The Hawthorne Legacy (The Inheritance Games #2)(30)

“There is no way that the old man didn’t know,” Grayson said harshly. “For twenty years, he included Colin’s Way in his will.” A muscle in Grayson’s throat tightened. “Was he trying to make a point to Skye?”

“Or was he leaving her a clue?” Jameson countered. “Think about it, Gray. He left a clue for us in the newer will. Maybe that was an old trick, one he’d used before.”

“This isn’t just a clue,” Grayson said, his voice low and harsh. “This is my…” He couldn’t say the word father.

“I know.” Jameson crossed to stand in front of his brother, lowering his forehead until it touched Grayson’s. “I know, Gray, and if you let this be a game, it doesn’t have to hurt.”

I was overcome with the feeling that I shouldn’t be there, that I wasn’t supposed to see the two of them like this.

“Nothing has to matter,” Grayson replied tightly, “unless you let it.”

I turned to go, but Grayson caught my movement out of the corner of his eye. He pulled away from Jameson and turned to me. “This Sheffield Grayson might know something about the fire, Avery. About Toby.”

He’d just had his world shattered with a revelation about his father, and he was thinking about me. About Toby. About that signature on my birth certificate.

He knew I wasn’t going to stop. “You don’t have to do this,” I told him.

Grayson’s grip tightened over the handle of the knife. “Neither one of you is going to leave this alone. If I can’t stop you, I can at least make sure that someone with a modicum of common sense oversees the process.”

In a flash, Grayson tossed the blade back to Jameson, who caught it.

“I’ll arrange for the plane.” Jameson smiled at his brother. “We leave at dawn.”





CHAPTER 29


That we didn’t include me. To inherit, I had to live in Hawthorne House for a year. I wasn’t sure I could travel, and even if there was a way, I couldn’t insert myself into this. Grayson had a right to meet his father without me tagging along. He had Jameson, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that this was something they needed to do together.

Without me there.

So I went to school the next day and kept my head down and waited. In between classes, I kept checking my phone, kept expecting an update. That they’d landed in Phoenix. That they’d made contact—or that they hadn’t. Something.

“I could ask you where my brothers are.” Xander fell in next to me in the hallway. “And what they’re up to. Or…” He flashed me a ridiculous smile. “I could beckon you to the dark side through the overwhelming power of my charisma.”

“The dark side?” I snorted.

“Would it help if I brooded?” Xander asked as we came to the door of my next class. “I can brood!” He scowled fiercely, then grinned. “Come on, Avery. This is my game. They’re my knuckleheaded, notably less charismatic brothers. You have to deal me in.” He followed me into the classroom and helped himself to the seat next to mine.

“Mr. Hawthorne.” Dr. Meghani shot him an amused look. “Unless I’m mistaken, you are not in this class.”

“I’m free until lunch,” Xander told her. “And I need to make meaning.”

In any other school, that never would have flown. If he’d been anyone other than a Hawthorne, it might not have here, either, but Dr. Meghani allowed it. “Last class,” she lectured at the front of the room, “we talked about white space in the visual arts. Today, I want you working in small groups to conceptualize the equivalents in other art forms. What serves the function of white space in literature? Theater? Dance? How can meaning be made—or emphasized—through purposeful gaps or blanks? When does nothing become something?”

I thought about my phone. About the lack of communication from Jameson and Grayson.

“I expect two thousand words on that topic and a plan of artistic exploration by the end of next week.” Dr. Meghani clapped her hands together. “Get to work.”

“You heard the woman,” Xander said beside me. “Let’s get to work.”

I snuck another glance at my phone. “I’m waiting to hear from your brothers,” I admitted, keeping my voice low and trying to look like I was deeply pondering the true meaning of art.

“About?” Xander prompted.

Dr. Meghani passed by our table, and I waited until she was out of earshot before continuing. “Does the name Sheffield Grayson mean anything to you?” I asked Xander.

“Indeed it does!” he replied jauntily. “I created a database of major donors for all the charities on our list. The name Sheffield Grayson appears on that list precisely twice.”

“For Colin’s Way,” I said immediately. “And…”

“Camden House.”

I filed that away for future reference. “Have you seen a picture of Sheffield Grayson?” I asked Xander quietly. Do you know who he is to your brother?

In response, Xander did an image search and then sucked in a breath. “Oh.”





Xander somehow persuaded Dr. Meghani that I intended to approach my essay by comparing white space in nature to white space in the arts, and she authorized us to spend the rest of the class period outside. When we reached the perimeter of the wooded acreage just south of the baseball diamond, Xander stopped. So did I—and four feet away, so did Eli.