Chapter Twenty #2
Like I have for the last week. I’ve burrowed my face there while we rode for hours through the treacherous woods. I’ve slept with my nose buried in it. I found comfort in it last night when he saved my life. But now it’s hers, that spot, and God, I…
I want to punch something. I want to punch him. He’s responsible for this. He’s responsible for all my misery and these crazy conflicting feelings.
She finally breaks away from him, and he puts her down.
And then, just like Axton, maybe-Annie rears back and punches him in the face.
This time the sound isn’t as loud as before, but I still wince.
She grimaces before shaking out her wrist. Then, pointing that same hand in his direction, she declares, “You deserved that.”
This time, he does touch the spot on his jaw as he drawls, “Apparently, that’s the consensus.”
She’s not amused, however, and swats his chest. “Do you have any idea how scared we all were?” She doesn’t wait for Arsen to reply as she keeps going, “Any idea at all? All Mr. Grayson said was you weren’t going to be home for another few days. That you got held up.”
This time, Arsen does try to intervene. “It’s—”
“After eight years,” she cuts him off. “You were in prison, Arsen, for eight years. And then you get out and you can’t come home? What are we supposed to make of that?”
“I’m fine,” Arsen says in a low voice.
“No, you’re not,” she insists. “You can’t be.
You’re out of your mind is what you are.
I overheard Mr. Grayson the other night, okay?
I did. Your brother never shares anything, but I overheard.
You married the Turner girl. Are you crazy?
Are you absolutely insane? Are you out of your mind? Because those people—”
At this point, all proceedings come to a halt, because finally, they all notice me.
It’s not their fault, though, for not doing so before.
I’ve been kind of shrinking away since Axton broke into the scene.
It just didn’t feel right to be standing so close to them.
To all the Graysons. Not because of who they are but because they’re clearly a family.
The kind I’ve never experienced before. No matter how or under what circumstances I’m here, it still feels like intruding.
In any case, there’s no hiding now. I’m the center of their attention.
Axton leans toward the girl and mutters, loud enough for me to hear, though, “Think it’s time to shut up.”
She turns toward him and punches his arm, which makes Axton go, “Ow!” Then, turning back to me, she apologizes.
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t…” But then she trails off as she really looks at me.
Her pretty dark eyes go from my unruly, messed-up hair to my dirty bare feet, and everywhere in between.
My scraped-up knees, my dirt-caked arms. But mostly my attire.
The T-shirt I’m wearing that’s too big on me and clearly belongs to someone else. Like the man standing behind her. My forced-husband and her… whatever.
Annie turns back to Arsen then and pushes at his chest. “What did you do to her?”
He takes a deep breath and his nostrils flare.
But before he can respond, his eyes fall on something behind my shoulders and his face hardens.
Actually, his entire demeanor goes on alert.
Not only his, but Axton’s too. Even maybe-Annie’s.
They all sort of fall in line, with Arsen widening his stance and Axton clearing his throat.
But the biggest change comes over her. She goes from being this spitfire of a girl to a demure-looking one.
She tucks her gorgeous hair behind her ears and lowers her eyes, wiping her hands on her thighs.
Somehow it makes her look younger than before, and I had put her in her early twenties.
I follow their gaze to discover the reason for this sudden change, and there it is.
A man.
Tall and broad, even more so than Arsen, and very grave-looking.
He has dark hair—from what I can see, because he has on a black-colored Stetson—much like Arsen and Axton, but it’s threaded with silver.
It also curls like Arsen’s, not like Axton’s, though, whose hair, now that his hat’s off, I see is straight and spiky.
His eyes are dark as well but with a little bit of brown.
Which is more similar to Axton’s eyes, as Arsen’s more often than not appear pitch-black.
But unlike both his brothers—because I think I’m looking at Marsden Grayson right now—he has a mustache.
A classic horseshoe shape that makes his square jaw look even more angular and broad.
Silently, he takes in the scene, his eyes going from one end of the line, starting with Axton and then to Annie and then to Arsenal, where his gaze stays for a long moment. Then, with a gravelly voice that also matches Arsen’s, he goes, “You made it.”
Arsen stares back at him for a few more seconds before jerking his head in a nod. “Looks like it.”
Marsden exhales a breath, shifting on his feet. “Welcome home.”
I notice Arsen’s chest shudder with his next breath. It’s a very subtle movement, but I’ve been so close to that chest for such a long time that I can make it out. I’m not sure if anyone else did, though. Or if they catch a little extra roughness in his voice when he replies, “Good to be back.”
Then, without further response, Arsen’s older brother turns toward me, and I draw back a little at his sudden attention.
I hate that I cower, but there’s something about his quiet authority that makes me fall in line too.
While Arsenal Grayson reminds me of an ever-burning fire that can roar and engulf me at the slightest provocation, Marsden Grayson makes me think of hard, cold marble that will freeze me with one look.
Not to mention, my state of undress makes me even more timid than usual.
Before I can get my bearings back and straighten my spine, I’m suddenly looking at the mountainous, branded back of my husband.
I don’t know how that came about because he was standing all the way over there, but now, he’s here in front of me, and between me and his brother.
I’m not going to lie, it does ease a little bit of my trepidation and I can breathe easier.
Even though I don’t think his safety net is going to last much longer. How can it when he knows the truth now?
From over Arsen’s shoulder I hear Marsden ask, “This the girl?”
I notice his shoulder blades twitching with a breath before he replies, “Reverie.”
“What?” his brother says.
“That’s her name,” Arsen replies back in a low tone.
I should probably be paying more attention to the conversation; this could be where they decide my fate. But I’m still reeling from the fact that this is the first time he’s said it.
My name.
Last night when I told him the truth, he repeated my words from the letter and called me a daydream.
But he never actually said it. I can’t decide if it’s a good thing or bad.
Because if he had said my name last night, I probably would’ve died right then and there after how he wrung me out, both emotionally and physically.
And if I had, I probably wouldn’t have to face his entire family standing here in his T-shirt.
As it is, I’m about to pass out from how fast my heart is racing right now. How different my name sounds in his voice, how new. Like this is the first time I’m hearing it. Like no one has ever said Reverie before him.
“What? But I thought her name was Peyton.”
This comes from a confused Axton, and my heart skips a beat. I knew it was bound to happen. In fact, I thought that moment was upon me. But now that it’s happening in real time, I’m not really prepared for it.
Their obvious bond with each other aside, I know they’re all dangerous and capable of bad things.
And while I still strangely don’t care what happens to me anymore, I do very much care about protecting my best friend.
How I’m going to do that, though, I have no idea.
I spent the entire morning today thinking about it, but I still have no clue.
The only reason I’m not completely freaking out right now is because Peyton is still far, far away from this mess; and God, I hope I can somehow find a way to keep her safe before it’s too late.
Or before they all kill me. Whichever comes first.
“Isn’t that what the Turner girl is called?” Axton continues, a frown bisecting his brow.
Arsen whips his attention over to his younger brother, and with a hardened jaw and a growl, he replies, “She isn’t the Turner girl.”
A chill runs down my spine at the way he says it. It’s anger, pure and clear, fiery. I can feel the heat of it focused on me, even though he hasn’t even looked at me once during this whole exchange. Which makes me realize he hasn’t said a word to me all morning, not one word.
I was so engrossed in my own thoughts that I didn’t notice it until now, and I know why.
He’s absolutely enraged at the fact that I ruined his plans.
I mean, I knew he would be, but I didn’t know to what degree.
I also didn’t know I’d feel… guilty for ruining things for him.
But I can’t help it. He’s doing it for love, isn’t he? And I can’t blame him for it.
People do crazy things for love.
“What the fuck? Then who is—”
“Okay, can I please say something here?” the girl interrupts, the girl he’s most probably kidnapped me for.
Like Arsen, she breaks the line to make it to where I’m standing, fisting the hem of my T-shirt, trying to disappear.
Arsen, watching her approach, shifts and maneuvers himself between me and her, and God, I have to say that I’m thankful for this as well.
I’m not really proud of it, but I’ll take it.
Because I know I’m not going to have his protection for much longer.