Fighting Fate (Granton University #1)(19)

He sat on the floor, his back propped against the wall, his knees bent as his legs sprawled in front of him. But he’d crossed his arms over his chest as if he was cold, and he’d tilted his head back so his face was upturned toward the ceiling. With his eyes closed, he swallowed, the muscles in his throat working through the motion.

One overhead light caught his cheek perfectly, reflecting a glistening track of skin from the bottom of his eye and down along his jaw. Recent tears.

Slowly, he opened his lashes and rolled his head against the wall, lulling it her way until their gazes met. He looked exhausted and beaten.

Broken.

It wasn’t satisfying at all to realize she’d made anyone look broken—no matter who he was or what he’d done.

He didn’t seem surprised to see her. He appeared to be actually waiting on her.

“You didn’t tell them it was me,” he said, his voice so dry and raspy, it croaked.

Damn it. This was all wrong. He wasn’t supposed to be so ruined. He was supposed to be cocky and arrogant, boasting about defeating her brother in that fight. Smug he’d gotten away with murder without any punishment.

Suddenly angry with him for toying with her feelings, for confusing her, she hissed, “No one here knows, do they? No one knows what you are.”

He jerked, every muscle in his body seeming to torque at her accusing tone. When he shook his head, she exhaled harshly and knotted her jaw. “Well, isn’t that just convenient for you?”

He squinted, staring at her as if he had no idea what convenient meant.

“Why didn’t you tell them?” he asked, his eyes bright with what looked like another batch of approaching tears. “Why didn’t you point at me and tell them everything?”

She didn’t know. She’d started out with every intention of revealing him to everyone, but when it came down to it, she hadn’t been able to. It would’ve united them together if she had. Everyone would see her as her brother’s survivor and Logan as her brother’s killer. People would automatically think of him when she was mentioned and vice versa. She didn’t want to share that kind of link with him, didn’t want to share anything with him. It would be too intimate. Too binding.

When he shifted, slowly pushing off the floor and to his feet like a drunk old bum, she skittered a step back, realizing she hadn’t answered him yet. Stiffening her jaw, she tilted her chin up defiantly.

“Who says I won’t?”

Even standing, he continued to lean against the wall. Gulping loudly, he nodded, once again accepting her condemnation. Sweat coated his forehead with an unnatural gleam. He looked like he might be physically ill. But he didn’t beg her to keep quiet about his identity.

Closing his eyes, he asked, “Do you want me to drop out of the grief group?”

“Yes,” she said. No way could she go to another meeting, knowing he’d be there. And she desperately wanted to attend another meeting.

He inhaled a sharp, pained breath but nodded his compliance. A split second later, his expression crumpled and his gaze clashed with hers, begging. “I don’t think I can.”

Her mouth fell open, incredulous. “What do you mean, you don’t think you can?”

“This group has helped me a lot.” He looked embarrassed to admit it.

She shook her head, confused. “Helped you with what? You didn’t lose anyone.”

His jaw bunched as if offended.

Angry heat surged through her veins. “What are you even doing in this kind of support group anyway? No one in your family died, did they? You’ve never experienced loss.” She lifted one eyebrow, daring him to admit he was a total fraud.

His face cleared, and he shook his head. “No,” he confessed quietly. His eyes narrowed almost defiantly. “But all the Murderers Anonymous groups were full up, so I had to make do with the grief group.”

Spinning away, he stalked off, swerving a wide berth around her so they couldn’t come into any kind of contact.

She fisted her hand, wanting to punch him. “Hey,” she growled.

He barely paused. “I’ll quit the goddamn group, all right?” His stiff back still faced her as he jerked around the corner, disappearing.

Paige stared after him, her emotions a confusing mix even she couldn’t discern. She wanted to rejoice in her small victory. She’d gotten him out of the group so she could attend another meeting. But instead of victorious, she felt kind of crappy.

It’s helped me a lot, his rueful confession echoed through her.

As much as the group had helped her already, she had to believe he’d been telling the truth. But the meetings had helped him with what? Who had he lost?

He and Trace hadn’t been close. He couldn’t possibly be mourning her brother too. They’d been adversaries, attending separate schools. The only times they’d ever met up were at ball games, where each of them had been the star player of his team.

She’d loved going to the games when her school had played against Village Heights. Logan Xander had given her brother better competition than anyone else in the division. The games between them had always been exciting, especially since they’d defeated Village Heights more often than not.

Paige had been a sophomore in high school when they’d been seniors, and she’d always viewed Logan Xander as the Village Heights version of Trace, except Xander wasn’t her brother, so he’d seemed a lot more dazzling from afar. Half the girls in her school—her included—had let out a dreamy sigh whenever he would step onto the court.