“She’s dead now, so who cares? I pissed on her grave last week. Wish I could’ve done it while she was alive with that fucking needle in her arm.”
“Now, listen...”
“No!” he roars. “Fuck that woman. Nothing I did mattered. You know why? Because women are all the same. Lying and manipulative.”
She shakes her head.
“That’s who my mother was. Slept with every dick in the city while I had to sit there and wait. She got me drunk so I would be quiet while she was in the other room swallowing cock. Was that the addict in her? Or the whore?”
“She made a lot of mistakes, but…”
He slams his fist on the table and glares at the social worker. “She’s just like you. Trying to manipulate me to believe my mother was a good woman.”
He smiles, evil.
Then, acrash—
He knocks the woman’s bookshelf over and storms out.
I cover my mouth. Nevin stops the playback and watches me, smug. “He was sent to juvenile corrections after that. He didn’t rehabilitate, obviously.”
I hold myself. Knowing why Grayson hates women doesn’t bring the relief I imagined. I don’t know how to fix that.
“Still think he’s your misunderstood prince?” Nevin asks. “I don’t care what’s on that phone. People like Grayson don’t get redemption. The younger the trauma starts, the more evil they become. I have a prison full of Graysons. They don’t get better. They get meaner, more violent, more dangerous.”
My chin trembles, but I don’t cry.
Because I’m not just heartbroken. I’m furious.
This is what Meghan knew.
And he didn’t tell me.
The next day, I walk into the prison as Ashleigh, thanks to her ID. The guard barely glances up before letting me through.
I sit down and wait, twiddling my thumbs, rehearsing my speech.
Then I see him.
Grayson.
He’s walking in at the far end of the visitation room. When he notices me, his head tilts back, eyes to the ceiling as if he’s praying for an escape. Or forgiveness. Or for me to disappear.
My heart flutters, sick with longing. Is he reallynothappy? This is awkward. A disaster. I want him to be ecstatic. I know I lied to get him to meet with me, but...
Gosh, even in that orange jumpsuit, he looks beyond sexy. I blink.
The sleeves stretch tight around his biceps, veined and cut like he’s been bench-pressing rage. His chest is thick, his waist lean. Dark stubble shadows his jaw, begging me to gloss my fingertips over its rough surface. He’s cuffed, but nothing about him looks contained. He still looks intimidating.
When he finally unfreezes and moves toward my table, it’s not the confident prowl I remember. There’s a lag in his step, like he’s dreading this moment. He sits with a sigh.
But won’t meet my eyes.
“What do you want, Piggy?” he says sharply. “Brax finds out you visited me, he’ll have my skull kicked in by lunchtime.”
“Then I’ll make this fast,” I reply. I swallow hard. I am ready! I can do this!
I lean in, eyes narrowed as I make myself look tough. “Grayson...youare the dadless wonder. Not me.”
