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

Chapter 31

It was dark, but it was morning. 

Grayson had spent the entire day reading Mason's books as well as Alison's not-so-helpful files. None of it had given him the answers he was looking for, only more questions and more reasons to keep playing.

He ran a hand through his hair, sighing deeply. He was tired. Tired of playing Mason's games, tired of trying to understand Alison. Yet a part of him, his Hawthorne part, wasn't tired at all.

It wasn't just curiosity. It was hunger. The need to win, to see things through. Jameson had called it that once, and he wasn't wrong.

But tonight? Tonight, he didn't want to feel it.

Grayson made himself comfortable in bed.

Nothing matters now, he told himself, forcing his mind to stay still. It doesn't matter. None of it matters.

Eventually, sleep came for him. But his dream wasn't peaceful. It was messy and full of cracks, the kind of dream that didn't let him rest.

Grayson dreamed of Emily first.

The cliffs again. It was always the cliffs. The wind was strong, the waves below loud and angry.

 Emily stood too close to the edge, as she always did.

"You're always so serious," she said, her back to him, like she wasn't a second away from falling.

"Emily, don't—"

He moved, reached for her, but it didn't matter. It never did. She fell, the way she always did.

He froze, staring at the spot she'd been, his hand still outstretched.

 No. NO. NO!

"It wasn't your fault, Gray." 

Grayson turned then and saw Jameson behind. 

"It's mine," he said, tossing a gold coin in the air like it was all a game. Jameson didn't move, didn't flinch. Just stood there, looking past Grayson, past everything, down at Emily.

Grayson took a step back, his throat closing up. He couldn't look down. He wouldn't. Not at her.

"I didn't want this..." The words rushed out, a little broken. "I just... I didn't want to lose..."

I only wanted Emily...

He stopped.

It wasn't just Emily, and he knew it. He didn't want to lose—to Jameson, to anyone. It was a game, wasn't it? A sick, endless game, and Grayson had played his part perfectly.

Hawthornes break everything they touch.

Emily was gone, and no amount of winning could change that. It was Grayson's fault.

He blinked back tears, and the cliffs were gone.

Hawthorne Island. And Avery.

She was on the ground, crumpled and still. The kind of still that made Grayson's stomach drop like lead.

Instead of moving to her, he took a step back. He couldn't do this again.

He turned and saw him—Jameson running toward her, faster than Grayson had even thought to move.

A plane. He remembered now. The explosion. The fire.

And he'd just stood there. He hadn't moved, hadn't even thought to move.

But Jameson had.

Jameson was already there, dropping to his knees beside Avery.

He wanted to move, dammit. Wanted to be the one there, pulling Avery back from the edge, saving her like he hadn't saved Emily.

But he hadn't.

It's my fault. It's my fault. It's my fault. It's my fault. It's my fault. It's my fault. It's my fault. It's my fault. It's my fault. It's my fault. It's my fault. It's my fault. It's my fault. It's my fault. It's my fault. It's my fault. It's my fault. It's my fault. It's my fault. It's my fault. It's my fault. It's my fault. It's my fault. It's my fault. It's my fault. It's my fault. It's my fault. It's my fault. It's my fault. It's my fault. It's my fault. It's my fault. It's my fault. It's my fault. It's my fault. It's my fault. It's my fault. It's my fault. It's my fault. It's my fault. It's my fault.

It's. My. Fault.