The Inheritances Game (Jameson Hawthorne)

Meeting Skye Once Again...

Catalina's POV

Nash drove, two additional bodyguards piled into the back of the SUV, which left the rest of us to squeeze in the back. Oren prohibited Avery from going so she was trying to get more out of Eve.

"Aren't you supposed to be on a flight back to Harvard right about now?" Jameson leaned forward, past me, to shoot his brother a look. 

Grayson arched an eyebrow. "Your point?" 

"Tell me I'm wrong," Jameson said. "Tell me that you're not staying because of Eve." 

"There's a threat," Grayson snapped. "Someone moved against our family. Of course I'm staying." 

Jameson reached around me to grab Grayson by his suit. "She's not Emily." Grayson didn't flinch. He didn't fight back. 

"I know that." 

I pushed Jamesons hand away and turned to Grayson. "Gray." 

"I know that!" The second time, Grayson's words came out louder, more desperate. 

"Despite what you seem to believe," Grayson bit out, "what you both seem to believe, I can take care of myself." Grayson was the Hawthorne who had been raised to lead. The one who was never allowed to need anything or anyone. "And you're right, Jamie—she's not Emily. Eve is vulnerable in ways that Emily never was." The muscles in my chest tightened. 

"That must have been a really illuminating game of Chutes and Ladders," Jameson said. Grayson looked out the window, away from both of us. 

"I couldn't sleep last night. Neither could Eve." His voice was controlled, his body still. "I found her wandering the halls."

"Gray." I whispered.

"I asked her if the bruise on her temple was paining her," Grayson continued, the muscles in his jaw visible and hard. "And she told me that some boys would want her to say yes. That some people want to think that girls like her are weak." He went silent for a second or two. "But Eve isn't weak. She hasn't lied to us. She hasn't asked for a damn thing except help finding the one person in this world who sees her for who she is." 

I thought of Eve talking about how hard she'd tried as a child to be perfect. And then I thought about Grayson. About the impossible standards he held himself to. "Maybe I'm not the one who needs a reminder that this girl is her own person," Grayson said, his voice taking on a knife-like edge. "But go ahead, Jamie, tell me I'm compromised, tell me that my judgment can't be trusted, that I'm so easily manipulated and fragile." 

"Don't," Nash warned Jameson from the front seat. 

"I'll be happy to discuss all of your personal shortcomings," Jameson told Grayson. "Alphabetically and in great detail. Let's just get through this first." This took us to a neighborhood full of McMansions. 

Oren parked on the street, and as he began rattling off our security protocol, all I could think was How did Skye Hawthorne end up here? I hadn't kept track of what happened to her after the DA had dropped the murder and attempted murder charges, but on some level, I had expected to find her in either dire straits or the utter lap of luxury—not suburbia. 

We rang the doorbell, and Skye answered the door wearing a loose aquamarine dress and sunglasses. "Well, this is a surprise." She looked at the boys over her sunglasses. "Then again, I drew a change card this morning. The Wheel of Fortune, followed by the Eight of Cups, inverted." She sighed. "And my horoscope did say something about forgiveness." 

The muscles in Grayson's jaw tensed. "We're not here to forgive you." 

"Forgive me? Gray, darling, why would I need anyone's forgiveness?" This, from the woman whose charges had been dropped only because they had arrested her for the wrong attempt on my life. "After all," Skye continued, retreating into the house and graciously allowing us to follow,