Penance - Uncovering the truth, Secrets and confessions, and Twisted pasts

Chapter 1

Poor Grayson woke up from yet another nightmare. This time, it was the airplane explosion at Hawthorne Island. He had been there—helpless, frozen in place—watching Avery bleed out, gasping for air, her life slipping away right in front of him.

Avery is safe, he thought, trying to shove the panic aside. Avery is safe...

But the tightness in his chest wouldn't go away. He threw the covers off, restless, needing to move, do something. Anything.

If anyone was awake at 3:30 in the morning or swimming in the pool, Grayson didn't care. He didn't even notice.

He took off his shirt, throwing it somewhere, and readied to jump when he saw his reflection in the water.

His grey eyes looked dull, drained. Not the sharp, focused look he was used to.

Grayson had always been the responsible one, the solid one. Nash was chill, Jameson a mess, Xander a disaster waiting to happen. He had to be the one who kept it all together. But now, staring at himself, he felt like he wasn't even close to who he used to be.

"I'm not broken," he muttered under his breath. He repeated it, trying to convince himself. But it didn't stick. The more he thought about it, the more his head throbbed.

Without a second thought, he jumped into the pool. The cold hit him like a slap, but it was a relief. Swimming was the only thing that helped him forget. For a moment, he felt lighter, like the water might wash away everything—if only for a little while.

Then he heard it.

"Grayson."

He stopped, his chest tightening. He knew that voice too well.

"Emily," he muttered, almost too quiet to hear.

Her voice was like a knife in his chest. Emily had been everything—his reason, his calm, his love. And now... now her voice was just a reminder of all the shit he couldn't fix.

Grayson buried his head under water, drowning himself. 

He held his breath until his chest burned, trying to escape the memories, the good ones. Their dumb little bowling dates, the rush of finding her the perfect gift, braiding her hair when they had nothing else to do.

But when he came up for air, the voice was still there.

"Grayson."

His stomach flipped. He scanned the edge of the pool, expecting her to be standing there. But there was nothing. No one.

Frustrated, he swam to the other end of the pool, hoping to get away from it. But the voice followed, like it was stuck in his head, relentless and real.

He swam back to the edge, pulled himself out, his wet skin slick with cold. He collapsed onto a deck chair, eyes shut tight.

It's not real, he thought, trying to drown out the voice. She's gone.

But it didn't stop. It kept calling his name, clearer than before, and it felt too good to be a lie.