CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
LINA
“ Y ou know, usually when you show up to your own surprise party, you’re not supposed to know about it,” I whisper to Grant as we walk through the door of his house.
I’ve been teasing him about the fact that I figured it out all evening, and it still hasn’t gotten old.
You could say the balloons in the mailbox gave it away, or maybe the sidewalk chalk spelling out HAPPY BIRTHDAY LINA in Savannah’s perfect bubble letters.
When I first passed it all I could do was laugh. “Subtle.”
Grant winced and then said, “Yeah, the chalk may have been overkill.”
“Maybe,” I said.
Now, though, all I can think about is the fact I’m about to ruin my own surprise party.
I squeeze his hand before the door opens fully and the disco lights flick on.
“SURPRISE!”
It’s loud. So loud it echoes off the walls. There’s glitter in the air—or maybe confetti—and someone, probably Eden, yanks a party popper so hard it lets out a loud POP! sound before ricocheting off the ceiling.
For a second, I pretend. I do the whole gasp-hand-to-my-mouth thing and even throw in a slight bend at the knees like I’m overwhelmed. And it’s not entirely fake. Just enhanced.
Because even though I knew it was coming, I didn’t know it would look like this.
The whole front room is decked out with streamers, and a hand-painted sign hanging across the living room says " LINA’S 21ST BIRTHDAY" in bold pink letters.
“Oh my god.”
Savannah rushes forward, phone already in her hand, recording me from an angle that’s definitely not flattering. “She’s not even surprised!” she yells to the room. “Look at her face! She already knew!”
“I knew it,” Eden grumbles, arms crossed. “You knew, didn’t you?”
“I plead the fifth.”
Grant grabs my shoulders, smiling as he leans down to whisper, “You’re a terrible actress, by the way.”
“I’m an incredible actress,” I whisper back. “You’re still convinced you can make me come. Aren’t you?”
Grant lets out a quiet laugh, the kind that’s low in his throat and far too confident. His fingers splay out against my hip, thumb brushing just under the hem of my skirt like he’s reminding me who exactly I’m teasing.
“Oh, pretty girl,” he murmurs near my ear, so low no one else can hear, “I don’t think you want to test me on that. We both know how that ends.”
I turn back to him, grinning. “With me acting .”
“Jesus, Lina, you’re not even drunk yet,” he mutters, but there’s a look in his eyes that says he’s enjoying this. Maybe more than he should in the middle of a room full of people yelling my name and shoving cupcakes at me.
“Would you rather I be drunk?” We both know it’d be easier for me to sleep tonight if I did, but at what cost?
“I give you full rein to be as crazy as you want, birthday girl,” Grant tells me, following me further into the party. “I’m staying sober. I’ll make sure you get home and into bed safe and sound."
“You’ll even take off my makeup?”
He gives me an awestruck look. “Anything.”
That’s when I stand on my tiptoes. Even in heels I still need an extra boost to get my mouth to his ear. “What if I don’t want to get drunk?” I ask quietly, my lips grazing the shell of his ear.
Grant turns his head just enough to give me a confused look. “Why wouldn’t you?”
I smirk. “Because I want you to fuck me tonight.”
The face of confusion quickly morphs into one of hot amusement. Unlike me, Grant is so used to talking about sex and any public displays of attraction that he hardly cares if anyone overhears. Being with him has made me more comfortable talking about that kind of stuff.
Apparently it’s easier to talk about your sex life when it’s actually good.
“I want you to do what you want,” he still tells me, despite the arousal flaring through his eyes. “You don’t have to factor me into your decision to have fun tonight.”
He’s completely wrong about that fact. Grant is easily my favorite person. It would be nearly impossible for him not to be a factor.
We’ve been officially dating for over two months, but I’ve been sleeping in his bed, building a friendship with him, for nearly six. He’s become quintessential in my life. My Ariadne’s thread.
“I’m factoring you into my life in the same manner I do any other day,” I tell him honestly, picking up a Solo Cup in the kitchen.
He reaches into the fridge, grabbing a can of Diet Coke. He hands it to me, and I pour it in my cup, but then when I reach for one of the vodka bottles on the counter, he stops me.
“Oh, so you don’t want me to drink at all ?” I tease, knowing that can’t be the case.
Grant shakes his head, pulling open a cabinet overhead and handing me a brand new bottle of Grey Goose.
“Better than Smirnoff?” he asks with a knowing grin.
How quickly I take it from his hands and pour a shot or two into my cup should tell him all he needs to know.
At the same time, Kara enters the kitchen frantically. I don’t even think she notices we’re in here until my eyes lock on hers. Red, wide, blown pupils.
If I were more expressive, I’d be smacking a palm over my face right about now. I can see what is about to transpire play through my mind like a twisted movie preview.
And everything in my body is screaming at me to stop it from happening, to somehow help the situation. But it’s useless.
The damage is already done.
“Holy. Shit.” I have no idea what else to say.
Grant furrows his brows at me, not seeing what I have. I hope he never does. If I could protect him from this, I would.
But I know what’s coming, and it feels like being tied down to the tracks knowing a train is roaring toward you.
I recognize it in his face the moment he notices Kara behind him. He’s half turned away from me, but the way his eyes narrow and his jaw stiffens says enough.
“What the fuck is in your hand?” is the first thing he says, noticing something even I hadn’t.
That doesn’t happen very often.
My eyes train on the small bag in her hand. It’s pretty clear what it is based on the white powder. Hell, just her physical appearance was enough to cue me in, let alone the fact that she’s openly carrying drugs around.
If Kara’s eyes could have widened any more, they would have. I’ve already caught her red-handed on Xanax.
This is different, though. This is Grant she’s coming face-to-face with. He is at the center of how this could unfold. He understands all the consequences.
Honestly, I hope it makes her feel worse. Maybe it will smack some sense into her.
“Grant—”
“What the fuck did you bring into my house, Kara?”
I take a long, silent gulp of my drink, trying to ignore the confrontation despite it happening right in front of me.
These are two people I love, and it’s hard to not choose sides when flaws begin coming to the surface. Once they come to the light, it’s hard to unsee them.
And this one? It’s blinding Grant.
Still, these are the types of cracks and weaknesses we all have. Ones we all pray no one notices, but they inevitably get revealed anyway. And who am I to love someone for their strengths but hold their weaknesses against them?
But standing here, watching the way Grant’s face hardens while Kara crumbles beneath his gaze, it makes me realize that the lines that are hardest to cross are also the ones hardest to come back from.
“You’re a fucking neuroscience major!” Grant yells, ripping the baggie from her hand. “You know better than anyone what this shit can do to a person!”
“It’s not?—”
“What I think it is?” Grant sneers. “Please, Kara. Please try to tell me this isn’t what I think it is.”
Kara looks seriously pained, as if this information is being tortured out of her. “You don’t get it.” It’s the wrong thing for her to say. It even has me wincing.
Grant goes stone-faced. I thought he was rigid before, but I can see now that he is completely shutting down. In his mind, Kara practically spit in his face.
“Get the fuck out.”
“Grant—” Now it’s me trying to calm him down. My eyes fill with tears, caught between my boyfriend and best friend.
He keeps his eyes fixed on Kara. “Get the fuck out of my house.”
It’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen from him, yet it's everything I used to imagine him to be. I know deep down that the only thing Grant wants to do is help Kara, and her completely denying him of that was hurting him more than anything else.
He barely knows Kara beyond who she is to me. He’s hung out in our apartment, and has talked to her a lot in group settings, but it’s clear that doesn’t matter. He’s a damage control freak, constantly wanting to keep people out of harm's way. It’s who he is.
And Kara just detonated every alarm in his head.
It was as easy as that. Kara turns and walks out, but not without a long look toward me. She’s wondering if I’m going to stop her—stop Grant.
I wouldn’t like to call it picking sides. I’m not choosing between my best friend and my boyfriend. But this is Grant’s house, and if he doesn’t want people with drugs here, he has the authority to ask her to leave.
And after what Kara did—lying to me about laying off the drug use and then bringing it here—I’m not going to stick my neck out for her.
Still, I can’t help but mouth, “I’m sorry,” as Kara walks out the front door. Because it hurts. It hurts me that her mistakes are tearing holes in all of us.
When he turns to me, his face is flooded with sympathy. “I’m sorry,” he tells me, running his hands through his hair, sounding truly regretful.
“You did the right thing,” I tell him easily, stepping closer so that I’m practically right up against him.
Grant doesn't seem convinced. He doesn’t look relieved in the slightest now that Kara’s exited the house. Nothing about how this all transpired went down the right way, yet there’s no other way I can think to handle it.
“Grant.” I place a hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay. She shouldn’t have brought that stuff here.”
He finally looks at me, his eyes searing with the type of pain I’ve only ever seen when he’s told me about his mom. “I shouldn’t have done that. She’s your friend, and it’s your birthday. I didn’t need to kick her out.”
“Yes, you did.” I nod. “I would never ask you to put yourself in that situation. One of us will text her and make sure she gets home safe, but she doesn’t need to be here right now.”
“Lina!” Savannah’s voice cuts the tension between Grant and me. “What the fuck happened?” I’m guessing she only saw Kara storm out, not what happened beforehand.
Grant and I must give her a similar look because she stops dead in her tracks, only about a foot away from us. “Shit, did she bring something here?”
We both nod.
Eden and Braxton also filter into the kitchen, and now thinking about it, I haven’t seen Meredith anywhere.
She’s been pretty distant since everything about her eating disorder was revealed.
I don’t think it’s on purpose, but there is definitely a learning curve that comes with confiding in people after hiding it for so long.
Her relationship with Braxton has shifted entirely, though. The night of the fashion show—after Eden, Kara, and I all talked to her—I heard her yelling at him, then telling him to get out.
Safe to say, I don’t think they’re together anymore—if they were even technically back together in the first place.
Even though I don’t know the whole situation, it still makes me kind of annoyed with her. We figured out quickly that Braxton knew about it all along, dating back to the first time they were dating, before she went to a treatment facility over the summer. Now, they’re on the rocks again.
Yet, he’s still trying to help her. He’s still coming over to the house to check on her and texting her consistently. She’s trying to push him away, but he’s trying not to let it happen.
That’s the thing about Meredith—she’s good at pretending she’s unaffected even when everything inside her is screaming. Until that wall finally comes crashing down and her feelings explode like water over a dam.
I get it more than I’d like to. But it doesn’t make it any less frustrating to watch her push away the people who actually care.
“What the fuck is going on?” Braxton asks, standing next to his twin sister.
“I don’t think we need to harp on it!” Eden quickly interjects. “This is Lina’s birthday party! Let’s keep that the focus for tonight.”
All the tension in Grant’s body begins to loosen at that idea. His arm wraps around my waist, pulling me impossibly closer so that our sides are pressed firmly together.
When his lips meet my hair, I lean my head onto his chest. I close my eyes for a second, forgetting about the crowded party on the outskirts of the kitchen, and sinking into the shape of his arms.
The noise of the party becomes static. The only thing ringing through my head is the emotional fallout of addiction and heartbreak and my friends unraveling at the seams.
“We can always go upstairs,” he whispers in my ear as his lips trail from my head, down to my jaw, and then my cheek. “It’s up to you. Braxton could kick everyone out right now.”
I shake my head. “No, I want to stay.”
Savannah claps her hands, flinging her arm around my shoulder from the opposite side from where Grant stands. “Alright! Who’s up for drinks and karaoke?”
The reminder of the party pulls us all out of the turmoil we were stuck in for a moment, reviving the night in a way only Savannah could do.
It’s how we all end up in the living room, dancing in the middle of the large crowd, stealing the karaoke mic back and forth from one another. Delaney and Kenzie even joined us at one point, making our group even bigger.
I’m feel-good tipsy after how quickly I downed my drink in the kitchen. It’s not enough to make me feel inebriated, just to make everything feel softer around the edges.
I don’t even know how long it’s been since we first started singing and dancing, but when enough people have cleared off the dance floor, Grant grabs my waist, pulling me toward the steps leading upstairs.
“Are you drunk?” he asks, leaning in close.
My eyes focus on his tattooed hand as it sweeps my arm up to my jaw. “No. I only had one drink.”
Grant eyes me cautiously. “That one drink was at least a double or triple.”
“I’m good,” I promise. “The perfect amount of barely buzzed.”
“Can I kiss you?” he asks, his voice low as he tugs me closer by the belt loops of my skirt.
I nearly laugh, tilting my head up at him. “Since when does my boyfriend ask to kiss me?”
Does he seriously have suspicions that I’m drunk?
“I’m not talking about your mouth, Eva.”