Tell Me Pretty Lies(51)

“Mom, I’m leaving!” I call out as I pluck a blueberry muffin out of the plastic container on the counter. She whips around to face me, and I give her a quick wave before turning to leave. She hurries off the phone, telling August they’ll continue their conversation later, and then she’s calling my name.

“Shayne, wait!”

My shoulders tense as I slowly turn back around, ready for the lecture that’s sure to come.

“I know you’ve got a lot going on with school and volleyball, but I could use your help cleaning out some of the rooms upstairs.”

I was not expecting that. “Okay.”

“The sooner we can get this place cleaned up, the sooner I can sell it.”

That gives me pause. “Sell it? Why would you sell it?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” she asks, as if that’s been her plan all along. “Grey’s on his own. You’re going off to college soon.” She glances around. “This place is too big and too much responsibility for just me.”

“That’s what you want?” I know my mom’s relationship with her parents was rough, but this is her childhood home. She has to have some attachment to it. This house doesn’t hold any sentimental value to me, but this town does, and the prospect of not having a reason to come back has my stomach twisting in knots.

She shrugs. “It’s really my only option, Shayne. I’ll sell the house to some rich jerk, put you through college, and buy myself a nice little three-bedroom home somewhere between you and Grey.”

I nod. “Okay. Well, I’m gonna be late,” I say, hitching a thumb over my shoulder. “Talk later?”

“Go, go,” she says, pasting a smile on her face. “I’ll be at your game tonight.”

I almost forgot I had a game.

“There is a game, right?” She looks down at her phone, tapping at the screen. “I could’ve sworn it said today.”

“No, it’s today. I’ll see you tonight then.”

Her phone rings again, and she gives me a wave before turning back for the kitchen. I walk to my car, hop inside, and start the engine, my mind going in twenty-seven directions. On a whim, I try to call Grey again as I’m backing out of the driveway. Maybe he’ll pick up this time.

Unsurprisingly, he doesn’t.

“Asshole,” I mutter, tossing my phone to the passenger seat.

I start driving, fingers tapping on my steering wheel. I don’t want to go school today. I want answers.

Fuck it.

I turn left instead of right and pull onto the highway.




One stop for gas, a coffee run, and an hour and thirteen minutes later, I made it to Grey’s campus. I’ve only been here once with my mom to help Grey move in, so I wasn’t sure I’d remember how to find his dorm, but low and behold, I found it.

I stand in front of his door, suddenly nervous. I shake my head, internally chastising myself. This is your brother, idiot. The one who learned to braid my hair for volleyball when my mom was out of town for work. The one who always gave me an extra scoop of brown sugar in my oatmeal because he knew I loved it. The one who always stuck up for me, no matter the circumstances.

Taking a deep breath, I bring my fist up to knock on the door. I don’t hear anything, so I knock again, louder this time, leaning in to listen.

“Coming, fuck,” my brother’s voice calls out, sounding less than pleased. I hear him shuffling around, and then the knob is turning. “I told you to stop leaving your key here—oh.” He stops short when he realizes it’s me and not his roommate.

He looks like he just crawled out of bed. His hair is messy, the stubble on his jaw longer than I’ve ever seen it before.

“Surprise,” I say weakly, ducking under his arm that holds the door open.

He follows me into his dorm, kicking the door shut behind him. “Aren’t you supposed to be in class?”

“Aren’t you?” I toss back.

“Touché.” He scratches his jaw, uncomfortable. “What are you doing here, Shayne?” He ambles back over to his bed and plops down onto the edge of it. Beer bottles and food containers litter the floor and every surface on his side of the room. On the other side of the room is a matching bed and some storage containers with wheels underneath, a desk that must be for both of them, and not much else.

I walk over, standing in front of him, arms folded over my chest. “I’ve been calling you. A lot.”

“I’ve been busy.”

“Yeah, so you’ve mentioned. What’s going on with you?”

“There’s nothing—”

“I swear to God, Grey, if you lie to me one more time. You don’t take my calls, you barely respond to texts, and you haven’t set foot in Sawyer Point in almost a year.” Even before we moved back to Sawyer Point, he rarely visited us.

“Why would I? There’s nothing left in that town for me.”

Ouch. “Thanks.”

“Dammit, Shayne, that’s not what I meant.”

“Then what did you mean? Because you bailed on me when I needed you the most.”

Grey’s eyes are full of concern when he looks up at me. “What do you mean?” He stands. “What’s wrong?”

In the weeks that followed Danny’s death, Grey had already checked out, both physically and mentally before we even moved out of Whittemore. He went back to school, so he has no idea what happened during that time.