3 @benny1989fredd @elysianwayy77 @maybxlle @sheisntyou @anintellectualintellectual

I like the way he tastes and the feel of his lips on mine. It’s not something I see myself getting bored of. It feels nice. But what feels nicer is the feeling of someone desiring you, someone wanting you, maybe even needing you. The feeling that someone chose you for a reason, because you matter to them. I like that feeling the best.

With each kiss I imagine that he actually feels something for me. It’s easier to play pretend. If you play pretend for long enough it can start to feel like reality. Growing up, I used to create things in my head all the time. Fictitious fantasies to fill in my empty voids of emotion. I suppose the habit had bled into my adult life.

He moans against my lips. The sound of pleasure indicating I’ve done something right, something he enjoys. My heart swells at this symbol of approval. Why do I thrive off of approval? I shake the feeling away in another deep kiss, burying it under a mound of other things I was ignoring. If I can’t see them they’re not there, if I turn my back, if I close my eyes.

These kisses are meaningless really, my brain knows it, actually it keeps attempting to remind me but I’ve gotten quite good at discarding things people say. They hurt my heart but not my head.

Grayson isn’t one to display how he feels for me publically. He’s mentioned before that he feels he doesn’t need to display how he feels to the world, he’s doesn’t care what the world thinks, he only cares what I think. It’s a beautifully designed excuse to tell me secretly that he doesn’t want to show affection in public because he doesn’t want me. I’m an embarrassment to love. I always have been.

But I don’t care. Our private moments together are bliss because I get to escape the truth and I like that. The truth is bitter like the cud, it’s harsh, it’s cruel, it’s painful. I’ve had too much of that already. So in the moments where I can I indulge so much I blind myself from it, I revel in the occasion. For the while.

His hands are firmly on my hips and I can feel the warmth of them through my clothes. They feel strong and supportive. They might be the only thing holding me together right now or it feels like it anyway. My hands are buried deep within his hair but I’m too caught up in the moment to think about it much. His kisses are quick and sweet, a little gentle. Sometimes he’d draw one or two out into longer, more passionate kisses. I didn’t care, as long as his lips were on mine, my memories would be forgotten. He begins to slide his hand up my body, tracing the curves of my bodice and up all the way until his cupping my face in his hands.

“I love you,” he pants, cheeks rosy and flushed, as we pull apart for breath, “more than you’ll ever know.”

Every time he says those words it ignites yet another fragment of my heart, that burns into ash in my chest. He’s killing me softly and I’m sure he’s enjoying it. He’s just telling me he loves me so I’ll stay with him, give him what he wants until he’s bored enough. That’s fine. I don’t mind. I know this, I’ve always known this. But getting to live in these moments, these moments laced in fierce passion and licked with flames of lust always made the harsh reality easier to swallow.

I don’t reply. Instead I kiss harder, more intensely. Maybe if I kiss with even more vigor, even more passion I can completely forget my pain. Maybe my mind will go blank and won’t be able to fill it in this time. I want the piercing sensation of white light to hit me and if it does I will let it burn me. Until my memories are incinerated and I no longer have to live with the weight of fear on my chest

He registers my sudden serge for more and begins to deliver. He matches my yearning for something deeper, something more. We’re caught up in heavy breathing, racing hearts and profuse sweating. Neither one of us cared. My hands find the hem of his shirt and I am tempted to tug down on the fabric but I don’t trust myself. My mind is too hypnotised by the sweet poison of his persuasive lips, I don’t know what I’m doing. I can’t make decisions like these. We’ve never gone further than kisses and I’m not sure if going further right now would make me feel better or worse. But who cares right?

No. I don’t let myself get that carried away. Not yet anyway. Even though I’ve previously been stripped of my dignity I will not be the one to do it to myself now. I take my hands away and slide them around the back of his neck.

We stop. Suddenly. And for a moment the standstill is uncomfortable. The absence of married lips is eerie almost. My mouth is tingling and I crave his taste already, it hasn’t been two seconds. It’s worse than drugs. I don’t want to stop kissing, every time we stop it opens a window for me to remember. A window I’ve been trying to avoid for far too long now.

He looks into my eyes and for a second I actually believe I’m wanted. Pools of gray, like a clear lake glistening in the moonlight. Pretty eyes, pretty face, pretty lips. But pretty doesn’t get you love. He smiles at me gently, a quiet kindness sparkles in his eyes. Sometimes I wonder how he is so perfect at forging this tenderness, how he claimed these masterful acting skills.

He trails his fingers gently down my face. It feels like he cares, the tentative manor misleading. Then suddenly I’m no longer in the apartment with Grayson. I’m back in my old house. No. I couldn’t be here. Not here. Anywhere but here. I don’t want to be back here. I escaped, I ran, I left, it was all over. I made sure it was over. I, I, I -

I’m back.

Sat on the living room sofa, that horrible itchy dull grey sofa, that appeared in my nightmares frequently. It even smells the same. The sour smell, that makes my stomach flip and my hands begin to shake. These four walls still haunt me. It looks as if they’re closing in, slowly, slowly. Like the room is getting smaller and I’m trapped. Claustrophobia seems to be my only companion.

My hands shake uncontrollably and no matter what I try and do to calm down, nothing works. I thought I was getting better, I thought I was coping well, I thought that it was going away. But this is proving otherwise.

I’m reliving a memory. A memory I’ve always wanted to forget. A memory scorched into my brain that tended to replay over and over like a relentless broken record that could never be smashed. I feel sick. I know what’s coming. No. I know who is coming.

His footsteps are an immediate giveaway and the faint smell of alcohol lingering in the air. I’m curled in a ball down, small, hiding like a helpless animal in a hole. If I curl up maybe it won’t happen. Maybe he won’t see me.

“What are you doing?”

A shiver runs down my spine. Every note in his voice is exactly how I remember it. The question echos around my head but I say nothing in reply. My words won’t form in my state of paralysis.

“Answer me girl!” my father barks. His voice venomous, dangerous.

“Nothing,” I reply quickly.

He grabs my arm, his fingers so tight around me that I’m sure that they’ll be bruises forming soon. He yanks me up as I attempt to cower backwards.

“Don’t take that tone with me you whore,” he spits in my face, the pungent wreaking of alcohol on his breath as he throws me to the floor.

I hit it with a thud. A dull aching thud. Just like the dull aching monotony of this scene that was just a part of every day life back then. I don’t move from the ground, I’ve learnt not to fight back. That only landed me in hospital last time. I lay there so still I hope he thinks I’m dead so he’ll leave me alone. He does not. He knows better. Unfortunately for me, he knows his daughter.

“You’re nothing but a piece of shit,” growls the voice that makes my blood curdle, “you hear that?”

I thought I’d left him far behind. I thought he was gone. I thought wrong. I am naive and I’m the idiot I have always been. I don’t reply again. There’s nothing to reply with. Of course I heard.

“I said, you HEAR that?” he screams it louder.

I don’t reply. Stupid mistake but he doesn’t give me time to undo it. He’s already standing over me. It had already begun.

***

He beats my body until my brittle bones long to snap. I will not cry. I will not cry. I will not cry. Those four words repeat over and over in my head. They might be the only thing keeping me conscious. No matter how much it hurts he cannot know he’s won. I refuse to hand him that victory of a silver platter, decorated in my jewels of agony.

And for a split second I wonder where my mother is and I don’t even know why. She would’ve do anything, she never did. She just stood there, emotionales, detached. Mothers are meant to protect and defend their children against anything in the world, it made me wonder why mine did not. It made me wonder if I were born to different people or maybe not born at all if things might be better off.

It’s not the time for thinking, I’m reminded. Another kick. I will not cry. A punch. I will not cry. My lip splits open. I will not cry. A twist of my left arm. I will not cry, I think my nose is broken. I will not cry.

“Stubborn little bitch won’t even shed a tear,” he snarls, bitterness so evident on his tongue I was surprised it hasn’t dissolved yet.

Yes I am stubborn. No I will not cry. Not for him. And then it happens. All over again. Beaten, bruised, battered, broken.

I can’t breathe. I’m in so much agony there’s no way I could even scream. So tears roll softly down my face as I’m curled up on the floor in defeat, desperation and humiliation. My body is nearly motionless, my limbs lay slack at my sides. I can’t help myself and no one is coming to save me. I let myself cry, broke the only promise I had to myself. I’m even betrayed my own brain for him.

I look up at him, tear streaked face. Is he happy now? Is he finally happy with me? Am I finally going to revive some sort of approval? Stupid questions to be wondering when I know exactly how this story ends.

As my eyes meet his, my father trails his fingers gently down my face. It still stings from the slap, the cells on my cheek screaming in agony. There’s the faint tinge of metallic blood in my mouth. My father trails his fingers gently down my face. Grayson trails his fingers gently down my face. My father trails his fingers gently- Grayson trails his fingers- My father trails- Grayson tr- my father Grayson my father Grayson my father Grayson my father.

SNAP.

I shiver and jerk away suddenly standing up. I try to back away as Grayson’s eyes fill with concern.

“What’s wrong,” he asks me, trying to reach out to me. I recoil at his attempt of a touch, like a frightened animal.

“I need to leave,” I barely get out, through my shallow breathing as I turn to find the door.

Where is the door? I couldn’t find the door. Breaths come in quicker and faster. Suffocating. I am suffocating. An invisible man has a plastic bag over my head and he is choking me slowly with it. I’m losing oxygen, I’m losing the things that keeps me alive.

Grayson is on his feet beside me, careful not to touch me, “did I do something wrong?”

“No, it’s not you,” I pant, so breathless I wonder if I’m still breathing at all, “it’s all me.”

Dizziness rolls over me and I close my eyes. I feel my body sway slightly, my sense of balance robbed from me. A pair of strong hands catch my waist and pull me upright again. I try and focus my eyes but the room is spinning.

“Woah, hey,” it’s Grayson’s soft voice, “come here.”

That’s when I realise his hands are touching me. I try to pull away but can’t see where I’m going. I can’t see anything as black dots dance across my vision.

“No!” I yell, my ear beginning to ring.

“Hey, stop,” he says gently, ”sit down and take a breath.”

“No I can’t, I can’t, you don’t understand,” I hyperventilate, my chest in so much pain.

“Hey, hey, hey,” he murmurs rhythmically, extending his hand out towards me for me to take if I wanted.

I flinch away. His eyes are deep with realisation, he knows, he understands. I’ve given my secret away.

“Who hurt you?”

His voice is almost ragged, almost angry. His eyes are blazing, the soft grey hardens into cold steel. I open my mouth but no sound comes out. The words are unable to be spoken, they feel to forbidden. I don’t think I’d ever admitted my childhood out loud. I need air, fresh air. I can’t breathe. I need to breathe.

I feel like I’m drowning. Water blurring my vision, my heat pounding in my chest, my lungs screaming at me for the oxygen I cannot give them. My limbs frozen in a state of paralysis, heavy as lead, dragging me down. I can’t kick myself to the surface, I’m helplessly lost. All I can do I stare up and watch the last sight I’ll probably ever see. Sinking, sinking, sinking. I think I can feel my lungs fill up. They burn as if eager flames are licking the internal organ in pleasure. I can hear someone’s voice, it’s muffled, like there’s water in my ears. I can’t make out what they’re saying. I wonder if this person will haul my body from the water or they’ll give up on me like everyone else.

“It’s okay,” the voice is soft and sweet, it becomes clearer by the second, “don’t say anything, just focus on breathing for me, okay?”

Grayson Davenport Hawthorne. I take one look into his silvery grey eyes and in this second trust him with my everything. My heart is racing and I can hear my sharp intakes of breath. I manage a small nod as he helps me back down onto the bed, propping pillows up behind my back. I’m sweating, profusely and I feel revolting. The tremor in my hands is slowing slightly as he clasps them in his.

“I need you to breathe,” he tells me, making direct eye contact.

My chest is so constricted it physically hurts. The aching only grows the more I think about it but I can’t seem to stop. Hair is stuck to the back of my neck and the side of my face. I slick it back using my own sweat.

“I… can’t…” I manage to get out in breathless gasps.

“Yes you can,” he murmurs, “look at me, focus on me.”

I do.

“Yes you can,” he repeats, his voice strong, confident full of faith. Faith for me.

I close my eyes and attempt to slow my rapid breathing. I feel his fingers around my wrist, squeezing a little to check my pulse. He is warm against my cool skin. I reach for his hand with my other one and guide it slowly to my chest. I want to feel his hand on my heart. I want him as close as possible. His hand is on me with my hand pressed firmly against it. I open my eyes and stare at him, wondering if he could read my pleading eyes as well as I could read his compassionate ones. Mellow grey stares back at me in understanding. He keeps his hand on my heart.

“Don’t let go,” I whisper, “please.”

“I’m not letting go,” he murmurs back, “don’t worry, I’m here. I’m here and I’m not going anywhere.”

In and out. In and out. In and out. I try to calm myself. It’s not like I’ve ever faced something like this before, I’d just never faced it in someone’s presence. The fear of him seeing me in this state of vulnerability, stripped of my many masks that tell the world I am okay when I’m not, that made it all worse.

But with some time, that could’ve been two minutes of two hours, my breathing slows, becomes more regulated. Things begin to calm down. I’m no longer sweating uncontrollably though my body is still wet. My shaking hands grow stiller by the second as I fiddle with the ring on my middle finger. Finally my heart rate begins to go down. I hear it less in my ears and feel it less in my chest. But it’s still there.

Grayson’s hand has still not left my heart, just like I asked. Gently I place my hand on his, and guide it back to his lap, letting him silently know he’d done his job. I take a hair tie and throw my hair up into an abomination on my head that I’m too tired to care about.

Grayson’s features have twisted into a way that almost makes him look worried. His eyes are larger than usual, his pupils dilated, swallowing up the comforting concrete grey. His eyes brows are pinched inwards slightly, only just and his lips are parted as if he wants to ask a question but can’t find the words. I want to pretend this look is real, I want to pretend he’ll still want me even after seeing me in my state, I want to pretend that this time it’s different. But I can’t afford to pretend anymore.

“Better?” he asks quietly, after a long period of silence.

“Better,” I rasp, my voice so hoarse it’s unfamiliar to me.

I rest my head back and close my eyes. Breathing in and out normally feels like a luxury now. I’m suddenly more grateful than I’ve even been for a steady flow of air to my lungs. Once I’m completely back to normal I make eye contact with Grayson. His face is difficult to read.

“What happened back there?” he asks me quietly, almost looking guilty for the question.

“What do you mean?” I reply, confused. Hadn’t he been there, hadn’t he seen?

“Why did you start to panic,” he clarifies, “what did I do to set it off?”

I want to shoot the conversation down there and then. Absolutely not. I am not ready to tell him anything, I don’t want him to know. I don’t want him to look at me different because of it.

“It doesn’t matter,” I say quickly, averting my eyes.

“Of course it does,” he presses further, “sweetheart I love you and-

Oh those three words. How the act as another knife to my chest every time. I love you is not meant for girls like me, I love you is meant for people who are worthy and special, I love you has never once been said to me with any true meaning behind it.

“Stop,” I snap, the word louder and harsher than I intended. It silently echoes through the empty space and takes a moment to sink in.

“What?” he asks after a few beats, confusion distorting his features.

“Just stop that,” I almost yell, as I go to get up, “stop doing that.”

“What am I doing?” he asks quickly.

“You’re lying to me,” I say, my voice wavering when I really didn’t want it to.

“What?”

“Every time you say those stupid words and I can’t afford to believe them,” I exclaim, welling up with this sudden surge of emotion.

“Slow down sweetheart,” he says slowly, “what are you talking about?”

“I know you don’t love me,” I shout. I’m exhausted. Exhausted of living this lie and now I’m at my breaking point and I can’t afford to continue. There are too many lies, in my head, in my heart, in my life. This one I want to be rid of.

“What?”

“I know it so you can stop pretending I matter, that I mean something to you,” I sob.

Great. Now I’m crying again. Again. Pouring out my weaknesses for him to see. I’ve never felt so unbelievably helpless.

“What are you talking about? Of course I love you,” he says it as of I’ve said something stupid or in gibberish.

Of course. Why of course? It isn’t obvious and I’m not an idiot. I’m stood here crying and he has the audacity to tell me this. I look him dead in the eye, my vision blurred a little due to the heaviness of my heart.

“No one can love me.” My voice is low and laced with the agony I’m so desperately trying to conceal.

“Who told you that?” he asks.

How did he know? How could he see through my mask so easily? Was it cracked, had it slipped or was it just all transparent now?

“I didn’t need to be told, it’s just how I am,” I spit back, hoping my bitterness might deter him.

“No,” Grayson replies, his voice so sharp it cut dangerously through the air like a knife.

“What?”

“No, that’s not how you are,” he says, “because I love you.”

He digs a finger into his chest in attempts to prove his point, it looks hard enough to hurt but he doesn’t wince.

“Stop saying that!” I yell over him, “it makes it more painful, every time you say it, it’s like a stab in the heart and I can’t take it anymore.”

I expect him to get angry, to stand up and hurl insults at me. We’ve never argued before. But instead his face softens. “I’m not lying,” he tells me gently, his voice like caramel, “how could I lie?”

He’s not lying? Or at least that’s what he’s telling me. But the softness of his eyes look like he means it. No. I can’t let myself be so naive, I can’t believe everything I’m told, I’ve learnt that the hard way.

“Everyone who I’ve ever trusted has lied to me, why would that make you any different?” I ask bitterly.

“Because I do love you,” he tells me, “with all of my heart. You don’t understand what you do to me. I can’t stop thinking about you, even when you’re not around, you’re the main character of all my thoughts and dreams for that matter. Not a moment goes by without a thought involving you. You are the other half of my heart, you have it, you stole it from me the day we met. And I don’t even care because if I were to meet any thief I would choose you every time and I’m so glad you took it. I mean goddamit, you mean everything to me, everything. I would die for you without thinking twice, without even blinking,” he says, “I just wish you could see yourself how I do. And whoever made you feel this way never deserved a fraction of you. Your beauty, your kindness, your love. They truly didn’t.”

I don’t say anything for a long while. I’m too awestruck. He loves me. He really actually loves me unconditionally. He always did and I always pushed that notion away.

I’ve never said anything about my past out loud. It makes it less real, I can forget if I bury it. Except I can’t I’ve tried and tried desperately to do so but relentlessly as ever my brain has never let it go.

“My father,” I choked horsely, “my abused me physically from when I was young. I thought it was normal.”

Something twists in Grayson’s stomach, I can see it all over his face. He looks ill, all the colour has drained from his face and his eyes are sorrowful, mournful even.

“But the bruises, they were okay,” I murmur, “even the scars, I could deal with them. It was my mother who cut the deepest, without even laying a finger on me. Her words were…” I attempt to pull myself together, “…her words left scars no one will ever be able to understand.”

“I’m sorry.”

The words are so quiet I can barely hear him. He looks mortified.

“It’s not your fault,” is all I can reply with. There’s nothing else to say.

“No one should have to-“

“But they do,” I choke, my voice getting shaky again, “and you know what, I’m tired.”

I wish I didn’t feel this weak, this powerless. Tears start free flowing down my cheeks, uncontrollably. Salty droplets leave glistening trails on my cheeks like in some sort of abstract painting in an art museum.

“I’m tired of this pain,” I sob, “I just want it to go away, I just want to be normal.”

The pain wracks my body. Grayson takes me into his open arms and holds me to the warmth of his chest. I nuzzle into him, seeking comfort I’d never received from anyone else. I cling to him like a frightened child to their mother, my knuckles white. I’m almost scared to let go, incase that means I have to let go forever. I can hear his steady heartbeat against my ear. I sob louder, my body physically beginning to ache from the crying.

“Hey, shhhh,” he soothes, stroking a soft hand down my hair, “you’re going to get through this and I’m going to help you.”

“How?” I wail. I’m hysterical and I hate it, but it’s taken control of me now.

“We just are, I promise,” he says, so much passion, so much faith behind the words. I want to believe him but I’ve had too many promises broken.

“I thought I was getting better,” I laugh bitterly, the tears flowing thicker and faster and harder, “I thought that I was coping better with all of this and now this is just proof that I’m not.”

I get it all off of my chest, words I’ve longed to speak for so long, the ones that have been locked away and avoided. I can say them. Freely. The caged bird is remembering she has wings, remembering she could once fly.

“Listen to me,” Grayson says, his voice clear, defined, “what you’ve been through isn’t something you just get over overnight, it’s not something you can wash away.”

“Why can’t it be?” I ask, snivelling in an attempt to gulp back my tears that seemed to be endless.

“It doesn’t work that way love,” he says, his voice so soft it could melt butter but instead it melts my heart.

“But…” I trail off into more sobs. I can’t carry on. Words are not enough to describe what I’m feeling, they’re not deep enough, the they aren’t raw enough.

I sob uncontrollably feeling more humiliated by the second. Loud, ugly, horrible sobs. When things are buried you don’t realise that they’ll eventually resurface. My body jolts backwards and forwards each time I let out a cry.

He pulls me close to his chest and whispers sweet nothings to me to comfort me. He doesn’t say anything the whole time. Somehow he knows that’s what I need. He just holds me, lets me know he’s there with the melodic rise and fall of his comfortable chest. He’s so gentle, so soft, he makes me feel fragile and delicate like a sharp of glass. I cry until I’m so dehydrated that there are no tears left and I’m so exhausted that I want to pass out.

And even then he stays holding onto me, supporting my broken body. He holds me, holding all my dilapidated pieces together, keeping me from falling apart. He cradled my head in my arms and tentatively strokes my hair. I feel myself relax a little more, I feel myself shut my eyes. Suddenly I’m aware of a sensation in my chest. At first I think it’s the panic coming back to prey on me some more but the feeling is too calming. It’s spreading across the left side of my chest, tingling a little but in a ticklish manor. It’s almost a warmth.

Is this what love feels like?

I open my eyes and sit up. What am I roping him into? He doesn’t deserve this, doesn’t deserve to be held back by someone like me. He could have anyone, any body in this whole world. I’m the last person he needs in his life.

“You don’t have to do this,” I say trying to pull myself free of his arms but his grip is tight, oddly reassuring. He’s not going to let me go, he’s not planning on leaving, he wants to say. To take care of me.

“Do what?” he asks, brushing some loose baby hairs out of my puffy face.

“The door is wide open, feel free to walk out on this,” I explain with an elaborate hand gesture, “you don’t have to deal with me.”

“The door is firmly bolted shut and no one will be walking out,” he tells me slowly, “you’re not a problem to be dealt with, you’re a person. A wonderful, beautiful, spectacular person, that I have the pleasure of loving.”

Tears well up in my eyes for what feels like the hundredth time today, I’ve never cried so much in my life. The recurring lump in my throat makes another appearance. I don’t mean to get so emotional, but I do. I’m so used to being strong I suppose there’s only so much one person can take before they burst. I feel loved and wanted and needed and cared for, everything I’ve always wished for. Here is a man giving me all of that and more.

“And what if I don’t know how to be loved?” I whisper, fear clamouring up my throat.

“Then I’ll show you,” he whispers, pulling me closer to his chest.

“I’m going to get it wrong,” I panic, “I don’t know how to love.”

“Yes you do,” he soothes, “I know you do because I can feel it.”

“I don’t want to hurt you, I hurt people when I love them,” I tell him as he gently caresses my hair, running his fingers through it.

“You aren’t going to hurt me,” he says, “look at me sweetheart, I’m right here. And I’m not going anywhere. Ever. We’re going to get through this together, okay?”

I nod, my heart not feeling so heavy. I lean further into Grayson and let him kiss the top of my head. The small gesture meaning mountains more because I know he loves me. And for the first time in a long time I smile, a real true smile. And it feels nice.

a/n: again, I’ve never written anything like this before so idk if it did it right 😭😭 anyways so sorry for it taking so long, hope you enjoyed

TIG masterlist

#the inheritance games #tig #grayson hawthorne #grayson hawthorne one shot #grayson tgg #grayson hawthorne x reader #grayson hawthorne x you #grayson davenport hawthorne #the brothers hawthorne #the final gambit #the hawthorne legacy #the grandest game

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littlemissmentallyunstable · 1 month

Text

thanks for you request!! I’m SO SO SO sorry it took me so long to complete, there has been so many edits and rewrites and start overs but anyways, here is the final product, I’m praying it doesn’t disappoint. my motivation has not been there lately… anyways I gave it a go, hope you enjoy 🤍🤍

title: the hawthorne with the green eyes

pairing: jameson hawthorne x (first person) reader

synopsis: your avery’s best friend and she’s suddenly been thrown into a world that isn’t her own and she needs you… but in going to support your best friend, you don’t expect a certain someone to take you interest

warnings: mild swearing and mentions of the reader having a dead father

a/n: this is set mid the first inheritance games book, timelines may clash a little but work with me please 😭😭

“I go on holiday for two weeks and of course that’s when everything blows up,” I exclaimed over the phone.

Avery was down the other end. I’d practically just stepped foot back in my house after fourteen glorious days in Europe and just about had time to fling my suitcase to the corner of my room before I straight away called her. How did I miss everything?! Pretty much as soon as the plane touched down back in America my phone practically blew up with messages and calls and news alerts. Suddenly my best friend’s face was all over TV and I had a billion DMs from people I’d never even talked to before.

“Timing is impeccable as always,” Avery laughed.

“Tell me everything,” I said.

Screw jet lag, this was way more important. We had the longest conversation I think I’ve ever had in my whole lifetime. She told me all about the will of this mysterious Tobias Hawthorne and the people involved. She explained how she’d been flown all the way out to Texas and was now required to live in Hawthorne house for at least a year where basically the whole family resided. Including four of Tobias’s scarily hood looking and intelligent grandsons.

“I can’t lie, this all sounds like it’s been plucked right out of a novel,” I said.

“42.6 billion dollars,” she confirmed, “what gets more fictional than that?”

“Ave this is crazy,” I replied, eyes as wide as saucepans.

“I can’t believe it,” she responded with a long sigh.

“You’re literally a billionaire,” I murmured. Saying it out loud made it even more real, even more shocking.

“I never thought I’d hear anyone say that out loud,” she said, then she sighed again,“I just can’t work out why I inherited it, I mean over his family it doesn’t make sense.”

“Well what did his grandsons have to say?” I asked.

“One thinks it’s a game of sorts, like a puzzle,” she explained, “their grandfather used to give them puzzles when they were younger and he thinks I’m the final one.”

“Are you okay?” I questioned suddenly, feeling guilty I hadn’t asked her right away,

“Yeah I’m fine,” she exhaled, “I’m a billionaire right?”

“No, I mean are you really okay?” I clarified, “because if it were me I know I wouldn’t be.”

“I think I’m okay,” she replied, hesitating a little.

“Avery,” I sang in an accusing tone.

She laughed a little and then, “I don’t know how to feel about any of this,” she sighed, “god I wish you were here.”

“Then I’ll come,” I blurted out, the instinct too prominent to ignore.

“What?” she gaped, as I pictured her with a hanging jaw.

“I’ll come to wherever you are, seen as you can’t come to me,” I replied, “that is if you want me to.”

“Of course I do,” she said, “but that’s a long trip for you and-“

“I don’t care about any of that,” I interrupted her before she went off on a selfless tangent, “seeing you is going to make whatever I have to do to get there worth it.”

“You’re an angel, a real life angel,” she whispered and I could hear the smile in her voice.

I laughed, “see you as soon as possible, I have a plane ticket to book.”

“Wait,” she told me suddenly, making me jump a little, “I’m paying.”

“Avery-“ I said, attempting to begin to decline.

“No, you can’t even decline because I’m a billionaire,” she snapped before I could even say no, “heck I could buy you the whole plane if I wanted.”

“You don’t have to do any of that,” I pressed further.

“Let me buy the ticket, it’s the least I can do,” she said, “and I’m getting Oren to pick you up from the airport.”

My mind flicked back to her explanation, the name sounded familiar. It took a few minutes for it to finally come to me, “Isn’t that bodyguard?”

“He’s the only one I’d trust with your life,” Avery explained.

“God Ave, you make it sound like I’m going to get shot,” I attempted to joke.

“I really need to be cautious at the moment,” she said, warning in her voice, “this whole billionaire business is not as glamorous as it seems.”

“Oh Avery,” I murmured sympathetically, “I’ll be there to hear every last drop in a few hours, okay?”

“Thank you,” she said, he tone thick with gratitude, “you have no idea how much this means to me.”

***

Next thing I knew I was on a first class flight to Texas at three AM in the morning. I’d never flown first class before. It’s a shame I didn’t get really experience it, seen as I fell asleep for the entire flight, still exhausted from my previous travels. For the parts I was awake, it was beautiful and such a lovely smooth ride. When I’d finally made my way through passport control and grabbed my luggage I was in search of Oren. Avery had text me the number plate of the car ready to pick me up. Seemed she’d forgotten to mention it was a limo I was being picked up in. That information alone would’ve sorted me out just fine as there was only one limo at the pick up station. I walked up to the window and tapped on the blackout glass. It rolled down all of a sudden, making me jump. A man sat in the front, a flat serious expression on his face.

“Identification,” he said before I could even get a word out.

Identification? What the hell did that mean?

“y/n l/n,” I guessed, my name seeming like a viable option for a response.

“Physical identification,” he clarified.

“Can’t you see my face?” I asked, not really knowing what else he meant by physical identification.

“Do you want to get in this car?” he deadpanned.

Great! I’d gotten on the wrong side of Mr. Smiley now.

I wracked my brain for what he could mean by physical identification, “do you want my passport or something?”

“That’ll do,” he nodded sharply.

I fumbled around in my bag like an idiot until I find my passport. I handed it over as soon as I could.

He took it swiftly and analysed it for a good few minutes, “okay jump in.”

“Are you Oren?” I asked, swinging the back door open and putting my suitcase down by the seats.

“Most certainly,” he replied, as I slid in.

“Avery mentioned you,” I clarified, worried he might he starts speculating I’m an enemy imposter dressed up as Avery’s friend coming to commit a murder.

He gave me a thoughtful look as he began to pull out of the pick up station, “all good things I hope?

“Very good things,” I reassured him.

He smiled to himself, almost looking touched, “that’s nice to hear.”

We fell into an awkward silence. There was nothing more necessarily to be said but something hung in the air waiting to be said, but I don’t think either of us could work out what. Thankfully for me, it was Oren who broke the silence first.

“It is also nice Avery has a friend coming to stay with her but I hope you understand you won’t be able to have your normal coffee and catch up anymore, Avery’s life is so different now,” he said, his tone authoritative and serious.

“I know,” I nodded, “I understand how dangerous it all is. I’m just here to make sure she’s okay.”

“That’s very nice of you,” he replied, “you are a good friend.”

“This is the bare minimum,” I shrugged lightly, “and I know she’d do the same for me if ever I needed it.”

And that was true. She’d do anything for me in a heartbeat. Avery needed me right now, so that’s exactly where I’d be.

***

The rest of the car journey was relatively smooth. I conversed briefly some more with Oren, having the standard school and home life, getting to know me talk. I didn’t mind his company at all, he was a genuine man with a kind heart. I could tell as much from just that hour in the car. When we finally pulled up, sunrise is on the horizon. The house was a phenomenon.

I got out of the car and just stared up at it, my jaw dropped in pure shock. The exterior was huge and it looked like a castle crossed with a Manor House crossed with the worlds biggest mansion. Everything about it screamed prestigious. It reminded me of a historical palace I once toured when I was younger.

“It’s quite something, isn’t it,” Oren smiled, handing me my luggage.

“Oh thanks,” I nodded, “and yeah, woah. Avery owns the whole of this?”

“Every acre,” he nodded.

“Someone needs to pinch me, so I know I’m not dreaming,” I murmured, “it’s magnificent.”

“It truly is,” Oren agreed.

I stared up at the building again and attempt to take in the grounds. It’s so vast I can’t even see all of it. It expands for what seems like forever. I was so lost in thought when my name was shouted that I nearly didn’t hear it altogether.

“Y/N!” shouted a voice. It could only be one voice.

“AVERY!” I screamed, whipping my head around.

I spotted my best friend and suddenly discarded all of my luggage, it somehow seeming irrelevant at this time. We sprinted towards one another as fast as possible and collided. I flung my arms around her and squeezed her as tightly as humanly possible, it’s a wonder I didn’t suffocate her. She did the same, holding me so close that I heard the uneven thumping of her heart in her chest. I inhaled the comforting scent of her perfume as I closed my eyes, suddenly feeling at home in her arms. I didn’t even realise I was crying until we pull away from each other.

“I can’t believe you’re here,” she laughed, tears also rolling down her cheeks.

“You better believe it girl,” I smiled, “thanks for the plane ticket, first class is gorgeous.”

“Get used to it,” she told me, with a little wink.

“No, I’m not becoming a gold digger friend,” I shook my head, putting a palm out, “I refuse.”

“We’ll see,” she said, with a graceful shrug.

“Nope,” I shook my head stubbornly.

“Let me show you the house,” she said, veering the subject elsewhere.

“I know you said it was big but you didn’t mention it was this big,” I gaped, my eyes glued to the structure.

She smiled sheepishly, “big was a bit of an understatement on my part.”

“You think?” I laughed, still trying to drink up the details.

As we walked up to the doorstep I became aware of movement coming from behind us, I turned around to see Oren walking around two meters behind us. Quickly I whipped my head back around to Avery, to avoid awkward eye contact with him.

“Does he follow you everywhere?” I asked, dropping my voice low.

“Most places,” she shrugged in reply.

I raised my eyebrows.

“It’s not as creepy as it seems, trust me,” she said, “he’s very subtle.”

“Okay,” I replied unsurely, tempted to turn around again.

“Just don’t think about it,” she told me as we approached the door.

I tried to, but it was impossible not to be aware of someone tracking your every move. I began to wonder if I’d been microchipped with cameras and microphones yet. Avery grabbed the door handle and turned it, pushing the door open to reveal what looked like magic.

It seemed even larger on the window with its towering central staircase and large windows. The corridors seemed endless and so did the rooms within them. The floorboards were wooden and glossy, clearly expensive. The carpeted parts were velvet, they must’ve been. I wouldn’t have been surprised to discover that everything was embroidered with some sort of gold laced trim. A large, intricately crafted chandelier hung roundly from the ceiling, glistening with crystals. It was mesmerisingly beautiful. And my best friend owned it all.

“Ave…” I trailed off, at a loss for words.

“I know,” she nodded, beaming at me, “come in.”

“I feel like if I walk on the floors I’ll scratch them or something,” I scoffed.

“Don’t be stupid,” she grinned, yanking my arm so I practically fell in, “where should we go first?”

“Shouldn’t we pick up a map or something?” I joked, “is there a tour guide who can show us around?”

She giggled, “I’m your certified map and tour guide today.”

“Lucky me,” I winked, “where to first, oh noble one.”

“How about my room?” Avery suggested.

“Yes! I need a room tour!” I replied, excitedly.

“This way,” she said, grabbing my hand and cocking her head towards the large central staircase, that split into two.

***

I’d thought the house was beautiful but I couldn’t believe Avery’s room. Heavenly was an understatement. She had a queen sized bed sat in the middle of the room, that looked so comfy just staring at it made me sleep. She had a chest of drawers and matching vanity and a massive bookshelf that I was green with envy of. I noticed two bifold doors on one side of the room, which confused me.

“Open them,” she grinned, as if reading my mind.

Slowly I curl my hand aground the edge and pried the two doors apart. I almost fainted at the sight. A walk in wardrobe. Of course I’d seen them in the movies but never in real life, in someone’s house. It was such a massive wardrobe, it reminded me of that scene from Barbie, where her wardrobe seemed endless.

“No way!” I gaped at her.

“Way!” she winked.

There were of course other species of furniture, like shelves, a desk and chair, a beanbag, bedside tables, an armchair and so much more. Anything could ever want or need was in that room. Like the huge TV or the mini fridge. There was a small door on the other side, which I presumed lead to an en-suite, as I caught a glimpse of bathroom tiles inside as the door was slightly ajar.

“It’s definitely an upgrade from the car,” Avery exhaled.

I looked at her sadly. I’d offered her to live with us for a while so many times, but she declined each and every time. I thought it was because she didn’t want to be a burden. She never deserved the life she had, she deserved this now. After all she’d been through, all she’d lost, all she’d worked for, she deserved this. And secretly I was glad a random dead billionaire left her in his will.

“Don’t give me that look,” she said quietly.

“What look?” I asked.

“The one where your eyes go all sad,” she murmured.

“My eyes go sad?” I said, almost laughing.

“You know what I mean,” she rolled her eyes, then sighed, “I wanted to live in my car okay?”

“Okay,” I mumbled, unconvinced.

No one wants to live in their car, it’s something you’re forced to do when your home is no longer liveable. But I didn’t press the matter, those days were long gone now. Now she had this. She pulled me down onto the mattress beside her. We laid down staring up at the ceiling, my head resting on hers. We didn’t say anything for a good while and the silence was comforting, it was nice. It allowed us to breathe a little.

“This house is full of secret passageways,” Avery murmured after a while.

“You’re kidding,” I said.

“Nope,” she grinned.

“This just gets more and more like a mystery movie by the second,” I replied, wide eyed.

“I know,” she said, “I’m finding it a little mental.”

“A little?” I scoffed.

She laughed lightly, airily. It was a pretty laugh but not a proper one, if I’d been looking at her face, I was sure that the smile wouldn’t have quite reached her eyes.

I say up and she followed suit, so I looked into her eyes and asked her, “are you really okay?”

There was a long pause. Hesitation. It told me everything already but still I waited for her to respond.

“No,” she sighed. It surprised me that she said that. Avery wasn’t one to admit she wasn’t okay very easily, not even to herself. So the fact that she was admitting that to me out loud spoke volumes. She was really not okay. I didn’t say anything right away and let her carry on.

“This is a lot,” she exhaled, “and I know it makes me sound so selfish. I have everything and anything I could ever want but it’s just so much to adjust to.”

“You don’t sound selfish, you sound human,” I reassured her. She needed to know that her feelings were normal, if I were in her position I know I’d be a mess. But she was here, holding it all together or trying to at least.

“I have a helicopter, a freaking helicopter and there’s all these interviews I have to do, functions I have to attend,” she exclaimed, “I don’t know what to do with myself half the time. I mean it’s so obvious I don’t fit in, I wasn’t born into all of this.”

She took a sharp breath in and I decided I needed to let her rant and get these things off of her chest.

“School is like a living hell, most people hate me,” she groaned, “private school is not for me, I’ve got no friends there and everyone seems to be either shooting me weird looks or whispering my name. And it shouldn’t affect me and I know it’s pathetically stupid but it really does.”

“Hey,” I soothed, rubbing up and down her arms, “kids are stupid and you know they’re just jealous. Besides you won’t be in school for that much longer anyway. One, two years with these people and then you never have to see them again. And you’ve only just joined recently, there’s time to make friends if you want to. And I’m only a call away, no matter where you are, what time it is, we have phones for a reason.”

“Yeah,” she blew out a breath, “yeah, okay.”

“You can carry on,” I told her, “just get the weight off of your shoulders.”

“I don’t want to complain, it feels wrong,” she sighed.

“Nu-uh,” I snapped wagging my finger, “you’re a human with feelings which means you have every right to complain so shoot girl.”

“Thank you, really,” she said, her big hazel eyes deep with gratitude.

“Stop thanking me for doing the bare minimum, this is like getting you a spoon from the cutlery drawer when you ask,” I said, “now tell me, what else?”

“My life is apparently constantly at risk, I mean I have bodyguard who is standing outside this door right now,” she replied, “I could be killed. Literally killed. And people want to do that to me and that’s so hard-“

Her voice broke and she struggled ro pull herself together, despite how hard she was trying. I instinctively enveloped my arms around her and pulled her tight to my chest

“I’m sorry Avery,” I murmured, “that’s awful, absolutely awful. But you have Oren and you know he’s going to take good care of you, you have whole teams of people preventing that from happening.”

She mumbled an indecipherable response and let a few tears slip.

“And these stupid people aren’t making things any easier for me. All of them are so…” she trailed off, “I can’t find the right word to describe them. Grayson thinks I’m some sort of threat and I’ve inherited this money because I’m a scheming, lying, manipulative snake. Xander seems to live to confuse me, constantly throwing out weird phrases that just throw me off. Nash, well Nash is just very laid back, he doesn’t seem to care about me or my role in the will which is good, but I don’t like the way he looks at Libby. And Jameson…” she hesitated, “Jameson thinks I’m just a game, one left by his grandfather. And the worst part is I dont even know what I’m here and I can’t figure it out.”

“Yet,” I replied.

She titled her head, confused, “What?”

“I can’t figure it out yet,” I explained.

“That’s patronising,” she said, “are you trying to take me back to first grade?”

“It might help you,” I shrugged.

“First grade?” she laughed.

“An open mindset,” I clarified.

She doesn’t reply.

“These grandsons for the most part seem a bit snobbish if you ask me, you shouldn’t pay too much attention to them,” I said, “they’re not worth you at all. You’re not a snake, you’re not stupid, your sister isn’t a prize and you’re not a game. You know this, in here,” I press my palm on the left side of her chest, “don’t let them make you forget it.”

She smiled through glossy eyes,“what would I do without you?”

“Have a mental breakdown in the shower alone and pretend it’s all okay,” I guessed.

“I did that yesterday,” she told me.

“Damn it I didn’t get here fast enough,” I joked, my heart breaking at the thought of Avery sobbing all alone.

She cracked a weak smile, “you got here, you are here, that’s all I care about.”

“Just take a second and breathe, okay?” I said.!

“Breathing,” she replied. I could hear she was breathing in and out in a rhythmic, calming motion.

“Good, keep going,” I nodded in encouragement.

We fell into silence again but like most of our silences, neither of us felt discomfort. I let her breathe, I let her think, I let her have the moment to herself I know she’d felt to selfish to take since she got here.

“Better?” I asked after a while.

“Better,” she nodded her head.

“You’re going to get through this, it just all seems a lot right now because you’re not used to it and it’s all come at once,” I said.

“Yeah, you’re right,” she replied.

We wrapped our arms around each other, a warm hug acting as some sort of cocoon, excluding the outside world for mere moments. I breathed in her shampoo, the smell comforting. We stayed in each other’s arms for long time. We had both needed it.

“I’m really glad your here,” she whispered as we pull away.

“I’m glad I’m here too,” I told her.

***

“I still can’t believe you live here now,” I exhaled, the side of my cheek pressed on her head.

We’d gone back to talking, catching up on each other’s lives for a bit. It seemed we just never could stop talking. And it felt good.

“I know, it’s crazy,” she admitted, “me and Lib have just about got used to it.”

“Libby’s here? Now?” I asked excitedly.

Avery nodded.

“Please can we go and see her?” I asked, “I haven’t seen her in so long.”

“Of course,” she grinned, “I’m just going to ignore the fact that you love my sister more than you love me.”

“It’ll probably make you feel better,” I shrugged, teasing her slightly.

“Hey!” she laughed, slapping my arm lightly.

I’d forgotten how much I’d missed Avery’s company. She wasn’t just my best friend, she was part of me. Every time we were together I was just immediately elevated. I needed her.

“What? You said it,” I grinned, poking my tongue out.

“My best guess is that she’s baking in the kitchen, so we’ll look there first,” she explained.

“How comes she’s baking at nine in the morning?” I asked.

“She’s productive,” Avery shrugged.

I nodded as we exited her room. I followed Avery, presuming she would know where she was going. But after a labyrinth of corridors and a few smiling landmarks, I began to doubt her orienteering skill and decided we were lost.

“Ave I swear I’ve seen that suit of armour before,” I mentioned to her.

“There’s a suit of armour?” she asked.

“We’ve seen it like three times now,” I nodded, pointing to it.

She tilted her head and examined it, “we have not!”

“I’m telling you we definitely have,” I replied,

“You have walked past it four times actually,” a sudden voice said, making me jump out of my skin.

I turned around to see a boy coming up behind us. He was very tall, towering over both Avery and I. There was a bounce in his step and amusement in his voice, he was young, energetic and full of life. He had dark skin and a small grin planted on his lips. And there was a certain wistful sparkle in his eyes. I presumed he was one of the four grandsons, but I was trying to work out which one due to the descriptions Avery had given me.

“Have you been watching us?” Avery scoffed, arms folded,

“I just happened to notice you walking past four times,” the boy shrugged.

Avery narrowed her eyes at him, “why did you count?”

“I wanted to see how many tries it would take you until you realised you were lost,” he replied coolly.

“We’re not lost,” Avery insisted.

“Are you sure?” he chuckled, eyebrows raised.

“I call it non-purposeful wandering,” I piped up

He looked at me for the first time, his deep chocolate eyes meeting mine. His eyebrows now shuffled inwards and he tilted his head to the side, “I don’t recognise you.”

“I’m y/n,” I smiled, “I came to visit Avery.”

“Pleasure to meet you,” he nodded, “did you only just arrive?”

“It was about an hour ago,” I shrugged in reply.

“Did you fly all the way out here?” he asked me.

“From Connecticut to Texas,” I confirmed with a short nod of the head.

“Now tell me,” he said, looking very serious, “do robots interest you?”

I side glanced at Avery and she subtly signalled for me to carry on conversation.

“I’ve never really thought about it before,” I said honestly.

“How have you lived your life without thinking about robots?” he gasped, looking somewhere between purely shocked and offended.

“I don’t know,” I replied, “should I start?”

“I’d strongly advise you to,” he said, “they’re most interesting.”

“Is that why you’ve got a singed eyebrow and oil on your sleeves?” I asked, not being able to suppress my mind’s curiosities.

“Observant,” he smiled.

“That’s what they say,” I replied awkwardly, knowing Avery would tease me about this later.

“Robots have a tendency to explode when you get them a bit wrong,” he explained, “if you can get past that, it’s great.”

“Explosions don’t really sound like my cup of tea,” I said, “but I suppose you never know until you try.”

“You have a good spirit,” he told me, “I think you would work well with robotics.”

“Thanks,” I replied, taking it as a compliment to mask my confusion over the whole conversation. I took him as someone who you just rolled with, no matter what. So that’s what I was attempting to achieve.

“Blueberry or lemon?” he asked me.

“Blueberry, no matter the context,” I answered without missing a beat.

“I like you,” he nodded, “Avery can we keep her?”

“For the time being,” she grinned, “unless she starts biting.”

“Can’t make any promises,” I winked then turned back to the boy, “you know your way around this place right?”

“Most of it, though I still discover a new secret passage way every now and then,” he shrugged, as if it were the norm to find secret passageways around your house.

“Do you know how we get to the kitchen?” Avery asked.

“And you said you’re not lost,” he teased her.

“She’s testing you,” I said,

“Is it because you got stuck non-purposefully wandering on your way there,” he smiled, using my precious wording,

“Precisely,” I nodded.

“Okay then,” he replied, “to get the kitchen you just need to follow these suits of armour and when they stop take two rights and walk down your closest set of stairs. You should find it there, if I’m not mistaken.”

My jaw hung slack, “you memorised that?”

“Sort of, thought I usually end up stumbling upon the kitchen by accident through a secret passage way,” he shrugged, “it’s an important room to locate.”

“I guess,” I agreed

He nodded, “Safe travels.”

“We’re not trekking across a desert,” I laughed.

“No,” he smiled, “this is much worse.”

And with that he turned and walked in the opposite direction. We watched him until he exited the corridor and went off elsewhere.

“That’s Xander,” Avery filled me in.

“The one who’s addicted to scones?” I asked, the blueberry or lemon question finally making sense.

“Yes, that’s him,” she confirmed.

“Yeah that figures,” I nodded, “I like him.”

“He’s nice, I mean he doesn’t act like he wants to kill me all the time so that’s a plus,” she said.

“Oh yeah, when do I get to meet the angel of a man who keeps wishing you death?” I grinned.

“Hopefully you won’t have to,” she grimaced

We finally made it to the kitchen, after a few wrong turns and a game of eeny-meeny-miny-mo. I spotted Libby from the doorway. She was piping vibrant blue icing, almost the colour of her hair, into a pink sponge cupcake. I snuck up behind her and wrapped my arms around her waist, tightly squeezing her closer. She let out a small gasp in surprise.

“Guess who?” I murmured excitedly.

“Is this real or does someone have to pinch me?” she asked, the smile in her voice.

“It’s real,” I assured her.

I let go of her and she spun around, cupping my face in her palms.

“Y/n!” she beamed widely at me, brining me in for a hug, “hi love, it’s been a while, huh?”

“Too much of a while if you ask me,” I mumbled into her.

“Glad to see you again,” she smiled as we break apart. The unspoken ‘make sure my sister is okay’ running through her eyes.

“Me too,” I replied, silently reassuring her of the reason I was here.

“I’m starting to think you prefer my sister to me,” Avery scoffed, scooping a little buttercream onto her finger tip and popping it into her mouth

“Sometimes I do,” I replied mischievously.

“Hey,” she complained.

I stuck out my tongue in reply.

“Ooo please taste this,” Libby said, quickly grabbing a couple of cupcakes and handing one to both me and Avery.

“Well it’d be rude not to,” I grinned, taking one gratefully.

“It would,” she agreed as Avery broke the half of the bottom off of her cupcake and put it into of the icing to make her little cupcake sandwich.

I stared at her in disapproval, “you are a monster for doing that.”

“You’re just bitter because it’s the smartest way to eat a cupcake,” she replied.

“When you eat a cupcake you shouldn’t be analysing how you eat it you should just eat it how it is,” I exclaimed passionately. We’d had this fight many of times and I would never stop backing my corner.

“I don’t want icing smeared up my nose,” Avery defended, “and this is the best way to prevent that.”

I shook my head and took a bite of my cupcake, like a normal person. The flavours tantalised my tastebuds, teasing them to crave more. The cake itself was airy and light, not too dry but not too moist. It was the perfect cake to icing ratio and nothing was over sweet or too artificial. It was like heaven on my tongue. I’d really missed these.

“So…” Libby asked, nervously, “what do you think?”

“How do you do it?” I replied, taking another bite.

“Good?”

“That’s an understatement,” I told her, “is there fairy dust in this or something?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” a new person entered, cutting off whatever Libby’s reply was. His accent was definitely Texan and I looked up to my surprise to find an older looking man. Well not old at all, just older than me. I presumed he was in his twenties. He wore a cowboy hat, titled slightly to one side and from under it I noticed his brownish-blondish hair. He had hazel eyes and a sharp jawline but what stood out to me was his nose. He had a similar nose to Xander which gave him away to being another grandson, but which one?

“What are you doing here?” Libby asked, annoyance in her tone.

It surprised me. I had never heard Libby talk to anyone with any remotely negative connotation. I widened my eyes and looked to Avery who only shrugged in response.

“Coming to check up on you and your crazy cupcake baking obsession,” he explained, walking further into the room.

“I don’t need checking up on,” she grumbled, turning back to her piping bag.

“Oh I know that darlin’,” he smiled. It was the kind of smile that you don’t see often, the kind of smile that shows everyone else in that room that the person who is being smiled at is the other person’s whole world.

No one had ever smiled at me like that.

I scooted closer to Avery and whispered, “Are they…”

“I don’t know, I’m 99% sure but it’s not official,” she explained quickly.

“Oh okay,” I nodded.

We watched as they bickered, back and forth for a little bit, unsuppressed smiles on both of their faces. They meant something to one another, even if they didn’t know it yet. They continued to argue until the cowboy noticed my presence.

“Who’s the new one?” he asked, nodding at me

“New one? She has a name,” Libby said sharply.

“I’m y/n. Avery’s friend and Libby’s practically adopted little sister, nice to meet you,” I introduced myself.

“Am I even relevant anymore?” Avery sighed.

“Nope,” me and Libby grinned simultaneously.

“Nash,” he nodded, shaking my hand, “nice to meet you too.”

“We’re going to get going now,” Avery said, “I haven’t shown her the bowling alley yet.”

My eyes widened, “bowling alley?”

“Catch you guys later,” she grinned, pulling me out of the kitchen.

“You have a bowling alley in your house,” I said, still in shock, “why didn’t you tell me already?”

“When’s the best time to bring up the fact you have a bowling alley, I mean it’s not exactly normal conversation,” she told me.

“Okay fair enough,” I responded, as we start walking again, “so are we meeting everyone like it’s a parody of sorts?”

“Seems like it,” she sighed,

“Tour of the hottie Hawthorne’s,” I joked, spreading my arms out to reveal an invisible sign.

She giggled, “hottie?”

“Oh please, you can’t deny it, they’re all gorgeous so far,” I said.

She looked around cautiously, “they could be listening you know?”

“Oh well I’m sure they know,” I scoffed, “besides you’re telling me that you don’t find at least one of them attractive?”

“Moving on,” she said quickly, brushing over the subject, with pink-tinged cheeks.

“Are you blushing?” I asked her.

“No,“ she replied bluntly, “shut up.”

“You’re blushing,” I sang, “which one is it? Oh please tell me Ave!”

“None of them,” she insisted, digging her heals in.

“I don’t believe you,” I said, narrowing my eyes at her.

She replied, “that’s because you have trust issues.”

“No it’s because I know you’re lying,” I told her.

She didn’t reply.

“You better tell me fast because I will attempt to make a move on one of them at some point,” I warned her, “Nash is already out of the question because he’s Libby’s, so which ones yours? I’ll pick between the other two.”

She laughed. It was the first time since we’d met up that I’d seen her properly crack a smile, her eyes fully lighting up, “pick whoever you want, no one’s mine.”

“You might regret saying that later on,” I warned her.

“Doubt it,” she shrugged, “just be careful, okay? These people, this family… just be careful.”

“I will, promise,” I nodded, “so who’s on stage next in ‘let’s meet the Hawthorne brothers’.”

“It’s a surprise,” Avery said,

I smiled, “oooo how intriguing!”

We turned the corner and I noticed someone approaching. Avery did too, as I noticed her breathing sped up a little.

“Speak of the devil and I mean the literal devil, here comes another,” she muttered.

Approaching us was a blonde. Like his brothers, he was tall, but not as tall. He was dressed in what looked to be a highly expensive suit and matching designer shoes. His face was serious and unemotional, like it was paralysed in a state of seriousness.

“Woah, hello jawline,” I mumbled, after catching a glimpse.

“Wait until he looks you in the eyes,” Avery murmured.

“Oh god he walks really fast,” I said quietly, as he approached closer and closer.

She grinned at me, “rich boy leg strides.”

I tried to smile but fail, “Why is my heart beating so fast?”

“He has that effect of people,” she shrugged, “intimidation.”

“Why does he look like he wants to kill me,” I said under my breath when he was about two meters away.

“That’s just his face,” she reassured me.

I began to ask another question, “Are-“

“Shut up,” Avery hissed and I understood why. The blonde had stopped infront of us and he was staring me up and down, as if he were scanning for some sort of hidden weapon I had.

“Who’s this?” Goldilocks snapped, his voice clearly portraying his dominance.

“A friend,” Avery replied curtly.

“A potential threat,” he said sharply.

Why did everyone in this place think I was some sort of axe-murderer. Was it common in Texas or something?

“She’s none of your business,” Avery grits through her teeth.

“We’ll see about that,” he replied walking away.

He hadn’t bothered to introduce himself, though I couldn’t work out if it was because he felt I was too below him or he just didn’t feel a need to. Whatever it was, it was clear that there was a tension between those two, but I decided not to bring it up yet.

“What’s he going to do? Research me?” I scoffed.

Avery shrugged as we continue walking, “probably.”

“You’re kidding!” I laughed.

“I wish I was,” she said, wiping the smile off of my face.

“So I take it he’s the one that hates you for breathing?” I clarified, mentally ticking him off of my list of what Hawthorne’s I had met and what ones I hadn’t.

“Yep,” she nodded, “that was Grayson.”

“Yeesh, his jawline looked dangerously sharp,” I winced.

“Better not get on the wrong side of it,” she winked.

“I think I already am,” I blew out a breath, “I mean if looks could kill…”

“Oh we’d both be long gone,” Avery giggled.

“I get the eye thing now,” I groaned rubbing my eyes, “god, ouch, it burns.”

“Doesn’t the piercing grey just give you a headache?” she asked.

“It really does, have you got aspirin?” I said.

She shrugged, “somewhere in the maze of a house.”

“Was he wearing a designer suit?” I was dying to ask.

“Always,” she nodded.

“You’re kidding, all the time?” I gaped.

She sighed, “All the time.”

***

We spent the rest of the day in various different places. I adored the library and the dance studio as well as the karaoke bar and swimming pool. These people had everything. But something was playing on my mind. I’d met three of the four Hawthornes, which meant there was still one to go. I hadn’t seen the other all day, but I had stumbled across his brothers another few times. I found it odd. Avery only shrugged when I asked her about it and presumed he was drunk somewhere. Avery and I had also convinced ourselves Grayson had a murder club, consisting only of himself, and we were the first on his hit-list. We figured if we went, we’d go together so it’d be alright.

Somehow, after touring not even a quarter of the house, we ended up back on her bed again, me catching her up on old school drama. I’d forgotten that she’d missed the break up of the century with an added cheating scandal from the girl with the guy’s brother.

“Hey I just need to run and find Libby a minute, I’ll be back,” she’d told me, after she’d received a text in her phone.

“Everything okay?” I checked.

“Fine,” she nodded once, “I’ll be back soon.”

But soon didn’t feel that soon. It was a little awkward sat in someone else’s bedroom without them. I didn’t know what to do with myself. After a while, I decided I should look for Avery. I opened the door and smacked into someone and almost toppled over.

“You should really watch you’re going, heiress,” the person said.

“Maybe you should too,” I scowled, looking up to meet a pair of alluring green eyes.

“You’re not Avery,” he replied, looking very confused.

“Gee, you’re observant,” I rolled my eyes, then suddenly felt a pang of guilt, “sorry, I tend to overreact when I’m pissed off.”

“A quality we share,” he grinned slightly.

“I wouldn’t call it a quality,” I said.

I stared at him properly, he was tall with dark, unruly hair. He had a similar bone structure than his brothers but his face was softer than Grayson’s, his features warmer.

“One man’s trash is another man’s treasure,” he smiled, a witty, mischievous smile, “Jameson Hawthorne.”

He extended a hand towards me and I took swiftly it. His grip was hard, strong I noted. Jameson, the brother I was yet to meet. And dare I say it, he was the best looking by far.

“So who are you?” he asked.

“I’m y/n,” I said, “I’m a friend of Avery’s, I’ve come to stay with her.”

“That’s nice of you,” he commented, a little awkwardly.

“It’s the least I can do,” I replied quietly.

He doesn’t say anything back but I don’t want him to. It was hard enough focusing on conversation when he was looking at me. He was gorgeous. Simply gorgeous. His whole face with was the picture of perfection. Symmetrical, but not harshly, it was more of a mellow, kind symmetry, that enhanced all of his features. His soft looking lips, his nice shaped nose and his eyes. God those eyes. They were a rich green like nature, glistening with intelligent thoughts.

“Well I suppose I’ll see you around then,” he said, pocketing his hands.

“I suppose you will,” I replied.

He walked away slowly and I realised that evening that my stomach fluttered whenever I thought about the Hawthorne with the green eyes.

***

That night I found it so hard to sleep. Avery was out in a mere few minutes but I couldn’t even shut my eyes. Tossing and turning and tossing and turning until I got so bored that I just slipped out of bed all together. I pulled a pair of socks on and left Avery’s room, beginning to wonder the dark hallway. I didn’t really think any of it through. Wandering in the dark, alone, in a house I didn’t know, surrounded by people I didn’t know.

“Midnight wandering are we?”

His voice made me jump but I didn’t let him see that. I turned around to see Jameson Hawthorne stood behind me. How long had he been there then? He looked so poised, so ready, like a big cat on the prowl. He needed to know I wasn’t his prey.

“Maybe,” I replied, a smile adorning my lips, “but even if I am I don’t know why that’s any of your concern.”

“Maybe I’m not concerned, just curious,” he said, “are you lost?”

“No,” I lied to myself and the world.

He waited a few beats.

“Maybe a little,” I smiled shyly, “this place is even harder the navigate in the dark.”

“Lucky for you I know it like the back of my hand,” he did, extending his hand towards me.

I stared at it, “do you want me to hold it or something?”

“No,” he shrugged, “I mean if you want to-“

“No,” I blurted out quickly, “not at all.”

He dropped his hand, a shadow of an expression I couldn’t read shifting across his face.

“Follow me then,” he said, shooting me a lopsided grin that I somehow manage to make out in the dark.

I walked beside him. He was wearing a plain black t-shirt and slightly baggy pyjama pants. My cheeked heated up as I suddenly became horribly aware that I was dressed in my pyjama top reading ‘I need coffee’ and shorts decorated with cartoon coffee cups. I hoped Jameson wasn’t paying that much attention to me.

“So why are you awake?” he asked casually.

“I can’t sleep,” I replied bluntly. There wasn’t much more to it.

“Straight forward as that?” he said.

“Pretty much,” I shrugged, “why are you awake?”

“Can’t sleep,” he replied, with a small smile.

“Copycat,” I teased.

“Am I stealing your thunder?” he played along.

“Very much so,” I said, folding my arms across my chest, with a pointed stare laced with banter.

“My deepest apologies,” he exaggerated.

“Not accepted!” I exclaimed.

He grinned, then shoved his hands in his pockets, “Where do you want to go first?”

“Where would you like to take me?” I countered.

“I respect people who answer questions with questions,” he noted.

“Good because I do it far too often,” I told him.

“We’re going to the games room,” he announced.

“Why?” I questioned, like a whiny child.

“Because it is where I’d like to take you,” he shrugged delicately, before picking up the pace with longer leg strides.

I struggled to keep up as I asked, “this isn’t going to be like one of those sadistic murders where you cook me alive and blame it on someone else is it?”

“How did you figure out my master plan?” he teased, with a joking expression.

“I guess you’re just too predictable,” I replied, with a laugh.

“So you watch true crime then?” Jameson said.

From that comment I gathered he was an analyser. Just like me. He analysed conversation and made educated assumptions about people. But what split us apart was that he had the courage to say it to there faces, I kept all my observations in my head. I didn’t care if they were unconfirmed. But Jameson did.

“I listen to a podcast now and then, not a fanatic or anything like that,” I replied.

“Should we play a game?” he said to me, changing the subject suddenly.

“I thought we were going to a games room?” I said.

He thought for a moment and then responded, “a pre-game game.”

“I’ve heard you and your family are quite fond of those,” I said.

“Oh really?” he joked, quirking a brow.

“Yes really,” I grinned back.

“I see,” he pondered “and do you like games?”

“Depends,” I replied.

“On…” he prompted.

“What I’m playing,” I told him, “who I’m playing it with and why I’m playing it.”

“Interesting,” he hummed, opting thoughtful tone, “the man who makes it doesn’t want it, the man who buys it doesn’t need it and the man who needs it doesn’t know it yet.”

“Is that a riddle?” I almost laughed. It was so out of the blue, so sudden asking me a riddle in the middle of a conversation.

“Is my last name Hawthorne?” he countered with a smirk.

“A coffin,” I answered briskly. It wasn’t difficult to work out.

His eyebrows flew to his forehead, “that was fast.”

“Your riddle was maudlin and far too simple,” I shrugged.

He raised an eyebrow, “too easy? Okay, let’s try another and see if you’re as cocky.”

“Not cocky, just honest,” I replied.

He paused for a moment, thinking, “how can you physically stand behind your father while he is standing behind you?”

“My father is dead,” I said. It was true. I don’t know he I suddenly felt the need to blurt it out. It just happened.

“Oh-“

“But we’d have to be standing back to back,” I replied quietly, “that’s the answer to your riddle.”

“Correct again,” he nodded, then hesitated, “and I’m sorry about your dad,”

“Oh it’s okay, it’s not your fault,” I shrugged lightly, “I was young when it happened.”

I didn’t remember much, just being told I wouldn’t see him ever again. I had asked why and they had said he was going to stay in the stars now. And when I asked them if he’d ever come and visit, they told me couldn’t. So I cried. During the most part of my childhood I despised the stars, I’d stare up at them with a tear streaked face and curse them for stealing my dad. When I got older I realised the only thief was death and that the stars were nothing but a metaphor to hold a memory.

“I’m sorry,” he said again.

I shoot him a small smiled, letting him know I’m okay and that we can move on. He read my expression well and together we carry on. After a little while he stopped in his tracks outside a set of doors. I almost crashed into the back of him as he paused to abruptly. He swung both doors open at the same time, having a little ‘Elsa’ moment in let it go, as he walked through with his held high. I quickly followed, trying not to gape at the extraordinary components of the room.

There was a pool or was it a snooker table, there was air hockey, ping pong, table football, everything you could ever imagine. There was also a regular coffee table, surrounded by comfy looking chairs and a sofa. But what caught my eye the most was the games cabinet. It was a sight to behold. It covered an entire wall and reached all the way up to the ceiling. There was a ladder on the side that looked like it could slide across, like a book ladder. Within the cabinet laid dozens upon dozens of board games and other games alike were piled atop of each other, like books in an old crooked bookshop, all slanted and uneven in the most perfect of ways. There must’ve been thousands of games here. Jameson caught me staring.

“Ever played chess?” he asked, cocking his head to the side.

“I don’t live under a rock you know,” I deadpanned.

He cracked a smile, “good.”

He jumped on the ladder and swiftly pulled out one of the several chessboards from the shelf and placed it down on the little coffee table. I followed him there and we both sat down. He then began to set it up and I was quick to help out the pieces in place.

“How good are you?” he asked.

“Why? You scared?” I teased, attempting to psych him out before the game even started.

“Only curious,” he said, cool as a cucumber.

“I can’t say,” I shrugged, “how can I judge my own ability fairly, I’m biased.”

“I suppose,” he replied, “but you would know if you’re alright at it.”

“I’ve won before,” I said. Actually I’d won quite a lot before, many many times. I wasn’t exactly lying, just being vague to work in my favour.

The board is set up, “what colour?”

“You choose,” I told him.

He shifted the board so the black chess pieces are on his side. Secretly my preference was the white anyway. I did a quick analysis of the board and sketch out a rough game plan in my head. I didn’t spend to long thinking, this game could go anyway and I didn’t want to be thrown off, but knowing what you sort of want to do was a start. Definitely the first few moves anyway.

“You start,” he urged.

“Such a gentleman,” I joked.

“I can’t help it,” Jameson winked in response.

I picked up a pawn between my middle finger a thumb, surprised at how smooth the finish was. This was an expensive chess set. I went with my classic start move of two spaces forwards into the centre. He grinned and mirrored the move on his turn.

“Copycat,” I teased.

“I would apologise but you still haven’t forgiven me from earlier,” he shrugged in reply.

“And I probably never will,” I grinned.

“Is this the beginning of some Shakespearean vendetta?” he scoffed, with a playful undertone.

“It might be, we’ll have to see,” I shrugged, “I haven’t decided whether it’s a comedy or tragedy yet.”

“Pick comedy, I don’t want to die at the end,” he said.

“We’re all going to die at the end,” I told him.

He replied, “not what I meant.”

“I know,” I smiled.

“You’re getting in my head,” he observed, realising my tactic.

“Am I?” I asked, batting my eyelashes.

“Yes you’re distracting me from the game,” he said sharply.

“Oh I hadn’t even realised!” I exclaim, doe eyed and innocent.

He narrowed his eyes at me, “your move.”

“Right,” I nodded.

We didn’t have much conversation after that. Actually the only conversation consisted of ‘your turn’ or ‘thanks’. Other than that only the sound of chess pieces being slid about the board could be heard as well as the dull silence that seemed like the loudest sound of them all.

Jameson had a lot of my pieces, the ones I didn’t need in my opinion. I let him have them, I want him to think I don’t know how to defend my pieces.

go on… my mind smiles, please. underestimate me.

I was deceptive and wanted him to underestimate me so I could surprise him, catch him off guard and steal the game from right under his annoyingly perfect nose. But Jameson Hawthorne wasn’t a big of a fool as I thought him to be. The few times I’d been forced to pull out critical moves, he noted them. He began to realise my talent for the game about half way through. He too was a talented player. His moves were swift but calculated, he was going to be a hard opponent to beat.

Move after move. Minute after minute. It was getting intense. Every move was critical, every second in between play was agonising. I found myself constantly self-consciously chewing on my bottom lip, captivated in my concentrated state.

He made his move and suddenly I realised what I can do. I could take a risk and bargain on what his next move was to trick him, but the tactic would only work if he moved the piece I needed him to move, otherwise it was checkmate for me. I sat there, weighing up my options. There was a chance he’d work it out and beat me, but there was also a chance he wouldn’t and I’d beat him. My eyes darted from left to right and back again until I impulsively took the chance. Praying my efforts had paid off, I watch his painstakingly slow next move. He shifted his knight diagonally by two. I wanted to stand up and scream in joy. I had him trapped. Brilliant. My calculated risk had actually worked. I kept a poker face as I realised he’d not yet noticed that I was a venus flytrap and he had crawled blindly towards me.

“Checkmate,” I smiled, leaning back.

His eyes were wide with surprise as his eyebrows shot up to his forehead. The reaction was so real, he didn’t have time to hide it. His jaw wanted to hang down but he was stopping it, I could see the clenched muscles.

“What?” I asked “didn’t plan on being beaten?”

“I was going easy on you,” he gritted through his teeth.

I grinned widely. So losing was a sore spot for Me Hawthorne. Interesting.

“That would explain why you look so shocked that I won,” I said with a sweet victorious smile.

“Fine, rematch but this time we play Hawthorne chess,” he replied, as if it were a deadly game.

“Hawthorne chess?” I raised my eyebrows.

He only smirked in reply.

***

He explained the rules. It was a lot like regular chess but there were six boards to play over and a few added rules that confused me. It wasn’t long before Jameson had me cornered.

“Checkmate,” he grinned, nicking my king.

“I was going easy on you,” I teased, mocking his earlier comment.

“Ha-ha,” he deadpanned, looking very unamused.

“Is your ego mended now you have a win?” I asked.

“Not quite,” he replied.

“Shame,” I pouted.

“Another match?” he suggested.

I shook my head then rubbed my temples, “I can feel a headache coming on. It’s probably from my lack of sleep.”

“Do you want me to walk you to bed?” he offered.

I shook my head again, “I’m not tired. My head just hurts.”

“I know something that might help,” he said.

“Okay,” I agreed.

“Fancy taking a trip the kitchen?”

“This is feeling very serial killer-y again.”

“I only snap into serial killer-y mode every third Wednesday,” he joked.

“Well now I know I’m safe!” I grinned back at him

***

We walked to the kitchen together and I noted it was a completely different route to the one I’d taken with Xander’s instructions this morning with Avery.

Once we got there Jameson leaned against the counter and asked me, “do you like hot chocolate?”

I nodded.

“Or would you prefer a coffee?”

His eyes were pinned to my pyjama set as he said it. I self-consciously looked down and blush a deep shade of scarlet, remembering the deign, as he snickered.

“Very witty,” I rolled my eyes sarcastically, “hot chocolate is fine.”

He fumbled around for a saucepan in the endless row of cupboards. I didn’t know how he knew which one to search in, they were all identical. He put it onto the hob and added some milk.

“Our cook goes home after serving dinner so I’ve gotten pretty good at midnight concoctions,” he explained.

“The way you say that makes me a little nervous there,” I told him.

“Maybe you should be,” he flashed a smile.

He put the hon on to heat up the milk and grabbed the instant hot chocolate powder, whipped cream, mini marshmallows and sprinkles.

“Are you five years old?” I laughed.

“Mentally,” he nodded, “is that an issue?”

“Not at all,” I said , “I’m with you there.”

“Nice to know I have a fellow person who had the metal capacity of five year old too,” he beamed, “our conversations will be incredible.”

“We’re having a conversation right now,” I stuck my tongue out, childishly.

“I’m describing the ones in the future,” he rolled his eyes, before returning my tongue gesture by poking out his own.

I smiled to myself as I watched him silently. Even at this time at night - or was it morning by now - he looked good. I wished I could see him like this every night and not feel like I was stealing glances at him.

“So what about you?” Jameson asked suddenly.

“What about me?” I chuckled.

“Well I don’t know much about you,” he clarified.

“You know my name,” I shrugged, searching for more information about myself, “I’m seventeen, Avery is my best friend, my dad’s dead, I like hot chocolate but I also like coffee, I find the rain relaxing, I used to play chess a lot, I like to read novels, I don’t like sleeping but I do all at the same time… now what about you?”

“What about me?” he tilted his head to the side, copying what is aid moments ago

“I gave you my information now you give me yours.”

“Jameson Winchester Hawthorne, I’m eighteen,” he began, “my best friends are my brothers, I don’t know my dad at all, my grandfather liked to give me games, I like hot chocolate and coffee, I prefer the snow to the rain, I have played chess since I could talk, I like to read too and I love sleeping but I don’t do enough of it.”

He’s countered all off my points and mirrored them with his own. It was interesting to compare us. We were similar but so different. I was about to reply but he cut me off.

“Woah!”

“What?” I asked.

“The milk!” He yelled, worry outlining his features.

I spun around to see the saucepan emitting in a thick blanket of steam.

“Why is it smoking? Can milk even smoke?” he shouted.

“It’s steam!” I rolled my eyes.

“Can milk even steam then?” he quipped.

“It’s a boiling liquid of course it can steam!” I exclaimed, for someone so smart, I did wonder how he was acting so stupidly.

“What do I do?” he panicked, the stress evident.

“Take it off the heat!” I cried out. I’d thought that was logical but no. Apparently it was not.

“Oh shit, yeah,” he said, almost laughing

He took the pan off of the heat and the steam began to die down. We made eye contact and started laughing like mad people, until our lungs couldn’t take it anymore and we had to get our breaths back, our bellies aching. We just seemed to fit, me and him. It was like we were the two missing pieces of a jigsaw that have been lost between the sofa cushions for years and now we’d finally been found and put together to complete the puzzle.

The milk turned out pretty much okay and we prepared the drinks a lot easier than we’d heated them. Jameson added every topping going excessively, which made me shake my head and laugh. When we were both done I took a sip, the warm liquid seeping through my body to the tips of my toes, making me feel a little less cold. It was delicious.

“Verdict boss?”

“S’alright,” I shrugged, “I’m kidding, it’s really lovely actually.”

“I agree,” he nodded, “maybe I should smoke my the milk more often.”

I laughed, “you didn’t smoke the milk, it just got a bit steamy.”

“Steamy,” he wiggled his eyebrows

“You really do have the brain of a five year old,” I sighed inwardly.

“Hey! I thought we already established that and moved on,” he said.

“I felt like we needed the conversation to resurface but we’ll put it to bed,” I sighed, then with a mischievous look on my face added, “for now.”

He grinned at me, taking another swig of his hot chocolate, this time getting whipped cream on his nose. I subtly rubbed my nose, hoping he’d mirror my body language or take the hint. He did. Silence hit us like a bus would hit an animal running across the road in the dead of night. Quickly. It wasn’t exactly uncomfortable but nor was it comfortable. It just was. The only sound was the occasional sip of our hot chocolates.

After a while, I became aware that he was looking at me, actually it was more like staring. It was an analytical look in his eyes, like I was some sort of science experiment rather than a person.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” I asked, trying not to squirm as he held his gaze.

“You’re a lot like Avery you know,” he replied thoughtfully.

The comment caught me off guard and I couldn’t work out why. It wasn’t exactly an insult but it hit me like one. Why was Avery on his mind? And why was she on his mind whilst he was looking at me?

“Our brains work in similar ways,” I hummed, “I think that’s why we’re so close.”

“I noticed that,” he nodded, “but I also noticed you’re quite different at the very same time.”

The same and different? Being cryptic, I’ve decided, is a Hawthorne personality trait.

“How so?” I said.

“There’s something about you that is…” he paused to find the right word, “bolder.”

Bold? Really? That was one of last words I would have described myself with.

“You’ve only known me for a day,” I scoffed, “and you haven’t exactly known Avery for that long either.”

“I know,” he replied, “but you’ll find I’m very observant.”

It was only then I noticed his smile. It was the same smile Nash had on his face when he looked a Libby. And I hated to admit it but he look beautiful. His eyes illuminated, sparkling, bright. He looked genuinely happy. It made my heart melt a little, I wanted to see that smile every day. There was only major problem. I didn’t know if he was smiling at the thought of me or the thought of Avery. He could have easily be thinking about either of us and I didn’t want to get the wrong idea.

“You think Avery’s some sort of riddle,” I stated, trying not to let the bitterness seep through my tone.

“And you don’t like that?” he observed, an eyebrow raised.

“Any person who values another as just another game doesn’t get my greatest sympathies, no,” I told him blatantly.

“And what if she is?” he challenged, defensive.

“Is that all she is to you? Just a game?” I asked, getting angrier by the second, “what happens when the game ends Hawthorne, ask yourself that.”

“Then the game ends,” he shrugged, nonchalant as ever, “there’s not much more to say.”

“So she becomes nothing if not a tool for your own wants and needs?” I asked, stating it as bluntly as a pencil that barely writes.

“I didn’t say that,” Jameson insisted, a mixture of feelings betraying the usual mask he hid behind.

“You’re implying it,” I hissed, my eyes overcast, darkened.

He didn’t deny it and that gave me the only answer I needed.

“Now I don’t know you very well, but from what I have to go off of, I didn’t pin you as someone who was selfish,” I told him, raw passion in my voice, “a little bit cocky and far too brave, sure, but not selfish,” I snapped, my tone sharper, “but you’re acting like it and it’s not fair.”

He didn’t reply. Instead he morphed into some sort of stone statue, unmoving, unemotional, unwavering. I felt like a mother scolding her reluctant child.

“And did you even consider how hard this has been for her?” I questioned him, “coming here, to this labyrinth of a house, her life now dictated by a will, forever changed. She’ll never be able to walk the streets again like a normal person without paparazzi bombarding her. She’s just about adjusting to living here, one of your brothers seems like he wants to kill her, you treat her as if she’s a game and she’s being bombarded by the media, I mean the poor girl doesn’t even know why she’s here. She didn’t ask for this and I don’t want her to have to put up with your ‘I’m a Hawthorne so I’m going to use you because I’m entitled’ shit.”

Again, I got no response. For someone so witty and poetic with his words it was odd that now he chose to be silent. He stood still and said nothing. I wanted to shake him until he made a sound but instead I chose to be diplomatic, I chose to carry on.

“You can’t think of her like that, it’s not fair. Not for her or for yourself,” I said, “if you go by your whole life thinking everyone and everything is a game you’re going to lose people, fast.”

“You sound experienced,” he finally said, not replying to a word of my rant just picking out who he thought I was.

“Yeah well maybe I am,” I laughed bitterly.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, “I didn’t realise what it might feel like from her perspective of things. I’m used to being in my grandfather’s world, a world full of games and tricks and puzzles.”

“People aren’t puzzles,” I snapped.

“I disagree with you there,” he said, “people shouldn’t be treated like puzzles but every person is a puzzle.”

“Am I a puzzle to you Jameson?” I challenged, taking a step towards him.

“You’re one of the most intriguing ones yet,” he whispered, moving closer to me.

“Funny, I think I could say the same about you,” I murmured.

My face was inches from his, close enough to see his beauty up close. It was even more breathtaking. He looked down at me, his eyes so tentative, so gentle. We moved closer into each other, like a magnetic force was reeling us in, we had no control. It felt natural, it felt right. Our lips were about to brush…

He cleared his throat and pulled away quickly. My face grew very flushed as my eyes darted to the nearest corner of the room I could focus on.

“Still not tired?” he asks after a few beats of silence.

“Not in the slightest,” I replied, our eyes connecting once again. The soft rolling fields of hypnotic emeralds once again speeding up my heart rate.

“Good because neither am I,” he smirked, “say, have you ever played strip bowling?”

Now this could get interesting.

a/n: again, I’m really sorry for how long this took me to write and I realise it’s not my most amazing work, so sorry 😔😔 I really wanted to portray a strong friendship with Avery as well as interest in Jameson but idk if that was achieved. anyways hope this was okay, thanks for reading <3

TIG masterlist

#jameson hawthorne #jameson hawthorne x reader #jameson x reader #jameson #i love jameson hawthorne #jameson winchester hawthorne #the inheritance games #tig #the brothers hawthorne #the final gambit #tig fics #tig fic #the hawthorne legacy #love to write #writing #the grandest game #tgg #jennifer lynn barnes

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littlemissmentallyunstable · 2 months

Text

title: the mysterious blonde (PART 3)

pairing: grayson hawthorne x (first person) reader

synopsis: you’re gigi’s best friend but the project is now over. does that mean the little moments you shared with her brother are over too?? that’s what you think until she invites you for a beach day…. but someone special comes along and it makes your day a whole lot better as well as shaping a future

parts: PART 1 PART 2 PART 3

warnings:

a/n: ‘the mysterious blonde’ has two parts prior to this one and it would make way more sense if you read those first. they linked above if you want to check them out or remind yourself of what happened…

tag list: @tornqdowarnings @whatsamongus @wish-i-were-heather @inmyheaddd @never-enough-novels @peterlcsingwendy @lxvebelle @xoxo-vee @emelia07 @f4iry-bell @zoyaaaabear @thoughtdaughter3 @benny1989fredd @elysianwayy77

After the project was over, there wasn’t much of an excuse for me to see Grayson. But luckily, Gigi was shipping us together so hard that she created lots of helpful excuses in order to create interactions. Except I wasn’t so good at the ‘creating interactions’ part. I couldn’t bring myself to look at the guy, let alone start a full conversation. That’s why at school, when me and Gigi were on lunch break, she sat me down and told me we had to discuss something.

“You need to talk to him more,” she says, staring me dead in the eye.

“I am trying,” I reply, sounding too unsure for it to be true.

“Liar,” she pokes her tongue out.

“Okay but isn’t it going to be super obvious if I just start having conversations with him,” I try to reason with her.

“No,” she shrugs as I’ve just asked her if the sun is green.

“Gigi have you ever talked to a guy before,” I ask her.

“That is offensive,” she gasps, fighting a smile.

I roll my eyes, “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Besides the point,” she announces, “you need to talk to him.”

She brings is back to the topic I was trying to change the subject from. Annoyingly there seems to be no way out.

“What about? I don’t even know what he likes,” I groan, “maybe we’re just not meant to be-“

“No I refuse,” Gigi interrupt, putting her palm on my face, “I want to be a bridesmaid at this wedding so I’m going to make it happen.”

I sigh as a comfortable silence falls upon us. I wish I had the courage to talk to him like a normal human but I’m so conscious of what he might think of me that I always seem to back out. There’d been times when I’d been close, for instance last night. We walked past one another and we smiled at each other and I almost turned around and mentioned something he’d said at dinner, but my heart was racing too much and the nerves took over.

“Swimming,” Gigi suddenly decrees.

“Huh?” I say, still partly in my thoughts, trying to process what she said and why.

“He likes swimming,” she clarifies, with a hand gesture.

Now that explained his body.

“Swimming?” I raise my eyebrows, attempting to figure out how I could possibly bring up swimming in a one on one conversation with him without sounding like an absolute stalker psycho.

“Don’t judge your husband,” she replies, slapping my arm lightly.

“Gigi,” I laugh, shaking my head.

“Look he’s coming for dinner tonight and I am going to make sure you guys are left in a room alone together so you have to talk,” she explains.

“That sounds really creepy out of context but thanks,” I grin.

This girl was a life saver. I mean she was literally making my, albeit questionable, love life actually happen. I couldn’t ask for anyone better. I make a mental note to buy her the worlds’ supply of chocolate covered pretzels when I get enough money.

“You’re so welcome,” she smiles, booping the tip of my nose as the bell rings.

***

Gigi stays true to her word, later that day I’m at her house. We’re just been hanging out as usual when she suggests we go downstairs into the living room. Coincidentally Grayson is there, looking gorgeously concentrated as he takes notes on something or other. We sit down on the sofa together, books in hand, when Gigi abruptly gets up. This is it. This is the moment.

“Sorry,” Gigi says to me quickly, “I’ll be back in a mo.”

“Okay,” I nod.

She gives me a wink before she leaves completely. I open my book. I need a distraction. I look down at the pages, the words all mushing into one giant mess. I can’t concentrate when Grayson is around. My hands are sweating and my leg is bouncing up and down uncontrollably. The silence is deafening. I need to start conversation but he looked so concentrated when I walked in. Would he be annoyed? Weirded out? Or would he not care at all? I stare harder at the mess of letters on my page praying for a drop of courage to emerge to the surface.

“What book are you reading?”

My heart almost stops there and then. His voice startles me so much that I my body jerks forwards and a small gasp escapes my lips. I look up to see Grayson looking at me, at me.

“Sorry, did I make you jump?” he asks gently, his tone laced with concern as his eyebrows pinch together

“Just a little,” I laugh nervously, before flipping to the cover on the book, “it’s Pride and Prejudice,”

A smile tugs at his lips, I’ve never seen a man so beautiful when he smiles, “it’s a very good book.”

“You’ve read it?” I say, surprised as my eyebrows fly to forehead.

“Multiple times,” he nods smoothly.

I smile, “woah.”

There’s a few beats of silence before he offers, “you know if you ever wanted to maybe talk about your opinion on it, I’d be happy to-“

“Really?” I cut him off before he can even get his sentence out, being too shocked he’d even ask to keep myself from blurting out a reply.

“Of course,” he says, a small smile playing on his lips.

“That would be really nice,” I reply, hoping my blush wasn’t as prominent as if felt, “thank you.”

“Of course,” he says again, as if it should be natural thing for him to want to talk to me, as of it was no problem

Theres a few beats of silence. I count as the second stick by, trying to work up the courage to use my voice, to say at least something.

“Gigi tells me you swim,” I manage.

I want the ground to swallow me whole. Murder me, murder me, murder me. Why did I say that and why did I say it so awkwardly? There was nothing, I repeat, nothing, that could have worsened my situation.

Grayson looks back up from his avid note taking and replies with a sweet, “I do.”

I couldn’t sense if he was trying to end the conversation there or didn’t know how to continue it but he didn’t seem to be carrying on with his work and he didn’t break my eye contact, so of course my stupid mouth has to carry on blabbing.

“Do you like it?”

“Yes, I find it quite calming,” he explains, “it gives me space to think.”

“Oh it’s one of those hobbies for you,” I say, feeling less apprehensive about naturally talking.

He nods.

“I like hobbies like that,” I continue, “things that just take you away from reality because it’s too much.”

“Do you swim?” he asks me.

“I mean I know how to but not competitively or anything like that,” I shrug.

I stare at his facial expression which is unwavering. Why can’t I read him like I can read Gigi? Is he disappointed? Pleased? Does he even care? I’m running around in circles like a headless chicken.

“What do you like to do?” he says, his voice so soft.

He asked about me. I’m taken aback. He cares enough about me to ask what I like. Maybe I’m being slightly delusional but I don’t care, sometimes delusional thoughts are just better than reality. Then again, why would he have asked if he didn’t acre? Could it just be small talk or is he genuinely concerned? I ponder my answer for far too long.

I almost reply but Savannah walks in asking a question, “hey where’s Gigi, I’ve been looking for her everywhere?”

Typical timing, I mentally sigh. I abandon my conversation with Grayson turn to her instead.

“I don’t know,” I shrug, “she said she needed to go for a couple of minutes.”

“Where?” she says, gesturing with her hands.

“I don’t know,” I repeat, “she didn’t really specify.”

“That isn’t helpful,” Savannah groans.

I raise my eyebrows slightly, silently asking her if she was okay. She moves her head forwards slightly, letting me know she is actually okay. She has dark circles under her eyes and a restless look on her face. I can only assume she’s exhausted, annoyed and probably has some sort of headache.

“Have you really checked everywhere?” Grayson pipes up.

“Why? Think you can a better job?” she challenges, arms folded and eyes narrowed at him.

“I was only asking,” Grayson shrugs, “you know what Gigi is like, she-“

“Did someone say my name?” Gigi calls from what sounds like the hallway.

Footsteps approach slowly and Gigi appears behind her twin.

Savannah turns around, “Where have you been?”

“Bathroom,” she answers but I can tell she’s lying by the way she fidgets with her thumb and finger in circular motions.

“I checked there and you weren’t,” her sister replies, her tone rather short.

“Well I went to my bedroom first and then the bathroom, you must’ve just missed me,” Gigi shrugs. Lie number two.

“Okay,” Savannah says sceptically, narrowing her eyes.

***

After my encounter with Grayson on that day I haven’t seen him since. I’ve been over to Gigi’s but she’s explained how he’s been away with his brothers for a bit. I start to lose hope and feelings feel like they might be fading. But it’s the day Gigi invites me out to the beach for the day that things sort of began to change. She texts me the night before and tells me to pack for a beach day. At first I’m a little uneasy but I get over it as she hypes me up to come, via facetime. Now I’m locking up my house and getting into her car, beach day ready. Oh the power of Gigi Grayson’s persuasion.

“We’re going to have the best day in the world,” she assures me as we walk from my door to her car.

“You say that almost every day,” I chuckle lightly

“Can you just not be a Debbie Downer for one day?” she whines at me, her eyes almost glossy.

“I am not a Debbie Downer, I am a Rachel Realist,” I reply, scrunching up my nose playfully,

“That’s not a thing,” she insists, folding her arms across her chest.

“It is now,” I laugh.

“You look more like a Ruth,” Gigi snickers, proud of herself.

My face falls flat, “hey! That’s just mean!”

She sticks her tongue out, throwing her head back as she laughs even harder at my disapproval. When she eventually calms down she looks me in the eye and tells me, “oh and by the way there’s a little surprise for you in the car.”

“Why am I scared?” I ask her, my tone failing to stay steady.

“Have fun,” she sing-sings with a little wink.

“Gigi what did you do?” I say accusingly, worry creeping up into my thumping heart.

“Nothing, nothing, nothing,” she replies, flapping her arms about for me to get into the car, but I’m still too scared.

“Three nothings equal a something,” I exclaim, panicking slightly. A million and one possibilities race through my head.

“How?” she furrows her brows.

“It’s basic math,” I say.

“Just get in,” she groans, pushing me towards the door.

I have no choice. And even after a million and one possibilities, none had prepared me for the one infront of me. Grayson Hawthorne was in the drivers’ seat. My jaw physically drops and I stare at Gigi. She would be getting an earful later. I can’t believe he’s actually here and coming with us. He turns around in his seat to look at me. Grey eyes are pinned to mine and a small smile lands on his lips.

“Hello y/n,” he says gently.

I almost melt right there and then. What is this guy doing to me? How is he doing it to me? Why is he doing it to me? The butterflies in my stomach seem to have multiplied since our last encounter.

“Hi Grayson,” I smile back

“It’s good to see you again,” he replies.

I am internally screaming. I can’t believe he just said that. I can practically feel Gigi’s excitement radiating off of her. I try and keep my cool.

“You too,” I say, then look to the passenger seat, “hey Sav.”

“Hey,” she grins at me, “you okay?”

I nod.

“Let’s drive!” Gigi yells, as Grayson starts up the engine, “oooo can I do the playlist!”

“You packed the snacks,” Savannah complains, “I want to at least get a choice in something.”

“Yeah but your music taste is horrible,” she counters, with a sweet shrug.

“Is not!” she protests, throwing her hands in the air.

I can feel Gigi’s eyes burning holes into the side of my face, I look back at her. She stares at me expectantly.

“Why are you looking at me?” I ask slowly.

“Back up,” she explains.

I am about to be in the middle of a sister argument and I really don’t want to be.

“Hey I’ve never said anything about Savannah’s music taste,” I say, forcing part of a laugh.

“Yeah but I can hear you thinking it,” Gigi tells me

“No you can’t!” I reply, then turn to Savannah, “some of it is good.”

“Ha!” she grins at Gigi, jabbing a finger towards her face.

“I don’t know why you’re ha-ing Savannah, I should be the one ha-ing, she half agreed with me,” she replies, arms folded.

“And half agreed with me, stupid,” Savannah rolls her eyes.

“Do you have to be a peace maker between the two of us?” Gigi turns back to me.

“I am not getting in the middle of this,” I tell her, my hands up in the air as if I’ve been accused of a crime.

“Good choice.”

My heart flutters. Every time he talks my heart flutters. I bite back a smile as I catch his eye in the rear-view mirror. A kind eye, a sympathetic eye, a beautiful eye.

“Oh you can stay out of it Mr I only listen to depressing old man music,” Savannah scoffs, lowering her voice an octave or so.

“It’s called being classy,” he says, “you might be unfamiliar with the concept.”

“I would punch you if you weren’t driving,” she grumbles.

“And I would easily dodge,” Grayson replies.

“Guys were making y/n uncomfortable,” Gigi pipes up suddenly.

“I’m fine,” I say quickly and insanely awkwardly.

“She’s seen us fight before Gigi,” Savannah scowls, probably still bitter about the playlist comment.

“Not like this,” she replies, “let’s all just stop, I want a nice day.”

Silence hits us like a bus. A massive double decker bus. No one speaks for a full twenty minutes. The silence is awkward and uncomfortable and I don’t think anyone knows how to break it. All I know is I’m definitely not going to be the one to break it. Suddenly it becomes apparent that Grayson flicks the radio on, as music starts to play.

The drive is mostly smooth sailing from there and conversations pick up here and there. None of which have remotely argumentative undertones, thank the lords. Though at various points Gigi would stick her head out of the window, scream or sing, and then Grayson would tell her off for being so dangerous and explain how worrying it was. I think it is adorable, personally but I think I’m a little bias. Savannah talks a bit about her upcoming basketball tournament, it’s an important season apparently and me and Gigi agree to make every game. But unfortunately for me, the person who spoke the least was Grayson.

***

When we finally arrive at the beach and park the car, we all get out stretching our stiff limbs. That’s when I take Gigi’s arm and drag her off to the side, talking in a low enough tone so no one else can hear us. I want answers and I want them fast.

“You didn’t think to tell me!” I hiss.

“It needed to be a surprise,” she replies, knowing exactly what I’m talking about.

“I don’t like surprises,” I tell her.

“How can you not like surprises!” she exclaims, looking slightly offended.

“Gigi why would you do this?” I sigh, getting back on track.

“I’m trying to help you out,” she says.

“This isn’t helping me out, it’s going to be awkward,” I groan.

“Just talk to him,” Gigi shrugs, as if it’s the easiest thing in the world.

“I can’t, I actually can’t,” I explain.

“You’re going to,” she orders, “today.”

“Gigi, no.” I reply, a warning undertone laced into my voice.

“y/n yes, “she says firmly, “you know nothings ever going to change if you don’t make it happen.”

“Why isn’t he trying to make it happen?” I retort, arms folded.

“Because you’re not and he might think you’re uninvested,” she suggests.

“And what if he’s uninvested,” I press on.

“I don’t think he is,” Gigi tells me, “but it’s the best way to find out.”

“Gigi!” I exclaim, almost slapping her arm.

“Look if anything just have fun okay, we’re at a beach,” she shrugs.

She had done all of this for me, to help me and my sorry excuse for a love life out. And I didn’t mean to seem ungrateful but this is probably the worst thing for my love life right now. I couldn’t pull myself together around him. He makes me so nervous, so self conscious… but I suppose now I have no choice.

“You two coming?” Savannah shouts over her shoulder.

“Yeah!” I reply, beginning to walk over.

Gigi follows and we make it to the boot of the car. I look for my bag but can’t seem to find it. I do a double take but still can’t seem to spot it.

I begin to ask, “where did my-“

“I’ve got it.”

Tingles run down my spine. I don’t understand how just his voice can do this to me. It’s not normal. I turn around to see Grayson carrying several bags in his hands including mine. Our eye meet suddenly and I want to say so many thing yet each set of words just die in my throat.

“You don’t have to-“ I say.

“It’s okay,” Grayson replies.

“Seriously I don’t mind,” I reassure him, extending my hand out.

“I’ll carry it down for you,” he tells me.

“Are you sure?”

“Very,” he responds, a kindness in his eyes.

“It’s kind of heavy though,” I say, recalling how much I’d shoved into one tiny bag.

“All the more reason for you not to break your shoulder carrying it,” he grins at me.

“What if you break yours?” I say tilting my head to the side.

“It wouldn’t be the first time,” he shrugs simply.

I gape, wide-eyed, very tempted to ask for more details on the story but before I can he continues.

“Besides it would be worth it.”

I think I almost faint, I feel my knees go slightly weak. I really hope he meant it how I thought he meant it. It would be worth it, worth breaking his shoulder… for me? It is stupid, it’s utterly stupid that I’m overanalysing five stupid words. I shake my head and collect myself.

“Can we get coffee?” Gigi skips along the pathway.

“No,” Grayson says almost immediately.

“I fancy some too though,” Savannah says, “y/n?”

“I could do with some coffee,” I agree.

“Three over one,” Gigi says in a sing-song tone, booping the tip of her brother’s nose.

“You’re getting decaf,” Grayson tells her, sternly.

They continue a little argument, backs and forth like a ping pong game. Me and Savannah share a look stifling our giggles behind our hands. As we walk behind, I admire Grayson. I can’t help it. He radiates this beauty, that’s so addictive that is struggle to look away. I’m still so embarrassed he felt the need to carry my things… was it just a nice gesture or did he think I was weak or maybe I was just reading too much into the whole affair. My mind races with so many different thoughts, so fast and so hard I’m beginning to get a headache.

We arrive outside a drinks place and find a place to sit down. After the long drive there’s nothing more I wanted than a cold coffee. Not to mention I’d forgotten to make my morning cup this morning. My mind finally decides to slow down to a dull humming. A waitress comes over and takes our orders and I notice Grayson telling her quietly to make sure Gigi’s was decaf as her and Savannah get into deep conversation.

Then Grayson turns to me, “you know they’re starting to show old movies at the movie theatre on Saturday nights.”

“Oh that’s so cool,” I reply.

“This weekend the 1940s version of Pride and Prejudice is being screened,” he tells me.

“No way!” I exclaim my eyes wide with excitement.

He nods, with a small smile. The waitress comes around with the coffees and as soon as she’s gone I return the conversation.

“I just finished it yesterday,” I explain to him.

“And…” he asks, prompting me.

I pause for a moment and then say, “I’m conflicted.”

“And why is that?” he wonders aloud.

“Because I loved every second of it and now it’s just over,” I groan, “gone. I can never relive the first time again.”

“You can’t relive the first time but you can relive the moment again,” he says, “and it’s not over forever.”

“How so?” I reply.

“Stories shall forever continue in our minds and as long as we have the power to tell them they never really go anywhere,” Grayson says, almost wistfully.

“Huh…” I murmur, trailing off slightly, “I’d never thought of it like that before.”

“You guys should go together,” comes Gigi’s voice, surprising me quite suddenly.

“What?” I ask, more quickly and loudly than I’d intended.

“The Pride and Prejudice movie one Saturday,” she clarifies, “you both seem really into it.”

Grayson looks slightly alarmed and replies, “I’m sure y/n is very busy and I don’t want to pressure her into-“

“No I’m free, completely free,” I cut him off. I mentally face palm as I realise how horribly obvious that sounded. Gigi shoots me a knowing grin which I choose to kindly ignore.

“Oh… then would you like to go with me this Saturday?” Grayson asks, looking me dead in the eye.

His eyes are so distracting if the question hadn’t been so important I most likely would’ve forgotten how to answer.

“I would love to,” I smile, trying not to sound too eager.

We lock into this trance of staring at one another. Magnetised by our eyes, unable to be the first to look away. The smile on my lips was beginning to make my jaw ache but I didn’t cadre stop. Only an idiot would give up a moment like this.

“Hey y/n, I need the bathroom, come with me real quick?” Gigi asks, prodding my shoulder.

“Of course,” I nod, grabbing my bag, finally tearing my gaze away.

“We’ll get set up down at the beach,” Savannah says, nodding to Grayson.

“What about the coffees?” Gigi pouts.

“We’ll take them, don’t worry,” Savannah rolls her eyes with a smile.

As soon as we’re out of earshot and view, Gigi holds my hands a squeals and so do I. After little jumping up and down, hugging and screaming and a lot of weird looks we take a second to absorb what just happened.

“I’m going to a movie with Grayson this Saturday,” I finally say it out loud, the reality actually hitting me for the first time. I didn’t realise how in shock I’d been until now.

“It’s basically a date,” Gigi says.

“Literally,” I shrug, ignoring we’re completely delusional.

“I think he likes you,” she sings, giggling a little.

“That’s because you want it to happen,” I sigh.

“No I saw him looking at you,” she tells me.

“Well yeah, I was speaking to him,” I deadpan.

“No, when you weren’t looking at him dummy!” she exclaims, rolling her eyes melodramatically.

“You sure?” I ask her, my voice small and uncertain.

She nods enthusiastically.

“Gigi I can’t thank you enough,” I gush, a sudden surge of gratitude coming over me.

“Why?” she replies, looking very confused.

“You literally made it happen, you’re the reason I’m going out with him on Saturday,” I explain, suddenly regretting being so mad at her earlier for inviting Grayson as a surprise.

“All in a days work,” she winks at me.

“I will name my firstborn child after you, to show my gratitude,” I say.

“Awwwwhhh a little Gigi Hawthorne,” she says, putting her hand over her chest.

“A little Gigi Hawthorne.” I confirm, “hopefully anyway.”

We decide that we probably should get back to the others now and make our way down onto the beach together, laughing so hard we struggle to keep ourselves up right or walk in remotely straight lines. People give us strange looks but our bellies are aching and our lungs are dying far too much for us to care.

“Can you see them?” I ask, short of breath from wheezing.

“No…” Gigi says, giggling.

“Oh there’s Grayson,” I say, spotting our beach towels and umbrellas set up, with Grayson lying under them.

“Of course you spotted him,” she teases me.

“Shut up!” I exclaim, slapping her arm.

She laughs again as we make our way towards a very shirtless Grayson. I mean I’d seen him without a shirt before but today it was just different. The sun bounces off of his skin at a perfect angle, and the crown of blonde hair on his head glows.

“Quit gawking,” Gigi snaps me out of my trance, “that’s still my brother you know.”

“I am not gawking,” I hiss at her.

“Oh please, there’s drool running down the side of your mouth,” she tells me, pointing.

“Really?” I ask, self consciously wipe the side of my mouth.

Gigi winks at me laughing. I roll my eyes, unamused and slap the side of her arm.

“You’re not funny,” I say.

“I think that was hilarious,” she grins.

Grayson now spots us and waves us over. We both walk a little faster towards him. Savannah and Grayson had clearly already set up the umbrellas and beach towels perfectly, though I couldn’t see Savannah with him.

“What’s got you so smiley Gigi?” he asks, as we approach.

“Oh nothing,” she sing songs, smiling at me, “where’s Savannah?”

“I think she went to go and hire a surf board,” he explains.

“Ooooo I want to do that!” Gigi says, jumping up and down with excitement.

“It’s over there,” he points her into the right direction.

“Coming?” she turns to me.

“Yeah I’ll pass,” I scoff, imagining what an idiot I’d make of myself on a surf board.

“You’d be missing out,” Gigi tells me, poking my stomach.

“I’ll settle for missing out this time,” I reply.

“Okay then,” she shrugs.

Gigi rushes to take off her shirt and shorts, ready in her bathing suit and promptly runs off, far too excitedly as I sit myself down on a beach towel beside Grayson. I offer him a small smile which he returns with a wider one. I quickly look away as I shed my shirt and shorts, leaving me feeling very exposed in my bathing suit. When I look back towards him, I’m aware that he too has looked away. My cheeks heat up at the thought of him being so gentlemanly as to give me some privacy. I begin to rustle around in my bag in search for my sunscreen when a familiar voice freezes me in my tracks.

“Hey,” Grayson says.

I look up, happy I can now use sunburn as an excuse for my flushed cheeks, “hi.”

“How have you been?” he asks me shyly.

“Okay actually, yeah,” I nod, “how have you been, I haven’t seen you in a while?”

“Yeah I’ve been with my brothers a bit,” he explains.

“All okay?” I make sure.

He nods, “more than okay. My older brother is getting married.”

“Oh my gosh that’s amazing,” I beam.

He smiles, “they’re planning it for three months time.”

I put a hand over my heart, “that’s going to be lovely.”

“Yeah, he has a wonderful fiancée and I think he’ll be really happy,” he tells me, a real brightness in his eyes when he talks about them. It warms my heart.

“I’m glad,” I reply.

We fall into a silence and I grab the sunscreen out of my bag and begin to apply.

“Do you need some help?”

It takes everything in me to not let my jaw drop. I freeze mid movement and don’t know what to do with myself. There are fireworks going off in my brain and my heart is close to exploding.

“If you wouldn’t mind,” I mumble shyly, looking down.

“Of course not,” he smiles, holding out his hand for the bottle.

I pass it to him and turn around, delicately moving my hair out of the way. I feel his hands soothingly rub the liquid in, you’d think he was a professional masseuse. He’s so gentle and careful with my skin. I’m so glad he can’t see my face right now because I don’t think I’ve ever been more red.

“Sorry,” I say quietly.

“Why are you apologising?” he asks, as his hand slips under my strap.

I bite back a gasp to answer his question, “because you have to rub sunscreen into my back.”

“I didn’t realise it was an offensive affair,” he replies, a hint of amusement in his voice.

“You know what I mean,” I smile.

“I’m not sure I do,” he says, pressing for me to carry on.

“Is it not awkward for you?” I ask.

“No, I’m helping a friend out, nothing awkward about that,” he replies and I can hear the shrug in his tone.

Friend. The word echoed through my brain bouncing off every surface. It would torture me at every waking hour, replaying like a broken record. He said ‘friend’. But how else was he meant to word it, how else would I have worded it. But if he felt the same way to me as I did to him would he have still said ‘friend’. Why am I like this? Analysing every second word the guy says. I need to stop driving myself insane.

“I suppose,” I say, trying to not let my disappointment shine through as I turn back around to face him.

He hands me back the bottle, “about earlier, if you felt pressured into Saturday I’m not going to be offended if you don’t want to go.”

“No I do, really,” I say, “why? Did you not want to?”

And suddenly I was on edge, that ‘friend’ comment had really thrown me off and now I was second guessing everything he mentioned.

“No, I absolutely did,” he tells me, an honest look in his eyes, “but I was just making sure.”

“Thanks,” I smile sweetly.

I’m about to continue when Gigi appears in front of me, out of breath and slightly wet.

“What happened to surf boards?” I ask her, shielding my eyes from the sun.

“I fell off too many times and gave up,” she shrugs, “so you’re coming in the water with me now.”

“No I’m okay here,” I say, forcing a small laugh.

Gigi doesn’t even bother replying and instead grabs my arms and pulls me forwards, breaking out into a full on sprint towards the water. I try to drag her back but I’m too weak from laughing so hard, it’s like all of my limbs have gone to jelly.

“And now we go in,” she says, gripping onto my hands tighter.

“It’s gonna be cold!” I whine, taking a few steps back.

“Oh shush, you don’t know until you try,” she scolds me, bringing me back forwards.

I dip a my foot in and immediately retract, “I’ve tried, it’s cold.”

“Come in a little,” she pouts, “for me.”

I groan and oblige. After a few steps in I decide it isn’t as bad as I’d thought until we’re about thigh deep, then I want to turn around.

“No you can’t, we’re barely even in yet!” Gigi exclaims.

“I’m in enou-“

I don’t get to finish my sentence as I’m cut off by my own scream on surprise promptly followed by a face full of water. Trust Gigi to push me in. Before I come back up to breathe, I swim underneath her and tackle her legs so she too topples over. When I get to the surface I’m soaking and salty and highly unamused in contrast with Gigi’s bright eyes and giggles.

“See, wasn’t that fun?” she grins at me.

“No, I’m wet,” I grit through my teeth, trying to hide a smile.

“Well duh… it’s the sea,” she tells me.

I roll my eyes and the put a hand up to block out the sun’s glare. But two people catch my eye.

“Is that Savannah and… Grayson?” I question.

Two heads of golden hair, contrasting with the blue of the ocean, ride on surf boards, tackling waves with smiles on their faces. They look more like siblings than usual.

“Is he surfing? Did you know he could surf? He looks like a professional,” I babble suddenly.

“I didn’t know he could surf,” she says, “then again Gray can probably do any sport ever.”

“He definitely knows how to surf,” I reply, not being able to tear my eyes away from his precision and focus.

“Is that a green flag for you,” she teases, “are you into the surfer boys?”

“Oh put a sock in it,” I laugh, pushing her into the water.

She comes back up gasping for air and laughing, “hey!”

“Payback,” I shrug, “and I’ll do it again if you don’t shut it about my love life.”

“You were thanking me earlier,” Gigi grumbles at me.

“Not anymore,” I sing.

“So bipolar,” she rolls her eyes playfully.

“Shhhh I’m trying to watch!” I say, my eyes still fixated on Grayson.

“You mean stare at his abs,” she raises her eyebrow.

“Well they’re really nice too,” I reply, giving up on being in denial.

She wrinkles her nose, “my brother right there.”

“Hey you brought up the abs thing,” I defend.

“Because you’re staring at them!” she exclaims, looking very disgusted.

Before I can reply to her Grayson catches my eye and for a moment it’s just him there and no one else. He beckons me over with a hand.

“Was that at me?” I whisper to Gigi.

“Who else is he signilling at?” she asks.

We turn around simultaneously and see an old man behind us with a snorkel on. He shoots us a dirty look and we turn around, barely keeping it together. As soon as our eyes meet we start absolutely dying with laughter.

“I think it’s safe to say it’s you,” Gigi wheezes, holding her belly.

“I’m going to swim over,” I say once I’ve pulled myself back together.

“I thought you didn’t like the sea,” she challenges me.

“I do now,” I grin at her.

She shakes her head smiling, “I would be mad at you but I really want a Gigi junior.”

“Exactly,” I say, still trying to work out how I’m going to get out of calling my firstborn child Gigi.

“Don’t do anything naughty,” she winks at me, with a cheeky kind of smile.

“Gigi! We’re on a public beach and we’re not even a couple!” I exclaim, reminding her.

“You never know,” she shrugs

“What have you been reading?” I ask her, eyebrows arched and arms folded.

“Never you mind that,” she says, avoiding eye contact.

“Dirty romance again?” I giggle, poking her shoulder.

“Go get yourself a boyfriend,” she says, detracting from the conversation, “he’s waiting.”

I look over to Grayson who still has his gaze fixated on me.

“We’re coming back to this conversation later,” I tell her.

I don’t give her a chance to object as I dive into the water, out of my depth and swim over to Grayson. When I reach him a rest my arms on his surf board, keeping me afloat.

“Since when could you surf?” I look up.

“Since I was about ten,” he tells me, “my grandfather took me and my brothers.”

Beat.

“Come up, here.”

“On the board?” I ask.

He nods and I ungracefully attempt to clamber onto the surf board. I struggle up and the fall right back down, feeling like a world class idiot in front of Grayson.

He smiles softly at me, “need a hand?”

“Nope,” I grunt, slipping once again, “I’m fine.”

“Are you sure about that,” he chuckles, his head titled slightly sideways.

“Yes,” I say determinedly and then, “… actually no, can I have some help please?”

“Here,” he laughs, extending his hand, “grab onto my wrist, the grip will be stronger.”

I do as his says, holding on tightly to his wrists, I push upwards as he pulls me towards him. His hand slides around my waist, which was now exposed out of the water and he lifts me up onto the surfboard. Once he’s sure I’m on there, he slowly removes his hands. My waist tingles where his fingers have been and so does my face as it rises in temperature.

“Ever been on a surf board before?” he asks me.

“Is it that obvious?” I grin.

“No,” he laughs kindly.

I give him a look, my eyebrows raised, letting him know he doesn’t have to lie to me to make me feel better.

“Well maybe,” he says, a little sheepishly.

“How come you didn’t surf earlier then?” I ask him. He could’ve gone with Savannah and Gigi to hire a board but he chose not to, which made me curious to say the least.

“I didn’t want to leave you on your own,” Grayson shrugs.

My pulse quickens and my face lights up. But I play it cool, or at least I’d like to think I do.

“I’m a big girl, I can handle myself,” I tell him.

“I know but I didn’t want you to feel alone,” he says. He says it like he actually cares, like I actually mean something to him. And it feels magical.

“Thanks,” I say, “so what are we doing?”

“Paddling out, then we’ll stand up,” he explains.

“You’re joking,” I scoff. There is no way that I could possibly do that.

“The waves are babies on this beach,” he says, gesturing to the seemingly unthreatening waves.

“They’re still waves and may I remind you I’ve never done this before,” I reply, eyeing the water intently.

“There’s a first time for everything,” he murmurs.

“You surprise me with your spontaneity,” I hum in response.

“And you surprise me with your reluctance,” he replies.

“I’m not reluctant!” I defend.

He shoots me a pointed look as I sit there with my arms folded.

“I’m not reluctant,” I sigh before hesitating slightly, “…I’m just scared.”

“You don’t need to be scared,” he tells me, “I’ve got you. I’m not going to let anything happen.”

“Okay….” I say hesitantly, “what do we do first?”

“First we need to paddle out, so we have to lay down on the surface board,” he explains, showing me what to do.

I mirror his actions and slowly lay down on my belly beside him, as he lifts an arm and puts it over my shoulders, so he has one hand on each side of the board.

“Feeling good?” he checks.

“Good isn’t quite the word I’d use to describe whatever I’m feeling,” I reply, trying to steady the shake in my voice.

“Okay, now we’re going to paddle out,” he instructs, “you think you want to?”

“Yeah,” I breathe

Slowly and cautiously, feeling a little more comfortable with Grayson by my side, I help paddle out until it feels like we’re in the middle of the ocean. The middle of a vast expanse of salty blue water.

“You see the wave coming up now,” he says, his voice soothing and calm.

I hum in reply.

“We’re going to catch that one,” he explains.

“Okay.”

“I’ll stand first and then I’ll help you.”

I agree. He stands up with ease and good balance, like he’s done it a thousand times before. I presume he has.

“Do you trust me?” Grayson asks.

“Yes,” I say with no hesitation.

“Hold my hands,” he instructs me.

I take his hands in mine and hold them tightly, until my knuckles have gone white and my hand bright red.

“Stand up,” he tells me.

I shake my head, convincing myslef that there are at least eighty different ways to die right this second.

“Stand up, I’ve got you,” he reassures me.

“What if I fall?” I ask worriedly, my voice unfamiliar.

“Then I’ll catch you,” Grayson says, his eyes twinkling.

I stand up, wobbling a little. He catches me by the waist, his palm fitting perfectly in the dip, stabling me. Goosebumps raise on the surface of my skin and I can’t tell if it’s because I’m cold and shocked. Though my face feels a little too heated for it to be blamed on the cold.

“Spread your arms out,” he tells me.

I slowly spread my arms out and his hands don’t leave my waist. It’s my very own titanic moment, though I hope if this is going anywhere it doesn’t have the same end result. And suddenly it’s just him and me in the middle of the ocean alone on a surf board and nothing and no one else matters.

“Ready?” he say into my ear.

“Ready.”

The wave is not a big as I’d thought it would be and we easily ride it. I even find myself laughing and slightly enjoying myself. That lasted for the grand total of five whole second. Then I slip off into the water. I’m quick to kick my way to the surface and grab ahold of the surfboard. Grayson is on his knees looking a little pale, worry lines creasing his forehead.

“Are you okay?” he rushes, lifting me up onto the surfboard.

“Yeah,” I cough, sea water residue in my mouth.

“Are you sure?” he asks worriedly, checking my pulse, vision, hearing and mobility. He placed a gentle finger under my chin and tips my head back.

“I’m sure,” I chuckle, tilting my head back forwards, “but I think that’s enough surfing for me.”

“Understandable,” he nods, dropping his hand, “come on, let’s get back onto shore.”

Together we paddle back to shore, our bodies so close to each others it’s making me nervous. We spot Gigi waiting on the beach for us, looking excited. Before we get there Grayson turns his head towards me.

“You know I’m proud of you,” he says.

“Proud?” I ask trying to focus on the conversation and not how close our faces were.

“You gave surfing a go,” he says, “even though you were scared.”

“Well I had a good teacher,” I murmur, our noses almost touching.

“Thanks,” he smiles and… did he just blush?! I shake the idea out of my head, it’s probably just the lighting or sunburn.

We drift back onto the sand and Gigi runs up to us, beaming, “I found a crab and made friends.”

I shiver, “a crab?”

“He’s cute!” she exclaims

“He?” I ask.

“I’ve names him Bubblez with a ‘z’ at the end and I’m emotionally attached,” she tells me.

She looks at Grayson, her eyes wide and hopeful. A pleading look on her face.

“You’re not keeping the crab as a pet,” Grayson deadpans.

“How did you know I was going to ask?” she groans.

“Because you tried to adopt eight stray kittens and two stray dogs in the last month,” he sighs, running a hand through his hair.

Gigi replies but I don’t hear the rest of the conversation as someone grabs my attention.

“Hey y/n! Help me drag my board in!” Savannah hollers at me.

My brow furrow, Savannah doesn’t ask for help. Ever. Let alone to pull in a surf board, something I knew she’d done a thousand times and was plenty strong enough to do herself. I know something is up, I just can’t figure out what.

“Meet you back at the umbrellas,” I smile at Grayson.

“See you there,” he replies.

I walk over and grab one side of Savannah’s board, waiting for her to say something.

“I thought you didn’t like him,” she hisses, her voice low, almost dangerous.

“Me too,” I shrug, not even bother to hide it from her anymore.

“y/n!” she exclaims.

“Savannah!” I mock her back.

She rolls her eyes and tugs the board sighing, “please think it through.”

“That’s what I told you about Duncan and you didn’t,” I snap back

She flinches, like I’ve hit her across the face. She drops her side of the board so I drop mine. Guilt floods through me, but I push it back. This needs to be addressed. She readjusts herself and holds her head high.

“It’s different,” she says, trying to mask the tremor in her voice and failing.

“No it’s not,” I counter.

“Yes it is,” she insists, her eyes fiery.

“Grayson is a good person, he cares about you and Gigi-“

“How would you know?” she snaps, cutting me off.

“Because he’s told me,” I yell, “when he talks about you two his whole face lights up.”

She looks taken aback and loses her words for a minute so I take the opportunity to continue.

“He’s kind and gentle, why is it so bad that I want someone like that?” I ask her.

“Because…” she falters, “because if you break up whose side do I take.”

“Hold your horses there, we’re not even together,” I try to smile.

“Hypothetically then,” she says.

“His,” I shrug, “and I’d understand, he’s family.”

“So are you.”

My heart swells and a lump forms in my throat. I’d always been close to Gigi, we’d been like sisters from the start but Savannah and I took a lot of warming up before we became closer. We butt heads often, both being strong characters. Never once did I think she viewed me like a sister. I never thought I was of that importance to her, that significance in her life. But the fact that she does really hit me hard. And now I’m the one who’s lost her words.

“And I don’t want him to steal you from me,” she murmurs, her eyes a little glossy.

“Oh Sav,” I say, wrapping my arms around her, “you think I’d let him?”

“Love makes you do stupid things,” she chokes, “I should know.”

“Then if I do I give you full permission to slap me until i come to my senses,” I joke.

“Okay,” she laughs, wiping a few stray tears away.

“Come on,” I say, picking up my side of the board, “the others will be wondering about us.”

She nods and lifts the board as we begin walking again in a comfortable silence.

“y/n?” she says quietly, gently, almost carefully.

“Yeah?”

“I am really happy you like Grayson and if you guys do ever get together, I would be very happy for you,” she says, “I want you to know that.”

“Thank you,” I smile, “I still think you can do better than Duncan, but if you love him I’m behind you. Except if he treats you like dirt, then I’ll take him bungee jumping without the rope.”

She giggles a little and then grows serious, “he’s good enough to me.”

I don’t want to argue anymore so leave it at that. But my mind is screaming ‘is good enough, really enough?’ I’d have the conversation another day, I decide. We trek back up the beach to Gigi and Grayson who are sunbathing on the beach towels. As we approach Gigi sits up and flicks her sunglasses onto her head.

“What took you so long?” she calls.

“I’m like a donkey with mitten and couldn’t keep hold of the board,” I lie.

“Classic y/n,” she winks playfully.

“Hey!” I complain.

“I practically dragged the whole thing up here single handedly,” Savannah adds.

“Did not,” I mutter.

“I was thinking we should all go for ice cream,” Gigi says, “they have this ice cream bar where you can add as many toppings as you like for free.”

“I didn’t see that when we walked to the beach,” Grayson replied a, joining the conversation.

“Well you obviously have no priorities then,” his sister responds, offended and shocked.

“Priorities?” he questions.

“Beach priority number one, always look for the best ice cream spot,” she exclaims, “you should know this! Have I taught you nothing?”

“The only thing you’ve taught me is to not give you coffee or any drink that is remotely caffeinated,” he says and I try not to laugh.

“Talk to the hand,” Gigi grumbles at him, thrusting her palm into his face, then turning to me and Savannah, “now who’s coming for ice cream?”

“I’m in,” she shrugs.

“Same here,” I nod.

“I’ll come too,” Grayson sighs, but part of me think he actually wants to come.

Her face lights up and she jumps up excitedly, “yay, let’s go!”

We all walk back up the beach, following Gigi who is practically sprinting to show us the way. We eventually reach a little establishment she takes us into. It’s cool inside and all of the walls are brightly coloured, so much so it hurts my eyes a little. There’s every ice cream flavour one could imagine and even more toppings to choose from. Gigi looks like she’s in heaven. I grab a scoop of my favourite flavour and moderately top it with a few bits and pieces I liked the look of before I went and paid. I notice Grayson already standing there with his cone.

“Wow I didn’t pin you as a vanilla kind of guy,” I comment, my eyebrow raised in surprise as I analyse and severely judge his ice cream choices.

“What did you pin me as then?” he says, the corner of his mouth turned upwards slightly.

“I don’t know something like coffee or rum and raisin,” I shrug.

“Do you think I’m a sixty year old man?” he asks.

I laugh, almost choking on my own ice cream, “no, I just thought you had…“ I struggle for the right words, “…refined taste.”

“Saved yourself there,” he teases, “that was a close one.”

I poke my tongue out at him and then realise that maybe that was a little too comfortable of me. But he’s laughing so I take it as a good sign. As Gigi finishes paying for her extremely colourful icecream cone, she links arms with me and begins to tell me all about the extravagant flavours and extras she’s topped the ice cream with.

***

The four of us walk down the beach, eating our ice creams. Most of the way it is silent, with odd pockets of random conversation dotted about the place. Then we lay on the beach for hours, sunbathing, sleeping, just being. I haven’t felt this relaxed in a while. Occasionally one or two of us would leave to take another dip into the sea. Gigi and I are lying on a towel playing with the sand on either side of us, letting it tickle our fingertips as we gossip about school drama and hot celebrities. Though I don’t think there’s any celebrity I could’ve found to rival Grayson Hawthorne right now. I mean he’s just sat there looking gorgeous. How could someone be doing so little and still looking so gorgeous? I can’t wait to tell Gigi about all the things that had happened between us today, I’m practically ready to burst.

“Can we stay until sunset?” I ask, leaning my cheek on Gigi’s shoulder, “we have to see this beach at sunset.”

“We can stay until sunset,” she replies.

“What do we do now then?” Savannah asks.

“What we’re doing is fine,” I shrug.

“We’re not doing anything,” she says, bored.

The thing about Savannah is, she needs to move, like all of the time. The art of doing nothing and just relaxing, Savannah did not enjoy. I made a small bet with myself that she was going to suggest we okay a sport soon.

“Precisely,” I smile, lying back down, closing my eyes,

“What about a game of volleyball?” she suggests.

Won the bet then.

“That sounds good,” Gigi agrees.

“I’ll play,” I say, sitting back up and trying not to sound as halfhearted as I was.

“Gray?” Savannah asks.

“Alright,” he nods.

“Good you’re on my team,” she says.

“Hey! No fair!” Gigi exclaims immediately.

“Ouch Gigi,” I mumble.

“Sorry but we have to face the facts here,” she says with a hand up, “when’s the last time you played volleyball?”

“I don’t know,” I respond.

“Exactly our problem,” she says, “Grayson probably has a secret volleyball career and-“

“I do not,” Grayson interrupts her, sharply.

“And Savannah is good at all sports, our odds aren’t really looking good,” Gigi continues, completely ignoring Grayson’s comment.

“Then let’s just have fun,” I reply.

“Okay,” she grins at me, then looks to the other two and narrows her eyes, “prepare to go down!”

“Pssstt, Gigi,” I whisper-yell so the other can still hear, “I thought you just said we’re going to lose.”

“But we can lose with confidence,” she replies, optimistically.

I shake my head laughing, “you serve first then.”

***

After several volleyball matches of the other two beating us in every game bar one, which Gigi and I would not shut up about, we sit and watch the sunset, per my request. I sit on my beach towel in between Grayson and Gigi staring at the sky covered in shades of pink, orange and yellow.

“Isn’t it gorgeous?” I sigh.

“It is,” Grayson murmurs.

I glance towards him and he quickly looks away. Gigi nudges me and I turn to her, there’s a smile plastered on her face. I jerk my eyebrows together asking her to explain. She mouths ‘he was looking at you’. My eyes mirror the size of saucers as I silently ask her if she’s sure. She nods and my heart thumps loudly against my rib cage.

***

It’s only when the sun starts setting down and the sky is a little dark that someone suggests we pack up and head back to the car. By the time we finally reach the car the sky is fully dark and only lit with little twinkling stars.

“I’ll drive,” Grayson offers, once we’ve stuffed the boot full of our things.

“No you drove on the way here, so it’s my turn now,” Savannah says, nicking the keys.

“I call shotgun!” Gigi yells quickly.

I did the math. Me and Grayson were in the back together. Matchmaker Gigi strikes again. I open the door to sit down but before I can get in the seat Gigi dumps the sandy beach bag on the left seat.

“You wouldn’t mind sitting in the middle right?” she asks, loud enough for the others to hear.

In the middle. Right next to Grayson. Of course. I don’t know whether to smile or dread the experience, so I do both.

“Not at all,” I reply, situating myself in the middle seat.

I fumble around with my seatbelt to avoid eye contact with Grayson. Our bare legs are touching, sending the butterflies in my stomach fluttering and tumbling all over the place. Savannah start to drive and the bumps in the road just mean the two of us keep accidentally knocking each other. I try and hide the blush that keeps blossoming darker each time we touch but eventually give up. Another jolt, another spark of electricity shoots across my body. But by about twenty minutes into the drive exhaustion catches up on me, binding my mind together like some sort of kidnapper. I can feel my eyes drooping down and my head lolling to one side.

“Are you tired?” Grayson murmurs.

My heart throbs my chest, so much so I could hear the beating in my ears. I look up into his pools of grey and I nod, yawning a little.

“Lean on me,” he whispers.

“What?” I blurt out, as soon as I’ve processed the three words. I practically jump out of my seat, suddenly awake and alert, my eyes wide in shock.

“Lean on me,” he repeats, just as softly as before.

“Are you sure?” I ask him, still trying to mask my pure shock.

“Would I have asked if I wasn’t?” he replies smoothly.

“Thanks,” I say with a small smile.

Hesitantly I rest my head on his shoulder and attempt to relax. I breathe in. He smells divine. The cotton shirt he wears is so soft against my skin. He places his head on top of mine and I feel reality begin to slip away as darkened swallows me whole.

***

A jolt awakes me, but not fully as I’m still groggy. Even thought I’m half asleep I’m very aware I’m leaning on Grayson Hawthorne. I can smell him.

“Where are we?” I murmur sleepily.

“Go back to sleep,” he whispers, “we’re quite far from home.”

Comfortably situated, resting on Grayson, I listen I his soothing voice as my eyes slowly lull themselves shut again and sleep becomes my captor for the next couple of hours.

***

I wake up disoriented and confused. I’m no longer in the car. I can feel that my face is pressed up against someone’s chest. I open my eyes and realise that I’m in Grayson’s arms, bridal style.

“Oh my god,” I gasp, suddenly sitting up.

This puts Grayson off balance and I begin to fall to the ground very ungracefully. Luckily he catches my waist just before I hit the ground. His hands are strong and steady on the small of my back.

“Sorry,” I murmur embarrassed, as he helps me back up, his hands only dropping from my waist when I’m upright and completely stable. They linger for a little longer than necessary but I’m not complaining.

“No, my apologies I didn’t mean to drop you,” he says.

“If you didn’t I think you’d have a broken wrist,” I reply, “so it’s a good job you did.”

“Gigi suggested I carry you in as you were asleep,” he explains suddenly.

“Did she now?” I say, almost smiling. What would I do without my Gigi?

He nods and then passes me my key, “she found them in your bag.”

“Good to know my best friend respects my privacy and dignity,” I grin, a little sarcasm playing on my tongue.

“Of course,” Grayson plays along.

“Well thanks for letting me use your shoulder as a pillow and for carrying me to the door,” I say, a little awkwardly.

“No problem,” he smiles, “should I pick you up from here on Saturday?”

“Are you sure?” I ask him, “I don’t want it to be any trouble, I can just take the bus.”

“Of course I’m sure,” he nods, “maybe we could go to dinner together before?”

“I’d like that very much,” I beam, my cheeks heating up.

“I’ll get Gigi to pass me on your number incase I need to contact you,” Grayson suggests.

“Yes, I’ll get her to do the same for me,” I agree.

“Got any books on the go since Pride and Prejudice?” he asks me, continuing the conversation, making me very happy.

“Haven’t had a chance,” I sigh.

“Think you can wait another day to start one?” he asks me.

“Why?”

“I don’t know,” he grins, “but can you?”

“I think so,” I say sceptically, “what do you have planned?”

“You’ll see,” he replies, a little mischievously.

“When Gigi says that I get scared,” I laugh.

“Well I’m not Gigi,” he replies, “I’ll see you Saturday then.”

“See you on Saturday.”

a/n: I AM SOOOO SORRY. I don’t even know why this took me 12 billion years to write but it is finally here and for anyone reading this I really appreciate your patience with me. I hope you enjoyed PART 3 and you guessed it… PART 4 is in the works!! Hopefully that one will take a bit less time

I didn’t realise how long this part was until I’d written it. I actually had to cut PART 3 in half because it was so long but hope you enjoyed this!! Thanks for reading my loves 🤍🤍 this fic is the only thing keeping me sane waiting for TGG

btw I know nothing about surfing or surf boards so don’t come at me.

and a quick thank you to anyone who participated in my little Grayson icecream poll, you’ll notice the results have been put to good use… though I don’t personally agree that it would be vanilla.

TIG masterlist

#grayson hawthorne x reader #grayson hawthorne x you #tig #grayson hawthorne #the brothers hawthorne #the final gambit #the hawthorne legacy #the inheritance games #gigi grayson #savannah grayson

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littlemissmentallyunstable · 2 months

Text

title: paparazzi

pairing: grayson hawthorne x (first person) reader

synopsis: you’re running away from the paparazzi and you bump into a gorgeous stranger who offers to buy you a drink

warnings: mild swearing

a/n: this was a request from an anon who wanted to see grayson hawthorne x reader where the reader is a famous singer. I hope you enjoy… this is what I managed to come up with. Note: this is the grayson equivalent of starstruck for jameson

tag list: @tornqdowarnings @whatsamongus @wish-i-were-heather @inmyheaddd @never-enough-novels @peterlcsingwendy @lxvebelle @xoxo-vee @emelia07 @zoyaaaabear @thoughtdaughter3 @f4iry-bell

I step out of the recording studio at exactly 6:23 am. I’d stayed there over night with a few people to try and get the sound I wanted from the new single I hoped to drop soon. Unfortunately I hadn’t managed to accomplished what I’d set out to do, so now I’m just feeling pretty lousy and absolutely exhausted. It’s so early in the morning that I wasn’t expecting to be met with bold flashes of several cameras as soon as I stepped foot out of the building. I curse under my breath and begin to walk in the opposite direction as quickly as I could. I swear one of these days I’ll be blinded. I wish I hadn’t decided to wear heels as they were not proving useful.

The paparazzi were relentless as per usual and continued to follow me down several different roads. They cry out my name and various questions. I begin to wonder who’s tipped them off that I was there, no one was supposed to know. But I let the curiosity die quickly. I glance behind me and realise they’re closer than I realised. So mutter a quick prayer and begin to run. As fast as I can in my heels. I knew for a fact I looked like a wild idiot, but I didn’t care now I needed to get away. The flashes were more frequent now, the clicking of the cameras louder. My feet are screaming for me to stop, my breath shallow. I really should plan my outfits better. Just when I think I’m screwed, I notice a small, secluded alleyway and decide to take the chance and run down it. I hope they didn’t notice.

On the corner is the door to a coffee shop, so I take the chance and dash in. Not many places are open at this time, so I count my lucky stars as breathlessly a make my way to the counter. I make sure my back is turned to the window, so prying eyes won’t recognise my face if they pass. I grip into the counter and catch my breath back.

“You look like you could use a coffee,” says a voice directed at me.

I look up to see a well dressed man, looking at me. He looks slightly recognisable but not enough for me to know exactly who he was. He had pretty grey eyes that stood out against his pale complexion and golden hair.

“Thanks, nice to know I look as horrendous as I feel,” I scoff sarcastically, not realising what I’d said be for the word had left my lips.

“You don’t look horrendous,” he offers kindly, too kindly.

“You just told me I look like I could use a coffee,” I state, running my fingers through a matted clump of hair.

“That was my way of offering to buy you a drink,” he explains to me.

“Oh…” I say, my eyes wide as red creeps up my cheeks.

I felt so stupid and horrible. This poor guy was trying to be nice, which he didn’t have to be, and I had totally just shut him down.

“Oh god sorry,” I ramble, “that was totally rude and-“

He laughs, thankfully cutting of my meaningless waffling, “don’t worry. Let me rephrase, can I buy you a drink?”

“Do you really want to?” I ask, arms folded, looking at him quizzically.

“Yes I really want to,” he assures me.

“Then that would be nice,” I agree.

He seemed trustworthy enough, though I was really going to regret saying that later is he turned out to be some sort of axe murderer. The coffee barista who looked as equally exhausted as I felt asks for our order. I quickly murmur to the man who offered to buy me a coffee what I wanted and he orders two of the same. He very kindly pays and the barista goes off to make the drinks.

“Sorry again about that,” I laugh sheepishly, “it’s too early for me in the morning to function politely.”

“Don’t be sorry,” he shrugs, “believe me I’ve had much worse interactions.”

I look him up and down, trying to gage who he might work for. A finance department maybe? Or maybe he was lawyer? Though he looked awfully young.

“You look too fancy to be hanging out in a coffee shop,” I say, trying to fish for some answers.

“Is that because I’m wearing a suit in 6:30 in the morning?” he asks me.

“Possibly,” I say, my eyes trailing down, “and those shoes.”

He chuckles softly, “even fancy people need coffee.”

“So you are a fancy person?” I reply, cocking my head towards him.

“Possibly,” he smiles, mirroring what I’d said to him.

I purse my lips, still trying to work this guy out. Presumably he was rich, the guy even looks expensive. And he seems too perfect to be real. I lean back an analyse him. He looks to be around twenty or so and holds himself with confidence. He doesn’t even look the slightest bit tired despite the time.

“Here’s your coffees,” the barista says, her expression flat and her tone even flatter, “enjoy.”

“I’ve never heard someone sound so melancholy saying the word enjoy,” I mutter once she’s gone around the corner.

He grins, “maybe she’s not a morning person.”

“I mean fair enough there,” I say. He passes me my cup and guides me to a table, “oh thank you.”

“I’m Grayson,” he tells me as we sit down, shifting his eyes so they exactly meet mine.

“Y/N,” I say, opting not to use a pseudonym as I would usually do. Something about him settled me, made me feel like I didn’t need to hide who I really was.

He smiles slightly and stares wistfully elsewhere.

“What?” I ask him as I take a large sip of my coffee.

The caffeine enters my blood stream and flows straight to my brain. Suddenly my energy levels are raised and I’m more alert. I actually feel awake now.

“That’s a pretty name,” Grayson replies quietly, the smile not leaving his face.

“Thanks,” I say, feeling unusually flattered. It wasn’t just the words he said but the way he said it, so tenderly, like my name was the most beautiful thing that had ever graced his lips. My cheeks are heating up again.

He opens his mouth to reply, but I notice a familiar flash in the corner of my eye. My mind plays a string of colourful words I wouldn’t dare say out loud.

“Oh god,” I groan, “duck.”

“Ducking isn’t going to help, we need to leave,” he says to me, standing up, suddenly alert and ready. He seems a little too prepared for this situation and I’m sceptical. But I don’t have time to be sceptical.

“But you just bought the coffee,” I complain. I feel horrible, he’s just spent good money on that and now I had to leave it.

“Forget about the coffee,” he replies, gesturing for me to stand up.

I get up, “I’ll pay you back as soon as we’re out of here.”

“Come on, there’s a back door we can slip out of,” he explains.

I don’t have time to question how or why he knows that or whether I should follow him. Paparazzi burst through the door, some yelling questions, some taking pictures.

“Oh shit,” I curse, covering my face with my hand, as if it’ll do anything.

“Run?” He suggests to me.

“More like sprint,” I scoff, “I really hope you don’t mind ruining those fancy shoes.”

“Who said I can’t sprint and keep them in perfect condition?” Grayson winks at me.

I roll my eyes, smiling widely, trying to suppress the blush that I can feel rising in my cheeks. He swiftly grabs my hand and pulls me towards the back door. I’m too flustered to even care where I’m going, my cheeks were now positively rosy with colour as I grip his hand. He leads me out and begins to run, not letting go of me, actually he holds on even tighter. Suddenly I feel my legs begin to drag and I realise that I might break an ankle if I carry on in these heels. I tear my hand out of his.

“Keep going!” I yell.

He immediately stops and runs back over to me, “what’s wrong?”

“I can’t keep up with you in these heels,” I heave. Actually I probably couldn’t keep up with him full stop, but I wasn’t going to tell him that.

“Take them off,” he tells me.

“What?” I gape.

“Just trust me,” he says.

After a brief second of intense eye contact, I slip off my shoes. Then to my surprise he does the same.

“Put mine on,” he instructs, handing me a pair of clearly very expensive shoes.

“Are you kidding?” I ask.

“Stop with the questions and just wear the shoes, otherwise they’ll catch up to us,” he replies, eyes darting around, scanning for the paparazzi.

I look down at the shoes, which didn’t have a scratch nor crinkle in them. They practically looked fresh out of the box.

“Oh my gosh they’re actually still in perfect condition,” I gape, “how did you even manage that?”

“It’s a talent,” Grayson shrugs.

“Clearly,” I say, “oh god I’m going to end up ruining them.”

He shrugs, “I have too many shoes to count, it doesn’t matter.”

“What about you then, what will you wear?”

“I’m going to wear the heels,” he says, with a straight face, as he picks up my pair of black high heels.

“Really?” I reply, slightly curious on how he was going to a) get them on and b) run in them.

“No, but you should se the look on your face,” he smiles, “I’ll carry them for you.”

I want to slap his arm but I settle for rolling my eyes, I quickly throw his shoes on. They’re one hundred percent going to slip off but I didn’t care by this point, they were more comfortable than my heels.

“Thank you,” I breathe, just as a crowd of voices seemingly get closer.

“Ready to run,” Grayson asks me, extending his hand for me to hold.

“No,” I reply, gripping it tightly.

“Good,” he nods, “let’s go.”

We start to sprint again and quickly fall behind, losing a shoe more than once, praying the paparazzi did not catch that one. Grayson takes my hand back into his and it gives me the energy to move slightly faster.

“My car is this way,” he shouts over his shoulder, dragging my left suddenly.

He stops so abruptly I crash right into his back losing my balance. I can feel myself falling and brace myself for impact as I hit the floor but it never arrives. I open my eyes to find Grayson had caught me. His hands fit perfectly around my waist and held me from my inevitable doom on the pavement. We are frozen for a moment, a beautiful holy moment.

“You okay?” He asks, hurriedly.

His face was so close to mine, his lips look so soft. I can feel his hands on my body and I don’t want him to let go. I want to stay here for all eternity, just so I can feel this good. But I knew it wasn’t possible.

“Yeah, yeah I’m good,” I nod, standing up straight as his hands fall from my waist and I dust myself off.

It was odd how now my waist seemed colder than before, less complete without his strong hands upon it. I shake the notion from my head.

“This is my car,” he points at it, “jump in.”

“I can’t get into a stranger’s car,” I exclaim, folding my arms across my stomach.

“Says the same girl who followed the stranger to his car,” he says, not even bothering to suppress his chuckle, “besides we’re not strangers.”

“Yes we are,” I argue.

“What’s my name?” He asks me with a straight face.

I stare at him, confusion decorating all of my features. He gestures for me to carry on and answer.

“Grayson?” I say hesitantly.

“And you’re Y/N,” he says, “see, not strangers.”

Annoyingly he has a point but I think he can tell I’m not entirely convinced.

“My car has black out windows, they won’t be able to see us,” he tries.

“Or see you murder me,” I mutter.

“I’m not going to murder you!” Grayson exclaims, trying not to laugh.”

“How do I know that?” I ask him.

“Get in the car,” he tells me, rolling his eyes.

“Sounds like something a murderer would say,” I grumble.

He’s about to reply but is cut off.

“THEY’RE OVER HERE!” someone yells.

I weigh up my options, sigh and then get into his car. I didn’t want to run in to the paparazzi and this was my best option right now. I was fairly certain he wouldn’t murder me but it’s better safe than sorry right? Besides it meant I get to spend a little more time with this intriguing soul. We both sit in silence for a few moments before I lean down and take his shoes off of my feet, passing them to him.

“Thanks again,” I beam, “for buying me coffee, lending me your shoes, letting me stay in your car and not murdering me.”

He returns my heels, “no problem. It seems to have been an eventful morning.”

“You can say that again,” I sigh, then look at his shoes, “I don’t think I managed to keep them as unscathed as you did but…” I trail off, not really knowing how to finish my sentence.

I think he senses it as he replies with a simple, “they’re fine.”

We fall into another silence, as we both awkwardly put our shoes on and stare out of the windshield. I don’t think either of know how to rally approach conversation. I sit there and take in the dramatic events of this morning wondering what the day might bring, when I realise I probably owe Grayson an explanation.

I sigh, “look I’m really sorry about that by the way.”

“What? Why are you apologising?” he asks, blinking rapidly.

“For the paparazzi,” I clarify

“Why are you apologising for the paparazzi?” Grayson says, running a hand through his hair.

“Who did you think they were chasing after?” I laugh.

“Me…” he murmurs. My jaw drops, that was not the response I was expecting. He looks too serious to be joking.

“You? You’re famous?”

“I’m Grayson Hawthorne,” he says

My eye widen. How hadn’t I put two and two together? A blonde man, who looked to be about in his twenties, dressed in an expensive suit with gorgeous shoes, with impeccable running speed and the first name of Grayson. All the signs were literally screaming in my face and somehow I’d missed them. It’s as if I walked right past a neon sign, decorated with bold flashing lights.

“I thought they were chasing after me,” I say, leaning back in the seat and gazing out of the window.

“How comes?” Grayson questions.

“I’m a singer,” I shrug, not making eye contact with him.

“You’re joking,” he says.

“Do I look like I’m joking?” I reply flatly, as my eyes finally will themselves to meet his.

“What do you sing?” he asks me, a spark in his eyes. He almost looks excited, for me, for my music.

“Songs,” I laugh cryptically.

He rolls his eyes playfully at me, “What songs?”

I name him a few of my most famous hits that most would’ve heard of. Though my heart was racing in my chest, what if he’s heard my songs and he hates them…

“You’re not Y/N L/N are you?” he asks me, narrowing his eyes.

Damn it.

“The one and only,” I manage to say, a smile plastered on my face, wishing for the ground to swallow my body up whole.

“My brother listens to you all the time, though he’ll never admit it and would kill me for telling you that,” he says, “but I must admit I’ve never listened to you myself.”

I don’t think I’ve ever been more relieved in my life. The breathe out slowly and calm down slightly.

“Let’s keep it that way,” I tell him.

“What if I don’t want to keep it that way?” he replies, mischief underlying his tone.

“You’re going to have to,” I say, making sure I sounded stern enough to warn him to never listen to a song.

“I could just google you,” he points out, taking out his phone. I’ve never wanted to smash anything more violently.

“You could,” I shrug, “but it was make me severely angry.”

“Oh no!” he says sarcastically, a stupid witty grin on his face.

“Hey!” I exclaim, smacking the top of his arm.

I know I’m not really a threat for him at all and when I leave he would most likely google my music and never want to talk to me again. But I convince myself that was okay because if we never see each other after today it wouldn’t matter what he thinks about my music.

“Can you sing for me now then?” Grayson asks, his voice soft and very persuading.

“Absolutely not,” I scoff, folding my arms. His voice was not persuading enough.

“Why?” he replies, almost offended.

“I’m on a vocal rest,” I tell him.

“You’re not doing a very good job, all you’ve done is talk,” he grins, looking to amused at himself for my liking.

“I’m on a vocal rest from just singing,” I lie, “I can still talk.”

“Is that even a thing?” he asks, probably sensing that I’m an awful liar.

“Yes?” I say trying not to sound guilty and failing.

“I think you’re lying,” Grayson replies, a playful look in his eye.

I’m about to answer when my eyes flick over to the dashboard where the time was red on the screen, “Oh my gosh!”

“What?” he asks, alarmed at my sudden burst.

“I’m meant to be at rehearsal in five minutes,” I groan, reaching for the door.

“I’ll drive you,” he says quickly.

“You don’t have to do th-“ I begin.

“Address?” he interrupts me, starting the car up.

“Noble Studios,” I sigh, accepting my fate. He probably wouldn’t take no for an answer.

He nods, “Wait how you on a vocal rest if you’re going to rehearsal?”

“I’m on a vocal rest until I get to rehearsal,” I say, making it up as I go along.

He raises his eyebrows, “Do you ever get any sleep?”

“What?” I ask, confused at the randomness of the question.

“Well you’ve just been in recording studio and now you’d going to rehearsal,” he clarifies, “so do you ever get any sleep?”

“Usually no,” I blow out a breath.

“You should go home and rest,” he tells me.

I blush deeply and replay the words over and over again in my head. The words he said to me. I steal a glance at him for a moment and quickly turn away.

“I will after rehearsal,” I explain, “but I’ve got to make it, I’ve got a concert tomorrow night.”

“Then after this rehearsal you promise me you’ll rest from then until tomorrow night,” Grayson tells me gently.

I nod, too shy to meet his eyes. The silence we fall into is comfortable until I’m brave enough to break it.

“Who do you listen to anyway?”

“What?” he asks quickly.

“What artists?” I wonder aloud, “you said you’d never listened to me, so then who.”

“Frank Sinatra is one of my favourites,” he murmurs, almost with a shyness in his tone.

“Frank Sinatra?” I giggle.

“Are you laughing at my music taste?” he raises his eyebrows.

“No I’m laughing because it’s so on brand for you,” I chuckle.

Of course Grayson Hawthorne liked Frank Sinatra. With his shoes and suit and general demeanours, who else would it be? I could even imagine Grayson singing his songs.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asks.

“It’s a compliment, don’t get your knickers in a twist,” I grin playfully.

“Do you even know who Frank Sinatra is?” he says to me, like I’m a complete moron.

“Of course I do, he’s that rapper right?” I tease him.

His head whips towards me faster than the speed on light. He’s staring so intently at me I’m worried we might crash. He death stares me, a mix of offensiveness and utter shock in his expression.

“I’m kidding,” I giggle, “Frank Sinatra was a singer popular in the 40s and 50s, taking on a classical pop style in his music.”

“That wasn’t funny,” he snaps, hands tight around the steering wheel, as he gets his eyes back on the road again.

“I think it was,” I sing song.

“You made me doubt you competence as a person,” he shakes his head.

“Well I’m sure if we ever meet again I’ll probably do something to make you doubt my competence again, count that as the practice round,” I wink as he pulls up outside the studio, stopping the car parallel to the entrance staircase.

“I hope we do meet again,” he says quietly.

“Me too,” I murmur.

We both look up at the same time, our eyes meeting. Both unable to look away. My heart hammers in my chest and my leg bounces up and down. I’m so addicted to the sight of him that I contemplate skipping rehearsals.

“Thank you,” I whisper, tearing my gaze away. Why did I have to be responsible?

“You better keep that promise,” he tells me.

“I will, don’t worry,” I smile, “thank you so much again, you’ve been a life saver.”

“I think we sort of saved each other,” he replies, it was a little cheesy but makes me smile widely nevertheless.

I sigh, a lean back, “We’re going to be all over the newspapers tomorrow.”

I didn’t know why I was still talking but my mouth always seems to struggle when it’s time to stop moving and so something productive. Or maybe… maybe it was because I wanted more time with him.

“All press is good press,” he shrugs nonchalantly. He knows what it’s like to deal with this crazy lifestyle, he gets it. I didn’t think I’d really ever get to know anyone who would understand how I feel.

“They’re going to speculate we’re dating,” I warn him.

“Is that such a bad thing?” Grayson asks me, quirking a brow upwards and tipping his head to the side.

“Are you flirting with me?” I blurt out before my brain can filter my words.

“If I was would you want me to stop?” he questions.

“No,” I murmur, without a second a hesitation.

“Can I have your number?” Grayson asks.

“What?” I reply, slightly in shock whilst still trying to process the information.

“Incase you ever need me to drive you away from paparazzi again, of course,” he says, biting his bottom lip ever so slightly.

I smile tickles my lips, “of course…”

I quickly fumble around for the pen at the bottom of my bag and look for some paper.

“Just write it here,” he says, running a finger across his hand.

“Are you sure? What if you get ink poisoning?” I ask.

“I’ll have your number so it would’ve been worth it,” he smiles, smoothly.

A chill runs down my spine and I feel all warm and fuzzy.

“You know you’re really good at this whole flirting thing,” I tell him, smiling like an idiot on drugs.

“I’m glad you think so,” he replies. Why did his voice have to be so addictive? It isn’t fair!

I slowly lean down and write the numbers etched into my brain onto his hand. I concentrate hard to make the numbers look neat and tidy, incase a girl with messy handwriting was a red flag for him. I take a minute to analyse his hands, they were strong, slightly tanned but looked so soft. I remember back to when my hand was in his when we were running and how perfectly mine fit into his. Maybe one day we’d hold hands just for the feelings between us and not in a freezer attempt to escape flashing cameras and annoying people. I bring my head back up and stare at the number, thinking how awful my handwriting looks. I tip my head up further and my eyes meet Grayson’s. He wasn’t looking at the number on his hand, he was looking at me.

Now our faces are inches from one another’s but I’m selfish enough to want them to be closer. After a few moments of our eyes being cemented in place, analysing each feature of one another’s faces, I slowly realise that I need to leave. My rational senses pull together and I step out of the car to begin to make my way towards the rehearsal centre. I can hear the car hasn’t yet left. He’s waiting, I can feel him watching, he’s making sure I’m safe. It makes me beam even wider.

“And hey,” I say, turning around, “you ever want a free concert ticket, it’s yours.”

“I might have to take you up on that,” Grayson smiles, causing a warmth to blossom in my heart.

I had a feeling this wasn’t the last time we were going to meet…

a/n: sorry this took me so long!! I got wayyy to carried away whilst writing this… originally it wasn’t going to be this long but here we are. anon, whoever you are, I hope you enjoyed this and if not I can try again!! you were my first request ever and that means a lots, so thank you!!

also I feel like I wrote Grayson really out of character but the reasoning behind that was in my mind I thought in public settings or around his family he has to be the serious one always on task etcetera but when he meets someone who doesn’t know he’s Grayson Hawthorne, he allows himself to be someone more open… IDKKKK but thanks for reading anyways 🤍🤍

TIG masterlist

#grayson hawthorne #grayson hawthorne x reader #grayson hawthorne x you #tig #the brothers hawthorne #the final gambit #the inheritance games #the hawthorne legacy

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littlemissmentallyunstable · 2 months

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title: good morning

pairing: xander hawthorne x (first person) reader

synopsis: you’ve just woken up and xander has a little surprise for you

warnings: fluff, xander being too cute to handle

a/n: I’ve never written a xander x reader fic before so I gave it a shot. he’s such a cutie patootie and I literally want to just give him a hug…

tag list: @tornqdowarnings @whatsamongus @wish-i-were-heather @inmyheaddd @never-enough-novels @stqrsbythepocketful @lxvebelle @xoxo-vee @emelia07

I roll over, yawning as I rub the sleep from my eyes. I sit up, my hair a mess as it all falls over my right shoulder. I stretch out my stiff muscles and yawn again.

“Hey gorgeous.”

My cheeks flush with colour as I hear his voice. I look up to see Xander staring at me, his pupils dilating, with a perfect smile planted on his perfect lips. He clambers onto the bed beside me and takes me into his arms. I curl up on his chest, so warm and cosy I feel like I might fall straight back to sleep. His breath tickles my exposed collar bone and a smile as I stare at him.

He gently traces the outline of my jaw with the tip of his finger, staring in my eyes as he asks, “You hungry?”

“Yeah why?” I ask.

“I made breakfast,” he explains.

I sit up straight, “that isn’t a funny joke,”

“I did,” Xander whines, like a four year old who isn’t being believed.

“Okay,” I scoff, suppressing an eye roll.

Since the day we got together, Xander has never once cooked a meal. He’s attempted toast but managed to set our toaster alight, I didn’t trust him in the kitchen much after that.

“You think I’m lying,” he says, his eyes resembling those of a long lost puppy.

“Yes I do,” I say simply.

“Want to see the proof?” He raises an eyebrow.

“What?” I say, “the non-existent kind?”

He rolls his eyes and stand up. I shoot him a look of confusion, my head tilted to one side. Suddenly before I know it, he lifts me up, slinging me over his shoulder. He holds my legs so I don’t fall as he begins to walk from the room towards the staircase.

“Woah! Xander! Put me down?” I yell, attempting to kick my legs to loosen his grip. It’s a failed attempt because his hold is too strong.

He just laughs, “No can do, princessa.”

“Xander I’m serious,” I say, somewhat sternly.

“Me too,” he shrugs, beginning to descend the stairs.

“Please,” I ask, putting on my sweet voice.

“No,” he replies, mimicking my tone.

“Xand,” I groan, trying to wriggle around.

“Nope,” he says, gripping to me even tighter now, “not happening.”

“Alexander!” I shout as we get to the bottom.

“Ooo full name, it’s sexy when you call me that,” he says and I can tell he’s smirking by his tone.

I slap the back of his thigh. Hard.

“It is also very sexy when you do that,” Xander laughs.

“Shut up,” I hiss.

“Don’t be a meanie,” he says, opting a playful voice.

“You’re literally holding me upside down against my will,” I deadpan as bluntly as humanly possible.

“Wrong,” he sing-songs, “when you got into the relationship you signed an invisible contract that provides life long permission for me to do this.”

“Oh really?” I ask.

“Yes really.”

“My head kinda starting to hurt now though,” I groan, feeling the rush of blood towards my head all of a sudden.

Immediately I find myself upright again, standing in front of Xander. I get a slight wave of dizziness and fall into him for support, like when you stand up too quickly.

“Are you okay?” he’s quick to ask, my face still buried in his chest.

“I’m fine,” I smile, standing back to look at him, “the blood just rushed to my head a little.”

“I’m so sorry, are you okay? Did I hurt you?” Xander says, his eyes darting all over my body to check for any signs of pain, worry lacing his expression.

“No I’m fine,” I tell him, putting a hand on his arm.

“Sure?” he asks.

“Yes.”

“Promise?”

“Yes.”

“Pinky promise?” Xander says.

“Pinky promise.” I sigh, getting out my pinky finger and wrapping it around his. Me and Xander NEVER broke pinky promises.

“Double triple pinky-“

“Xander,” I say, raising my voice a little.

“Okay… but are you sure you’re okay?” he checks on last time.

I hum a response as he kisses the tip of my nose. I giggle at the gentle and tender gesture.

“Now come and get some food,” he instructs.

“Is there actually food?” I ask, bored.

“Go and see for yourself,” he grins, cocking his head towards the kitchen door.

“Must you be so cryptic?” I ask, chuckling slightly.

“I’m a Hawthorne baby, it’s what we are,” Xander shrugs, with a lopsided smile.

I roll my eyes, grinning like an idiot as I push open the kitchen door. My jaw drops. The dining table was lined with various plates filled with food. Actual unburnt, unruined, completely cooked food.

“You can cook?” I exclaim.

“Well yeah…” Xander replies, as if it’s obvious.

“So I’ve spent the last four months cooking and eating take out for nothing?” I almost yell.

“Hey take out is never for nothing,” he says, “and I never said I couldn’t cook, I just didn’t.”

“Well for the next four months you’re cooking,” I say, sticking my tongue out at him.

His face drops, “no please no, that’s too much responsibility.”

“Hey I managed,” I tell him, hands in the air.

“That’s because you’re responsible,” he smiles sweetly.

“Well you’re going to-“

“Shut up and eat,” Xander cuts me off, shoving what seems like a homemade waffle straight into my open mouth.

Despite nearly choking and DYING on it, I slowly chewed and absolutely fell in love with the taste. Shocked is an understatement.

“I want to lecture you for telling me to shut up but this is so delicious I’ve forgotten while I’m even mad,” I say with my mouth full.

“Enjoy sweetheart,” he whispers planting a kiss on my temple.

a/n: thanks for reading 🤍🤍

TIG masterlist

#xander hawthorne x reader #xander hawthorne x y/n #xander hawthorne #tig #alexander hawthorne #the inheritance games #the final gambit #the hawthorne legacy #the brothers hawthorne

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littlemissmentallyunstable · 2 days

Text

hi!! I’m very aware that this was requested on the 13th of August, and literally over a month later I’ve finally managed to write it up. I feel unbelievably guilty for not getting it done sooner and I’m sorry it even took this long. I really really hope you enjoy it and I’m ever grateful for the patience 🤍🤍

title: there’s always another mystery

pairing: jameson hawthorne x reader

synopsis: avery kylie grambs is spending a little too much time with your boyfriend than you’d like… but when jameson starts lying about it questions are raised and tension rises until it all bubbles over

warnings: mild swearing, violence, assault

a/n: the synopsis sounds really cringy so forgive me, this fic is kind of long and very dialogue heavy and ermmm… I hope you enjoy the ending ;)

tag list: @bewitchingkisses @whatsamongus @wish-i-were-heather @inmyheaddd @never-enough-novels @sweetlikeanangel @midiosaamor @sweetreveriee @emelia07 @f4iry-bell @zaraaaabear @thoughtdaughter3 @benny1989fredd @elysianwayy77 @maybxlle @sheisntyou @anintellectualintellectual @aleatorio1234 @adalia-jaycee @off-to-the-r4ces @lyra-kane @reminiscentreader @lyrakanefanatic @imaseabear @elizaa31

You sit on the bed waiting for Jameson to arrive. You wonder how long he’ll take this time. You’d just seen him and Avery ascending the set of stairs that lead to his dead uncle’s wing. Him and Avery. The pretty new comer with those big hazel eyes and long soft hair, pocketing a billionaire’s fortune overnight. She had it all: the looks, the brains, the humour. She was perfection and that bugged you greatly. She was a mystery.

Literally. When Tobias had finally decided to fall asleep forever, she was the result, the heiress, the consequence. She was big masterful puzzle had popped out of nowhere, from nothing. Not that you hadn’t had you fair share of experience with that. You’d earned yourself a scholarship to one of the most prestigious private schools in Texas and raised from the ashes into a burning flame. Then you’d met Jameson Hawthorne.

He had always been an interesting character, you had just never expected his interest in you. You were the scholarship kid nobody knew or cared enough to know and somehow he was intrigued. He had found you studying the the library one day and the two of you just clicked, it was like you’d known each other for years. He’d walked you home that night and had done so ever since. From that day on you were the closest of friends. It wasn’t long before you met his brothers, mostly absent mother and extremely judgemental grandfather. Hawthorne house became a second home. The two of you sat for hours, mostly on the rooftop, staring up at an endless sky of stars and talking about anything and everything. You actually don’t think there’s a topic you haven’t covered. Everything seemed to be going swimmingly… then he started dating Emily.

From the beginning, you didn’t like her at all, but you bit your tongue from pouring out your true feelings to Jameson when he’d asked for an opinion on her. You didn’t want to make his relationship feel awkward. She was everything you didn’t want him to be with. And she wasn’t you. It shattered you, but you saw how his face lit up when he mentioned her name and you vowed you wouldn’t ruin that for him. To see him that happy was worth it.

You should’ve trusted your gut. Everyday since she broke his heart, you beat yourself up for not saying anything. There were so many chances and you took none of them. She used him, abused him and left him to rot, you supposed she didn’t account for that fact that you’d be there to save him. And then she died. It was one destructive milestone after another. Explosion after explosion. But you helped Jameson through the hardest time of his life, you fixed him when he was too broken to mend.

It wasn’t until then that you realised you loved him. I mean you’d always known you’d loved him, but never in a romantic way, it had always felt so plutonic. But judging by the pure fury that built up inside of you when Emily was mentioned, the passionate way you protected and defended him in situations and the fact that you wanted nothing more than to kiss him until he couldn’t speak, you were pretty sure you were in love. But you never acted on the feeling, too afraid you’d ruin the closeness you had. It wasn’t until one night when you’d been stargazing together that he took your face in his gentle palms and kissed your tender lips. The whole act took you by surprise suddenly, but it didn’t stop you from kissing back. It felt so natural, so normal, like it was supposed to be this way. He was sweeter than you’d imagined but in the best way possible.

“I’ve always loved you,” he’d whispered as you’d pulled away, “always.”

“I’ve always loved you too,” you’d smiled shyly, cheeks flushed with colour, “and to be honest I don’t think I’ll ever stop.”

You can’t remember when it was established that he was your boyfriend but from that kiss onwards, that’s what he was to you. He was still your best friend but in a different way. There was more chemistry and kissing, but the banter remained the same. The two of you were actually planning to go on a backpacking trip around Europe but then Tobias had died and it was another round of pain and healing for Jameson, who turned to alcohol for respite. But then the will happened and Avery Kylie Grambs had appeared out of nowhere and the old man’s final game had unfurled. So the mystery girl had been an adjustment for you to say the least.

Avery wasn’t bad. In fact you liked her a lot, you could see yourself forming a friendship with her, a tight bond but the problem was the sheer amount of time she was spending with your boyfriend. After discovering she was the key to solving his grandfather’s final mystery Jameson became obsessed. He craved the answers, thirsted for knowledge. You didn’t mind at first, you let him play his game, you only ever objected the dangerous parts when he risked himself getting hurt. Other than that you said nothing. Then he let on that this all had something to do with Emily. Emily had destroyed him, from inside out. A broken, bitter shell was formed over the real Jameson. You had worked so hard to get him to see that he wasn’t broken or damaged and you feared this might undo it.

But you knew how important Emily had been, how much of his life she’d ruined, you knew Jameson needed the closure and Avery would help him to get there, but after that you expected their interaction to die down. But they didn’t. Not in the slightest. You weren’t jealous at first, you trusted Jameson and didn’t see Avery as a threat, but after a while the meetings felt too frequent and too elongated. It was a little suspicious. When you’d asked Jameson he insisted it was all part of the game.

But then that game finished and it opened up another. Of course there always had to be more to a mystery. They were Hawthorne’s. But you’d had enough, you were tired of the endless myserties. Was it so selfish to want things to go back to how they were before? When the old man’s games were not as dangerous, a little less time consuming and uninvloving of recent billionaire girls.

You’re reeled in from your deep train of thought as Jameson walks in. You look up from your desk, placing your pen down. You flash him a sweet smile in which he returns.

“So where have you been?” you ask, a hint of a forged giggle in the back of your throat.

“Nowhere,” he shrugs, the blatant lie so easily escaping his lips cuts right through your heart.

“Nowhere with brick dust on your blazer and shoes?” you raise an challenging eyebrow, arms folded across your chest.

“I climbed a wall,” he says. Lie number two, you make a mental note.

“I saw you with Avery and Xander in Toby’s wing,” you say bluntly, your face expressionless so he can’t read it.

“Are you spying on me?” he replies, gaping.

You give a delicate shrug in response and don’t answer the question directly, “what were you whispering about?”

“What do you mean?” he furrows his brow, confused.

He’s playing dumb. Fine. He can play dumb. But he won’t able to for much longer.

“I mean what were you and Avery just whispering about,” you ask directly, your tone flat as the tyre you’d burst on his car earlier that morning.

He hesitates. He doesn’t want to tell you, that’s obvious.

“Oh, was it personal?” you ask, raising an eyebrow, opting a cold, curt, feigned sort of concern to your tone.

“Oh no,” he mumbles, “well kind of…Tobias Hawthorne is alive.”

You try not to the let your jaw drop, “your grandfather?”

How had that slimy bastard managed to fake his own death and-

He shakes his head, “my uncle.”

Of course, why hadn’t you seen it sooner? Him and Avery going into his wing, the sneaking around. But then how is the question, Toby had died before Jameson had even been born.

“And so the plot thickens,” you muse, pursing your lips.

“As always,” he says, flashing you a lopsided grin that was so like him, it reminded you of the old Jameson. The one that you got closer and closer to forgetting the less you saw of him.

“Who else knows?” you ask.

“The family,” he shrugs in response.

“And Avery?” you prompt.

“She knows,” he nods, not meeting your eyes.

You raise an eyebrow, “you didn’t mention her name?”

“She was implied when I said family,” he replies.

“She was and I wasn’t,” you ask, the words not being filtered through your brain before you blurt them out. You don’t know why it hurt you so much, it just did.

“It’s not like that,” he shakes his head.

“Okay,” you reply flatly

He shoots you a knowing look and sighs, “y/n.”

“What? I said okay,” you exclaim, throwing your hands up into the air, “that means it’s okay, I’m okay, we’re all okay.”

“You don’t sound okay,” he says gently.

“Well I’m fine,” you snap.

“I didn’t mean it like that, of course you’re part of this family,” Jameson replies, trying to make up for it.

“Forget it, I don’t care,” you retort.

“Common y/n,” he groans.

“No it’s fine, I don’t care,” you shrug, very obviously caring as your voice is high pitched and you’re being far too defensive, “do what you want.”

“She just worked it out,” he explains, “she found out that-“

“I said I don’t care,” you say sharply, eyes pinned to his.

“I know you do,” he murmurs, taking a step closer.

“No I don’t,” you shake your head in denial, “end of story, what’s for dinner?”

“I know I’ve been with her a lot recently,” he sighs.

“A lot is an understatement,” you blurt out, unable to stop the thoughts that circle your mind from finally surfacing.

“It was all part of the game, you understand,” he says as a statement, not a question.

“Of course I understand,” you reply, your voice a little colder than you’d intended but it’s too late to take it back.

For a split second hurt flashed across Jameson’s features but he swiftly continues, “it was the old man’s game.”

“It always is with you,” you say curtly, with an eye roll.

“You knew what you were getting into when you became my girlfriend,” he says, growing irritated, “I warned you-“

“Getting into?” you scoff.

“The old man always has a game,” he presses on, regaining his cool.

“And you always play it,” you snap, the fury inside of your raging a little too violently to be tamed.

“I have to play,” he says, his voice strained.

“No. You don’t. You think you have to play and your grandfather knew that,” you reply, “he knew you had a thirst to play and wouldn’t resist. Prove him wrong Jamie, make him stir for the flipping grave.”

“And what if I don’t want to do that,” he asks, raising his voice slightly.

“Then you’re not the Jameson I know,” you murmur in a low, dark voice.

“Maybe I’m not anymore,” he shrugs, “people change.”

“No,” you shake your head, “people have changed you, one person in particular.”

“Avery is just a friend,” he rolls his eyes, “I don’t understand why you’re getting so hotheaded about it!”

“You’re dimming yourself down for her,” you yell.

“So what?” Jameson challenges, making the volume of your voice.

“That’s not you,” you tell him.

“Maybe it is now,” he cocks his head to the side.

“You know you’re just talking shit,” you spit.

“I like her company,” he shrugs, “and I don’t want to prove the old man wrong, I want to make him proud.”

He’s trying to get under your skin and you know it. He’s doing a good job.

“You can’t live your life trying to prove something to him, he won’t be proud, he’s dead Jameson,” you snap.

“I know he’s dead,” he shouts, “I don’t need you to tell me.”

“Good, now that information is consolidated maybe you’ll come back and live your life,” you say, the harshness in your tone making your throat ache.

“I am living my life,” he retorts.

“Running off with girls to the Laughlin’s cottage at 3am, that’s living your life?” you ask.

“Is this still about Avery?” he asks, then laughs, “you’re pathetic.”

“I’m pathetic?” you yell, “you have spent the majority of the past few weeks at her side, working this shit out and I’ve been patient and I let it happen and I waited but now there’s more to this mystery and I can’t do it again and it’s not fair for you to put me in that situation again. So forgive me if I’m sounding a little pathetic.”

“Fair? My uncle is still out there, still alive,” he replies.

“You never even knew him,” I roll my eyes.

“He’s family,” he roars.

Something about Jameson was that he was loyal to the bone when it came to family.

I shrug, “so was your grandfather and look how he treated you.”

“Don’t speak a word against him,” he says, his voice low, warning, dangerous

“You were never good enough for him and that killed you,” I reply, my voice failing to stay stable, “he broke you and I helped fix you and now we’re going back around the same cycle. Why are you still letting him continue to break you?”

“I said don’t speak a WORD against him!” he tells, his voice powerful

You could cry. You feel like it. But you don’t. For some reason you’re past tears now.

“But when you did it was okay?” I scream back, “when you’d come to your bedroom a wreck and shit talk him, who listened to you then huh? Don’t throw this all back in my face now, don’t you fucking dare.”

“I’m not trying to-“

“Well you are,” you cut him off,

He runs a hand through his hair and shakes his head, “look I don’t know what the hell you’re on this afternoon but-“

“What the hell I’m on?” you scoff.

His face softens and so does his tone, “all this arguing we’re doing, it’s not us,” he says, “it never has been so are we really going to carry on this stupid fight?”

“I don’t know, why don’t you ask Avery?” you ask, it’s petty but you didn’t feel like being mature in this moment

“This keeps circling back to her,” he sighs with an eye roll.

“You have spent the entirety of the morning with her,” I stated “again.”

“I don’t see anything wrong with that,” he says.

“Seriously?” I ask, my jaw hanging slack.

“What?”

“You know what, it doesn’t even matter,” you shake your head and begin to walk out.

“Sweetheart,” he says, lunging forwards to grab your arm. You spin around and can see the desperation seeping from his eyes.

“I’m going out,” you tell him harshly,

“Where?” he asks immediately.

“For a walk,” you shrug, going to turn again. But he holds you firmly in his grip.

“I’ll come with you,” he says.

“No, I need headspace right now,” you snap coldly.

“Okay, that’s fine,” he nods, eyes wide with understanding. You hated that he was being so nice when you were supposed to be mad at him, it wasn’t fair, “but at least take a bodyguard with you.”

“No,” you immediately say.

“Yes,” he argues back.

“I’m not one of you, Jameson,” you quip. You can see in his face that pains him but you’re too furious to care, “people aren’t coming for me, I’m not taking a bodyguard.”

“Look I’m sorry about before but-“

“It’s not about you Jameson,” you yell, “I just need a walk.”

“Okay, but I’m still sorry and please baby, take a bodyguard with you,” he begs.

“I’m not going to,” you reply, “I need to be alone.”

“Fine, okay then,” he shrugs, pretending not to care, “yeah fine, go have fun in nature or something.”

“I will,” you snap, charging out, slamming the door behind you.

***

You start walking with no intention of going anywhere. In a headspace of anger, your pace is swift and dominant. You needed air, you needed a clear head, you needed to get away. Bringing a bodyguard felt claustrophobic. You didn’t want another person breathing down your neck. You just needed to be alone for a while. A million and one thoughts swarm your mind. He probably complained about you to Avery, you think, kicking a rock violently. He’s probably with her right now, telling her what an annoying, selfish, jealous person you are and she’s probably comforting him. The thought of it makes your stomach squeeze.

It was getting darker and colder by the second. In your rage you’d forgotten to bring a hoodie and now you’re absolutely freezing. The street lights flicker on and you suddenly realise you have no idea where you are. You’re cold, alone, lost and a little hungry. You pray it doesn’t start to rain. You get out your phone quickly to look on google maps, but two red words flash up: no connection. Great. Just when you thought today couldn’t get any worse. You wish you hadn’t left the house now, but didn’t know which way to turn to walk back. You walk around the corner of a tall white building, hoping to see a signpost nearby.

That’s when you notice the footsteps of someone behind you. You turn absentmindedly to see a stranger dressed in all black clothing. You couldn’t properly see their face or decipher whether they were a man or woman. Feeling a little sceptical, you choose to cross to the other side of the road, trying to shake or anxious feelings that were creeping in. You spin the ring on your finger, trying to breathe in and out slowly. You side glance at the figure a few times to see that they’re still on the opposite side of the road. You exhale and turn the corner, feeling stupid for getting so het up over nothing.

You hear more footsteps and paranoid you look behind. You feel sick. The mystery stranger is back. Panic seizes your throat and you walk a little faster, noting their feet also pick up the pace. You turn a second corner. So do they. A thousand and one questions flashed up in your mind. What did they want? Why were they following you? And more importantly how long had they been following you for? You’re breathing heavily, maybe too heavily. You don’t want them to know you’re scared.

You fumble to reach your phone, hurriedly finding your contacts. You click Jameson’s name but the call fails. Your eyes flick to your internet, still none. You try again, the cycle repeats. Tears well up in your eyes. You were hopeless, helpless and frightened to death. You begin to fiddle anxiously with your necklace trying to work out what to do next, but your mind was blank. You couldn’t think. The person was a good few meters behind you now. A silent tear of rolls down your cheek as you carry on walking forwards, pretending you’re going somewhere in hope the follower might get bored a leave. They did not. You bite back and audible sob and notice one bar lights up in the top right hand corner of your phone screen. You have one bar of internet and you’ve never felt more relieved. Your finger rushes to hit the call button. One ring and he picks up. It’s a miracle.

“Sweetheart,” he breathes, a sense of relief and a smile in his voice.

“Jamie,” you say, your voice more panicked than you’d intended.

“What’s wrong?”

His voice is immediate and assertive but thick with anxiety. He can sense there’s something wrong, he knows.

“Jamie there’s someone following me,” you hyperventilate, the sharp sudden breaths hurting your chest.

“Where are you?” he asks.

“I don’t know,” you say, your voice shaky, “and I’m panicking.”

“Okay, don’t worry, just keep walking straight,” he instructs, “okay sweetheart?”

“Okay,” you murmur.

“Just breathe,” he soothes, “I’m tracking your location.”

You exhale unevenly and carry on walking.

“Are you near any buildings?” Jameson asks, strategically. You can tell he’s concentrated.

“There’s a housing complex and a few shops across the street,” you describe.

“Good,” he replies, “cross the road and go into one of the shops and stay in there.”

“Okay,” you answer, jogging across the road, taking note of anything that might help Jameson find you.

“What’s the name of the shop you’re going to go into?” he asks, “it might help me track you a little faster.”

You step back to read the cursive white letters, “Betty’s,” you reply, stepping in.

“That’s it?” he confirms.

“That’s it,” you say, carefully stepping inside, seeing the follower cross the road in the refection of the shop window.

Your heart thuds in your chest as the little bell rings to announce your entrance in the shop. It was one of those little knick-knack type shops, small but compact. You pretend to admire a china tea set.

“Are you inside?” Jameson asks, his voice washing some sort of comfort over you.

“Yes,” you say quickly, subconsciously tracing the tablecloth deign with your index finger.

“Have they followed you inside?” he asks.

“No,” you reply, though you haven’t looked up, the shop bell definitely has not rung since your arrival. You are the only customer in this shop. You look up and see them standing outside, you catch their eye and fear flicker through you as you quickly turn away, jolts of sheer nauseating panic runs up and down your abdomen, “Jamie they’re waiting outside, oh god Jameson they’re waiting outside, for me to come out, oh god.”

“Hey! Hey! You have the stay calm,” he says sharply but kindly, “as long as you’re in there you’re safe and I’m on my way now.”

“You found where I am?” you breathe, sounding too much like a child than you care to admit.

“I’m getting into the car as we speak,” he replies.

He’s coming. You tell yourself. You’re going to be okay. You say in your head.

“Stay on the line with me,” you blurt out, “please.”

“Of course baby, I’m not going anywhere,” he says, the concern in his voice made you yearn to be in his arms.

The other end of the phone goes silent except for the sound of a car engine, gently groaning in motion. You try to distract yourself by admiring the little collection of ceramic mouse figurines and try to give all of them a name. That’s when you catch the stranger in your peripheral.

“Jameson I’m scared,” you bite the inside of your cheek, “I’m really scared.”

“I’m coming, just hang in there okay,” he comforts “breathe for me.”

“Jameson,” you exhale, your hands becoming increasingly more restless.

“Hey, sweetheart, take a breath with me okay?” he says, “together?”

“Together,” you nod, despite the fact that he can’t see you, but somewhere deep down you know he knows you’re nodding.

“In through your nose and out through your mouth, okay?” he replies.

I’m through your nose and out through your mouth. You repeat the motion over and over with him over the phone, until you’re bored.

“I’m nearly there,” he mentions after a while.

“You promise?” you say, your breath hitching.

“I promise, just stay where you are,” he says calmly.

“Okay,” you reply.

“Sorry honey we close at 11:00,” comes a voice.

It makes you jump at first, as you yelp in surprise at the old woman beside you. Where had she appeared from? You drop your phone and it crashes to the floor. You realise for the first time how tightly you’d had it pressed to the side of your face as the cold air rushes to that spot and you feel the sticky sweat. You scramble to pick up your phone.

“I’m fine,” you reassure Jameson quickly, before turning the the woman, “sorry, would I be able to stay a few more minutes?”

She glances disapprovingly at you and then her watch, “I don’t think so.”

“It won’t be long, I promise,” you rush.

“I’m sorry but I have to lock up now,” she shakes her head and waves the keys between her fingers.

“Just until my boyfriend gets here,” you try again, desperation slicing through your tone.

“You’re not purchasing anything and it’s closing hours,” she replied sternly, “I need to lock up.”

“Please,” you beg.

“Store policy I’m afraid,” she shrugs flatly.

“I’ll but the whole damn place of you let me stay,” you exclaim, not really sure why the sentence left your mouth but it was too late to take it back now.

“This place isn’t for sale,” she says sourly with pursed wrinkled lips.

“Not literally,” you sigh, “look I’ll make a purchase.”

“No purchases after 11:00,” she responds, blunt as a baseball bat.

“But you just said-“

“We’re closed,” she snaps.

“Please just let me stay for five minutes,” you ask, hoping by some miracle she’ll agree.

“I really can’t do that,” she sighs, with an almost apologetic look on her face “I’m sorry.”

“Two minutes?” you try to compromise.

She stares through you, “I’m going to call the police.”

“There’s someone out there following me outside,” you burst, “so please, if you’re going to call the police on anyone, do it on them.”

The woman gently cocks her head to see the mysterious figure outside the window, her eyes widen by the tiniest fraction and she stares back at you. You wonder what she’s thinking. She chews her lip thoughtfully for a while and then finally replied, “there’s a back way out, I can take you through to there.”

“Thank you,” you exhale in relief.

She walks hurriedly walks away and you follow her, ending up at the very back of the shop. It couldn’t be seen from the window, but how long would it take for the follower to realise? Not long enough, you pray, hoping Jameson would arrive in time. There is a small green door with a lacy translucent curtain across the window.

“Here,” she nods towards it, “get home safe.”

“Thanks,” you say gratefully.

You almost trip out of the back door but managed to stabilise yourself, the old woman slams to door and it nearly clips your heals. You quickly press your phone back to your ear, realising Jameson is still on the line.

“Jamie?” you say.

“I’m still here,” he replies, reading your mind, “Betty’s a bitch.”

You choke on your own spittle, “what?”

“Betty,” he states as if it’s obvious.

“Betty?” you question, hoping he’ll elaborate.

“Well I assume it’s her name,” he says, you could practically hear him shrug, “the woman who just kicked you out of her shop.”

“Oh, you heard all of that?” you say.

“I did,” he confirms, “but I’m two minutes away now.”

“Two minutes?” you check, hope returning your voice.

“Yeah,” he confirms gently.

“I’m still at the back,” you mention, “but I’ll walk to the front to meet you.”

“Okay,” he replies, “I’m so close sweetheart, don’t worry.”

“Okay I-“

All the air is knocked from your lungs as you turn the corner and someone grabs your shoulders and it’s so sudden you forget to scream. Fear runs cold and thick through your veins. You can’t move. The grip is strong and foreign, their hands are callous and your arms ache the longer you’re in their hold. Paralysed, you fail to struggle free. It all happens in a blur. You feel yourself being thrown to the side and you land on the pavement with a hard thump after rolling over your ankle. Pain seizes through it and you bite back a yelp. You look up, struggling to your feet and see Jameson has arrived.

Jameson. Jameson. Jameson.

He’s fighting the mysterious follower who you can now see is man. He’s a few inches taller than Jameson and has much more muscle but Jameson is quicker, more agile. You wish you could help him but the searing agony deriving from your ankle would’ve only made him slower. So you’re now just watching. It’s a tête-a-tête of frantic hits and blocks, all scarily aggressive. The look in Jameson’s eyes is not one you recognise, it’s like the green had been frosted over with ice. The follower lunges at him suddenly and an audible gasp escapes your lips. He has Jameson in a headlock. You stumble forwards, ready to attack him from behind when Jameson twists the man’s arms in an awkward direction, leaving him vulnerable. In the split second Jameson knees him in the stomach and begins to punch him repeatedly.

Jameson’s jaw is clenched, his hair is ragged and wild. A flow of crimson red liquid falls from one nostril and from a new wound just above his eyebrow. His eyes are fierce and gleaming, like a predator on its prey. You’re not sure you know who this man is, he’s not Jameson, he’s a mutation, a weapon, a unrecognisable being.

“Jamie,” you murmur, your voice shaking. You can’t stop yourself, you’re too scared.

He can’t hear properly, he doesn’t even acknowledge you. He carries on punching and punching but the follower seems to be cold out.

“Jameson stop! You’re scaring me!” you yell, fear in your throat but fire in your belly.

He looks up and he freezes, all but his hands that are shaking from the adrelenline rush. He looks down at his bloodied knuckles to the limp figure on ground, then back to me again. He can see the fright in my features that I’m so desperately trying to conceal.

“Hey, I’m sorry,” he says, “it’s okay, let’s go home.”

“Is he dead?” you say, the words so much harsher than you intended.

“No,” he shakes his head gently, “just knocked out, I promise.”

“I-“ you can’t finish the sentence.

“You’re shaking,” he murmurs tentatively, wrapping an arm around you to still your trembling torso.

“I’m fine,” you say, trying to sound strong, but synthetic strength only made you sound weaker.

“You’re not fine,” he shakes his head.

“Let’s just get out of here,” you sigh, then look at him with sparkling eyes, “please?”

“Of course,” he says, concern bleeding across his features.

You begin to walk but have to bite your lip as pain rips through your ankle with weight pressing down on it.

“What wrong?” Jameson asks, his reaction instant and lightning fast.

“Nothing,” you shake your head, trying to carry on without displaying the pain.

But he’s too vigilant for his own good, “are you hurt?”

“No, it’s fine,” you reply, in denial, “I’m fine.”

You’ve found that things are easier to believe if you say them out loud. Unfortunately not in this case.

“Where?” he asks, stopping still, pressing gently down your arms to check for tentative pressure points.

You pull away, “Jamie I’m-“

“Where?” he asks firmly, giving me that look.

“I just rolled over my ankle,” you sigh, “it’s not a big deal.”

“Do you want me to carry you?” he offers.

“No,” you say quickly, too quickly.

The truth was, you did want to be carried. The thought of being in his protective arms, pressed up against his chest was very appealing. But just like he could see your winces and hear your sharp breaths in, you notice his. The fight hadn’t been easy on him, no matter how stubbornly he tries to hide it.

“Just support me and I’ll support you,” you reply.

“I don’t need support,” he says.

You stare at him, “you don’t have to be the knight in shining armour with me, I thought you’d stopped that.”

You’d made a pact at the start of your relationship that Jameson couldn’t play that role. You were there for each other, it wasn’t one or the other.

“Fine,” he grits through his teeth, “we’ll support each other.”

You both walk, labouring, limping and leaning on one another. In the silence of it all you have time to think about all that had happened, a chances you hadn’t previously had with your mind always preoccupied on something else. A tidal wave of guilt almost drowns you.

“I’m sorry,” you burst out suddenly, feeling all of a sudden emotional, as tears run down your face.

You didn’t realise how much yours been keeping it in, your fear, your pain, your guilt, your sorrow.

“Hey, shhhh,” he soothes, caressing your cheek, “shhh shh stop that now, hey, hey.”

“I shouldn’t have left,” you shake your head, “I shouldn’t have got so angry and walked so far alone and it was dark-“

“Y/n, breathe,” Jameson murmurs, “I’m not angry, it’s not your fault, I’m just glad you’re safe now, okay? I would never let him hurt you, you know that right?”

You nod.

“Let’s get to the car and then we can go home, okay?” he suggests softly.

“Okay,” you murmur in response.

He wraps his arm back around your shoulders and holds your hand with the other, steering you towards his car. He walks around to your door, looking over his shoulder cautiously, making sure you are in and safe before he thinks of himself. You’ve never felt safer in a car, your back pressed up against the seat. Your leg bobs up and down uncontrollably, even when your try to stop it. Seems the adrenaline had gotten to you more than you’d thought.

Jameson is swift to get into the driver’s seat and start the car. He silently places his hand on your upper thigh to still the shaking. The warmth of his familiar touch relaxes some of the built up worry in your chest. One knot has been untied from the incomprehensible ball.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

You nod numbly. You didn’t reply with words in fear that you’d spill out the truth. Lying to Jameson was a challenge.

“Stupid question,” he mumbles, “of course you’re not.”

“I think I’m still trying to process what just happened,” you murmur, not a complete lie. You’d only processed parts.

“Okay, that’s fine, take as long as you need,” he says reassuringly, “I’m here if you want to talk.”

You nod again. Then take a breath.

“I’m sorry,” you say, choked up with emotion, “I’m sorry for fighting, I don’t know why I get so annoyed it’s just-“

“It doesn’t matter, all that matters is that you’re safe,” he tells you gently.

“Safe,” you repeat, the word has an odd texture on your tongue.

“You are safe,” Jameson replies firmly.

“I am safe,” you repeat, believing it a little more.

***

The two of you had gotten back to Hawthorne House late. No one was around so no questions were asked. But whilst you showered and changed Jameson insisted on getting the security team on it and you didn’t object. You join Jameson in your shared room after your shower, he’s already waiting with open arms. You clamber into the bed and fall onto his chest. The smell of him indescribably addictive. He wraps his arms around your torso and you wince, tenderness spreading across the tops of your arms and upper back.

“What hurts baby?” he asks, eyebrows knotted with worry.

“Nothing,” you reply, shrugging the pain off.

He looks at you, “you don’t have to lie to me.”

You’re silent for a few beats but then finally murmur, “my arms.”

“Let me see,” he says.

“It’s okay-“

“Let me see,” he whispers, sending a hot shiver down your spine.

You slowly slip of your jumper and expose the rounded bruises from the follower’s fingers. You’d discovered them moments ago in the bathroom, it must’ve been from where he’d grabbed you. You can’t see Jameson’s face but judging by the thick blanket of tense air that had enveloped your surroundings, you have a good idea of what he’s thinking.

“He did this?” he asks, tracing every bruise so delicately it nearly tickles.

“Jamie he grabbed me,” you explain.

“I’ll kill him for laying a finger on you,” he spits, a foreign violence in his tone you weren’t sure you liked.

“Don’t say that,” you say before you can stop yourself.

“What?” he looks at you in wild disbelief.

“Talk of killing him,” you close your eyes, “you’re not a murderer.”

He opens his mouth.

“Don’t you dare argue with me,” you snap, a raw intensity in your voice. You struggle to recall where you found it.

Silence you like a car hits roadkill. Swiftly and out of nowhere with a sickening thud.

“You know you scared me back there,” you murmur, meeting his eyes shyly.

“Me?”

“When you were punching him…” you trail off, “you looked so angry.”

“I was angry” he retorts, “no one should do that, especially not to you. Never to you.”

“Yeah but I really thought you might…” you stop yourself.

“I might what?” he urges you to continue.

“I don’t know,” you say trying to brush it off, “it doesn’t matter.”

“No it does,” he replies, “you thought I might kill him right?”

“It just wasn’t you punching that guys, it wasn’t my Jameson,” you murmur.

“Your Jameson doesn’t protect you,” he yells and you flinch slightly.

You don’t meet his eye, “no, not like that.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you, I just…” he sighs, “I never would’ve forgiven myself if something had happened to you.”

“It would’ve been my fault for storming off like that, god I’m so stupid,” emotion rises thick in your throat.

“Hey, stop beating yourself up about this,” Jameson says, “it was my fault in the first place.”

“No it wasn’t-“

“Yes it was, let’s just forget about this okay,” he insists.

“But what if he comes back? What if he knows where I am? What did he want with me Jamie? What if-“

“It’s all going to be sorted okay, we have so many staff on it right this second,” he says tracing the outlines of your knuckles, “you just need to breathe.”

“I am breathing,” you grit through your teeth.

“What’s worrying you then?” he asks softly.

“I don’t know,” you reply, biting back a sob.

He senses the emotion, “come here.”

You practically collapse into his arms, keeping your tears at bay just barely. There’s something about being in his arms, against the warmth of his body that made the bad things go quiet for a second, that stopped the overwhelming voices in your head, that silences your thudding heart. But even now, things were unusually playing on your mind, despite the comfort.

“I don’t know Jamie,” you murmur into his chest, “I’m scared and exhausted and anxious and I can’t stop thinking about it.”

“Let me help you,” he whisper, gently running his fingers through your hair.

“I don’t think you can,” you mumble, your eyes grappling to stay open.

“I will find a way,” he says, you almost laugh at his stubbornness.

“I don’t want to lose you,” you reply, your voice breaking, “I don’t know anything bad to happen.”

“You’re not going to lose me and I won’t let anything bad happen,” Jameson kisses the top of your head, “I promise.”

“I don’t feel safe,” you admit.

“What’s making you feel unsafe baby?” he asks, aching concern in his voice.

“Before today I’d never even imagined potentially being kidnapped and it just happened today,” you ramble, “and that means there’s so many other things that I couldn’t ever have imagine that might happen.”

“If we spend our whole lives in fear of what might happen we’d forget to live,” Jameson says.

You meet his emerald eyes and try not to melt, “I’m scared.”

“There’s no need to be,” he comforts, “I’m here.”

“You promise?”

“Always,” he says. His voice is so sure, so strong. It almost makes you believe.

“And you’re not going anywhere?”

“Not anywhere without you,” he grins lopsidedly, the real Jameson shining through making your cheeks tint a pale pink.

“I’m sorry,” you say again, the residing guilt flowing back in.

“If you apologise one more time I’m going to do a lyrical dance routine to ‘hot stuff’ only dressed in sequinned hot pants and a top hat,” he says.

“I think I’d quite like to see that,” you can’t help but smile, “I should apologise more often.”

He chuckles softly and kisses the top of your head. You nuzzle into the nape of his neck and allow one tear to slip from the under your mask. Just one.

“I’ve got you baby and I’m not letting go,” Jameson whispers.

“Please don’t let me go,” you murmur, sounding as small as a child.

“I’m not, never ever,” he murmurs, kissing your nose, then cheeks and then a soft kiss on your lips.

You smile, a fluttery feeling in your chest and you kiss him back. His hands snake around your waist, the tentative touch making you tingle a little. You wish you could just focus on Jameson and nothing else but the problem was the scene kept replaying in your head. The man grabbing your shoulders, the bruises left on your skin, the smell of his cologne in your hair. He was everywhere.

“Hey sweetheart, it’s okay,” Jameson soothes, “you’re safe now.”

It’s only then you notice how your entire body is shaking, your bones rattling together. You try to stop but you can’t. He brings you into deeper his arms and holds your quivering limbs together. You wonder if he let go you’d fall apart all together.

***

You didn’t go to school the next day, instead you stayed curled up in Jameson’s arms as he gently traced spirals across your back with his index finger.

You can’t remember the last time you’d felt so in love.

***

Thursday rolls around far too quickly and you know you have to go back. Word about the stalker had been kept quiet but you know you couldn’t stay under your duvet forever. No matter how badly you wanted to. So you wake up early and take your time getting ready. Jameson sleeps like the dead all the way through it, even when you blow dry your hair. You meet Xander who is already at breakfast, eating muffins. You’d promised the week before you’d come and observe his biology project for him, so he could have a second opinion and you didn’t want to break that promise.

“You know you really didn’t have to come,” he says, still chewing, “after you know…”

“I want to Xand, really,” you say, “I can’t avoid it forever and I want to see your project.”

“If you’re sure?” he checks, with an eyebrow raise.

“I’m sure,” you nod, “I swear.”

“Well then, have a muffin or two and then we’ll be on our way,” he grins, handing me one from the plate in the centre.

“Roger that sir,” you smile back, saluting him as you take a bite.

***

School was difficult that day, not the content, just the energy. The problem was you had none. And it was one of those long modified timetable days where your first break of the day was lunch and it wasn’t even until 2:00pm. That in itself was a mood killer. On top of that you couldn’t get the follower out of your head. The events played on some sort of endless loop in your head. You wonder who it might be, why they might have been following you of all people. It was known you were dating Jameson but not that known. Apparently, according to Xander, Oren had been put on high alert and Alisa was working on finding their identity. That should have brought you solace. It didn’t.

But the more you thought about it the more your realised that part of you selfishly didn’t mind that it has happened too much because last night you’d felt more connected to Jameson than you had in forever. It had been a while since it had just been the two of you, no mysteries, no arguments, no Avery. Yesterday had solely been the two of you, all day. Just in the presence of one another but, at school, you hadn’t seen Jameson all morning, seen as you’d left for school early with Xander but he had sent you a string of text messages that you only see at first on your very late lunch break.

morning sweetheart

are you okay??

I know you left early with Xand but I’m still worried about you

text me for ANYTHING okay??

I love you xx

And then an hour later…

you still haven’t text back

are you okay??

I bribed the woman at the front desk for your schedule so you’re probably in class right now

unless you’re not!!

just answer me when you can okay

I love you

Then in the next hour…

ARE YOU OKAY!?

I HAVEN’T SEEN YOU IN THE HALLWAYS

PLEASE ANSWERRR!!!!

I love you ;)

You almost laugh at the cuteness of it all. You type a couple of messages in response incase he bribed the headteacher to let him use the announcement speaker to find you next.

I’m fine Jamie, don’t worry

late lunch break sorry I couldn’t text sooner

They bleep through one after the other, sending through.

meet you after school for our plans

You close your phone quickly and get to the next class, holding your books tightly to your chest. The next few periods better go fast.

***

They didn’t go fast. In fact every millisecond felt like an hour, the day seemed endless. You get out of class and don’t pass Jameson in any hallways yet again sk decide to go to your usual meeting spot after school. You send him a quick message.

waiting outside business studies

You wait for him by the curb. One minute passes, he’s been a minute late before, many times. So you figure it’s okay, leaning on the wall behind you. Five minutes go by next and most kids are leaving or have left the school premises. Maybe his class has run over, your brain suggests. Then it is ten minutes, barely anyone is walking out. The odd person, sure, but never Jameson. You begin to wonder where he might be. Detention? No, he always finds a way out of those. Basketball court? No, he doesn’t like to play with the other guys. Classroom? No, he wouldn’t spend longer than he had to in the school. You sigh, ten minutes isn’t that long after all. Maybe you’re overreacting. Still, you send him another text ‘hey, are you nearly here?’ Half an hour passes. That’s when you get really confused. He should definitely be here by now. Slowly you wonder down several hallways, checking your phone for any messages, calls or voicemails, but there are none. Few students are around and every time you look into a classroom Jameson isn’t there. You make your way back to your original spot, incase he turned up. Forty minutes pass and you try his phone for the last time, ringing him rather than just texting but it goes straight to voicemail. So you resort to calling Xander, hoping he’ll be able to help and ease the tightening knot of worry growing in your chest. There is only two rings.

“Hello y/n,” Xander’s cheerful voice says down the other end, “is there any reason you’re phoning the best Hawthorne on this fine afternoon?”

“Yeah, sorry Xand,” you reply, “but have you seen Jamie anywhere?”

“Don’t be sorry,” he tells me, “and I think I saw him come in earlier, I just presumed you were with him.”

Too many juxtaposed emotions hit you at once. Relief, he’s okay, he’s alive, he’s at home. Hurt, he left without you, abdomen or forgot the plans you had. Annoyance, he’d left without sparing you a second thought.

“No,” you mutter, “I wasn’t.”

“You sound annoyed,” Xander comments.

“I’m fine, sorry Xand,” you reply, putting some more life into your voice to wash away and tense notes, “it’s been a long day.”

“Don’t I know it,” he sighs, “but hey it’s the weekend now, fancy a game of strip bowling when you get back?”

Strip bowling was one of your favourites, mostly because you were very good at it and barely had to strip and also because Jameson usually ended up in his underwear. Xander must’ve sensed the false happiness in your voice and suggested it to be nice.

“Maybe tomorrow,” you say, trying to let him down gently. You did appreciate the gesture, but the thought of playing stop bowling right now did not match the mood.

“Yeesh your day was that bad huh?” he asks softly, playing it off as jokey.

“I’ll be okay,” you reassure him quietly.

“I’m here you know,” he reminds you.

“Thanks Xander,” you reply, but don’t elaborate. You didn’t feel like talking right now.

“Talk to Jamie, he’ll know how to make you feel better,” he suggests sweetly.

You smile through your pain, “yeah, I’ll give it a go.”

You hang up and exhale slowly, he doesn’t know that Jameson is your problem.

***

You get back to Hawthorne house about twenty minutes later. It sounds relatively empty, though it always does, seen as there were so many possible places for people to be. You wander through the entrance, trying to think where Jameson might be. You hear footsteps approaching and spin around to see a blonde in a suit. Wrong brother.

“Have you seen Jameson?” you ask him before he can greet you.

“He was upstairs earlier, with Avery,” Grayson replies.

All the air is knocked from your stomach, “Avery?”

“You didn’t know?” his expression flashed for a fraction of a second into something between guilt and shame before it is composed.

“No…” you trail off.

“Oh,” he replies, with an unreadable expression back on.

“Well thanks anyway,” you say with a synthetic smile.

You walk away quickly before he can respond, looking up with glossy eyes. You ascend the stairs quickly and don’t look back. You feel you need to see for yourself did this is true. But where would he take Avery? You could only hope it wasn’t the roof where the two of you stargazed, that would hurt like hell. You trail down a hallway where voices are coming from and stumble upon a door that is ajar. Inside, Jameson talking to Avery. Your stomach rolls uncomfortably. He’s positioned barely a foot a way and he’s laughing. He looks so beautiful when he laughs, but now it’s ugly. It’s like biting into something sweet and getting a sour taste. It’s not the fact that she made him laugh, it’s the fact he’s laughing like he laughs when he’s with you. That’s the thing that cuts deep. The way his eyes are sparkling and his smile is wide and carefree, you thought he reserved those kind of smiles only for you.

Clearly not.

You turn your back on the scene and rush to your bedroom. You swing the door open forcefully and then slam it shut behind you. So he’d ditched your plans for her. Great. You sigh as you collapse down on your bed feeling an unwelcome tightness squeezing across your chest. Tears well up in your eyes. You didn’t like to cry, you rarely ever did. But right now, you couldn’t do anything about it. The tears just flowed down your cheeks and your whole body shook with each sob. Your heart physically ached, something you hadn’t thought was possible until this moment. A searingly mournful agony rippling through the left side your the chest. You felt so vulnerable, so exposed. You didn’t stop crying the blanket was soaked through, weighted with wet emotion and your throat was so raw it was numb.

***

You binge movies for the rest of the evening, the only feeling left in your system was anger, you’d cried all the sadness out. You felt so done with feeling shit and binging movies gave you that outlet of doing nothing, thinking nothing and feeling nothing. Exhaustion is beginning to win the ongoing battle between the two of you when you hear soft footsteps approaching. Jameson had been practically out of your mind the whole evening, Disney movies are a good distraction, but that is until he walks in. You hear as the door handle turns and he enters. Your eyes flicker to the clock, it’s just gone midnight.

“Hey sweetheart,” he murmurs, taking his suit jacket off and undoing his top button, “you’re up late.”

“What do you want?” you ask, eyes glued to Elsa’s performance of ‘let it go’ on the tv screen.

He immediately notices something is off and walks over, “woah, hey, what’s wrong?”

“Oh so now you care?” you scoff, looking him dead in the eye.

“What did I do?” he asks quickly, cluelessly.

“You are unbelievable,” you exclaim, switching the movie off before hurling the control across the room.

Jameson stares in disbelief, “why are you so pissed off?”

“You don’t know why I’m annoyed?” you ask, dumbfounded.

“No…” he replies hesitantly, like he’s treading on egg shells.

“Seriously?”

“Seriously,”

“Oh my god,” you laugh bitterly, shaking your head, “tell me you’re joking, please.”

“I’m not joking,” he says, the desperation and worry evident in his tone.

“Do you even know what we were supposed to do today?” you ask with a withered look.

A moment of realisation strikes and you notice as his eyes widen and his jaw drops a little.

“Shit. I’m sorry, I forgot,” he says, actually looking guilty. You almost feel sorry for him.

“Yeah I know,” you deadpan, folding your arms across your chest.

“There’s just been a lot going on lately and with the following and then I was days behind on the thing with Toby and-“

“Am I some sort of burden,” you retort, eyebrows raised.

“What? No! I never said that,” he exclaims, his voice raised.

“Okay,” you shrug, nonchalantly. The small display of passive aggression would get under his skin, prickling it like an unscratchable itch.

“Last time we argued it ended with you being followed, I don’t want you in that situation again,” he says, his voice dominant and definitive.

“You’re making this about you!” you yell, rage blinding your vision, “what you want, for me!”

“Oh so you want to be followed, stalked?” he asks, with a forced cruel laugh.

“That’s not what I said,” you snap, eyes narrowed.

“Sounds like it,” he bites back, the bitterness in his voice hurting you far more than you cared to admit.

You don’t say anything for a long while but eventually cut through the long silence, “I even text you about it,” you say quietly.

“What?” he replies, head cocked to the side, confused.

“About tonight,” you say, raising your hands into the air with an eye roll.

“No you didn’t!” he yells back, defensively.

“Yes I did,” you scream.

“Look, this is the last message I got,” he exclaims, shoving his phone’s bright screen into your face.

‘late lunch break sorry I couldn’t text sooner’

You stare at the message and then quickly open your phone to double check. Your message hadn’t gone through, you look up glaring at him. You were mad he didn’t remember, mad the message never went through and just mad in general.

“It didn’t go through, I couldn’t help it,” he defends.

“You still forgot,” you press on, getting mor annoyed by the second, “I shouldn’t have to remind you that you have plans with your girlfriend.”

“Look, I’m really sorry,” he replies and you can see the meaning in his face, “we’ll reschedule.”

“I don’t want to do it anymore,” you tell him nonchalantly. You know you’re being petty, but you can’t help it.

“Oh common y/n,” he says.

“No I don’t,” you shrug. He’d messed it up, that opportunity was passed now.

“Look I just needed to-“

“What you needed to do was stick to your word, what you needed to do was remember when you had things plans, what you needed to do was think before you acted,” you say in a low voice, interrupting him, “but you did none of that.”

“I can’t have a life now?” he scoffs, growing irritated, “that’s not you.”

“What’s not me?” you scowl.

“This, right now,” he says, “you’re being so controlling!”

You raise your eyebrows, almost laughing, “controlling? You started this argument!”

“No I didn’t!” he argues.

“You know what, if you didn’t want to have it out then you shouldn’t have asked why I was angry,” you roll your eyes, “so just forget about it.”

“Oh would you STOP doing that,” he yells.

“What?”

“The whole ‘forget about it’ thing, it’s so fucking annoying,” he retorts, anger creeping up in his tone.

“You know what else is annoying?” you ask him, “when your boyfriend is hanging out constantly with some random girl who inherited all his grandfather’s money, that’s really fucking annoying.”

He’s silent. Nothing to say for once. No witty reply, no deflection, nothing. His face is impossible to read, blank.

“Hang on, that’s not quite the right word,” you continue, “what about aggravating, demoralising, hurtful-“

“You know I never would’ve pinned you as a jealous possessive girlfriend,” he shakes his head, with a cruel chuckle.

“I’m not!” you snap, “but you lied Jameson, why did you feel the need to lie!?”

“Lie?”

“You told me a few days ago you’d climbed a wall and if I hadn’t known any better I would’ve believed you,” you say, “but you weren’t climbing a wall, you were with Avery.”

“This,” he says exasperatedly, “this is exactly the reason I lied.”

“What?” you ask.

“This overreaction,” he explains, making some weird hand gesture.

“I’m overreacting?” you scoff, as your eyebrows shoot to your forehead.

“Completely,” he exclaims.

“So let me just get this straight,” you begin, “you’d have never pinned me as a jealous possessive girlfriend but you lied to me about ditching our plans to spend time with another girl because you were worried about an overreaction? Right, that makes sense.”

“I’m sorry,” he exhales, “I’m sorry.”

“No you can’t just say sorry and then think it’s all going to be okay,” you shake your head, “sorry is just a stupid word, it means nothing.”

“I didn’t mean to say what I said just now and I am sorry that I hurt you,” Jameson says desperately, “I didn’t mean to.”

“It’s not just that! You blew off our plans for her,” you yell with a sob, “so yeah that kind of fucking hurts.”

“Sweetheart I didn’t mean to-“

“Yeah well you did,” you laugh bitterly, aggressively wiping away your tears, “and I’m crying over it which is just stupid.”

“It’s not stupid,” he tells you gently.

“Yes it is stupid Jameson,” you snap, the tears only flowing thicker and faster, “I feel like an idiot.”

“You shouldn’t,” he insists.

“Well I do, I’m such an idiot. I’m an idiot for fighting with you, I’m an idiot for getting myself followed, I’m an idiot for thinking that someone could actually love me, I’m an idiot for not seeing the signs sooner and I’m an idiot for crying over it all now,” you snivel, roughly scrubbing your tear-stained cheeks.

“Woah, hey,” he says, “sweetheart I love you. Just you.”

“Well it doesn’t feel like it lately,” you say, choking back a sob desperate to leave your throat.

His face softens, “sweetheart…”

He reaches out to touch me but you flinch away. His gentle touch is only a reminder of the good person he is and how much you love him for it. And you can’t afford to fall for it, not again, the pain was too much.

“You’re hurting me Jamie,” you say, your voice breaking as you jab a finger to your heart, “this is hurting me.”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he murmurs, as his eyes mellow.

“If you want to be with her I’d rather you just tell me,” you whimper, “it would save me the pain of all this back and forth and sneaking around and finding out. Just tell me straight.”

“I don’t want to be with Avery,” he says, “I never have.”

“You don’t look at me how you look at her,” you say bitterly, getting it off of your chest.

“You’re right I don’t,” he agrees. Your heart plummets, here it comes, the confession, the break up, the empty sorrys and eyes filled with tears. “I don’t look at you like I look at her, because I look at her like any other person on this planet, but when I look at you I’m looking at my world. And I’d sure as hell hope that differs from the look that I gave to everyone else.”

A wave of emotion coats your skin, soaking you through. His world. The words repeat over and over and over until you feel delirious.

“Do you mean that? Do you really mean that?” you whisper.

“Of course I do,” he sighs, “don’t you understand? I love you, it’s always been you, it will never not be you! You’re my person, you’re my other half, I was supposed to meet you and fall in love with you. You give me purpose and passion and so much more. When you called me the other night after our fight I’ve never been more frightened in my life, I was freaking out over here. I’ve never felt so panicked, so sick with the thought of someone being hurt. I’m in so love with you that I can’t even explain it and I can’t believe I led you to doubt it. Avery is a friend, I promise, she means nothing to me compared to you, trust me. How can I prove that to you?”

“I don’t know Jameson,” you shout, your head aching from this endless circle of arguments.

“Then marry me!” he yells, then his voice softens, “marry me.”

You freeze, every muscle in your body suddenly falling into a state of paralysis, “what?”

“You heard me,” he says, his expression too serious.

“Jameson,” you murmur, barely getting his name out.

“Marry me.”

a/n: I’m a sucker for fat dramatic impulse decisions (it’s a problem, you may have gathered from my more recent fics) SOZ GUYS 😘😘 anywayyysss the time frame is roughly (and I mean very ROUGHLY) based around chapters 11-13 of the Hawthorne brothers incase you were wondering

thanks for the req anon, so sorry again for the wait, hope you enjoyed the read 🤍🤍 if you made it to the end and didn’t DNF halfway through, well done!! can you guys tell I got way too carried away, this fic was so all over the place but I posted it anyway bc yolo

there will be no part 2!! sorry!! I really need a break from reqs… you decide how you answer 🤭🤭

TIG masterlist

#the inheritance games #tig #jameson hawthorne #jameson hawthorne x reader #i love jameson hawthorne #jameson winchester hawthorne #jameson x reader #jameson #jameson hawthorne x you #jameson hawthorne one shot #the brothers hawthorne #the final gambit #the hawthorne legacy #tig fics #tig fic #jameson x avery #jamesonavery #javery

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