Page 29

Lilly

Slamming my hand down onto the button to bring the elevator to the ground floor, I bounce around on my feet feeling impatient.

Glancing around, I debate about taking the stairs, maybe I’ll get up there quicker…but as I push my right foot in front of me to run toward the staircase, the elevator doors open wide.

Running inside, I find the right floor and frantically press at the button until the doors close and the elevator jolts, moving up floors.

Anxiously looking at the numbers as they rise, my fingers find the edge of my nails picking at them. And when it stops on the floor I need, I’m sprinting out before the door is fully open.

Steering left, I run along the corridor looking at the number plaques on the wall. And once I reach the number I need, I come to a halt, slamming my fist against the door so loudly that the sound could wake the dead.

Please answer. Please, please, please .

The door swings open, and I immediately embrace Greyson. Wrapping my arms around his chest, I peek up at him and ask. “Are you okay?”

Stupid question. Of course he’s not okay.

“Define okay .” He snarks, closing the door behind us.

I let go of him and take a step back, he in return spins around and walks straight toward the bed, slumping down on the edge of it. Bringing a bottle of vodka to his lips, I quickly snatch it from his hand and place it onto the desk near us.

Turning, I look at him, and he looks…broken.

Who did this to him?

Walking toward him, I lower myself on my knees and reach for his hands, clasping them in mine and squeezing.

When I saw the incoming call from him, at first, I thought it was a mistake because we’ve never called each other before. But when I answered, and he cried into the receiver, I demanded to know where he was immediately.

Reaching my hand up, I swipe my thumb across his cheek, wiping away the tears falling from his eyes.

He doesn’t move. It’s like he’s frozen to the spot, and I know that feeling all too well.

“My mom,” he finally speaks, looking down at the floor. “She was an addict who cared more about drugs than me. Heroin, cocaine, crack—you name it, she had it,” he takes a sharp breath in. “It wasn’t unusual for her to disappear for a few hours, but when I was three, those hours turn into days.”

Staring up at him from my position on the floor, I hold his hands tighter as he blinks, releasing more tears.

She chose drugs over her child…what sort of mother does that?

I thought Elizabeth was the worst mom to ever exist, but his? She takes the cake, and the fucking cherry on top.

“I remember being so hungry, and thirsty. But there was no food in the house, and I wasn’t tall enough to reach the sink to have tap water.”

A lump forms in my throat as I listen to him.

“It took days for the cops to smash the door in after my neighbors called in a welfare check,” his voice wobbles as he continues. “I was curled up on our dirty couch on the brink of death.”

How could a mother…

“I was taken to hospital, but they never found her. She’d either OD’d or just disappeared,” he releases a breath. “They done a DNA test on me to see if my biological father was in the system, and he was.”

It feels like there’s a but coming.

“But he didn’t want me either,” sniffling, he wipes his nose with his shirt. “He signed his rights away the minute he found out.”

My heart ached for him. Squeezing his hand to let him know I’m still here, and still listening, I urge him to continue.

“So essentially, I was thrown into the system,” he lets out a humorous laugh. “Some homes were…okay, I guess. But most were awful. I felt like I was just another mouth to feed, another problem to deal with. Nobody cared, not really.”

I could see the pain etched into his face, and my eyes welled up.

Every child deserved to be loved.

Every child deserved to feel wanted.

When you look at Greyson, you wouldn't think this is how his childhood was. And with tear-soaked eyes, he goes on to explain more about his childhood. And I can’t help but cry with him.

I cry for the little boy who wanted nothing more than to feel loved.

I cry for the Greyson who’s sitting in front of me for believing he’s not worth it.

I cry, and I cry fucking hard.

He deserved so much more than what he was given.

“Greyson,” I whisper, my voice cracking. “I’m so sorry.”

“I ran into him.” He says, lifting his eyes to meet mine.

“Who?”

“Sebastian—my dad. And my half-brothers.” He lets out a bitter laugh.

“When?” I ask.

“Not long before I phoned you.”

Holy fuck.

“He called me son, like that meant something.” He snorts.

“Grey—”

“Why did he sign his rights away?” He chokes on his words, tears streaming down his face. “Why wasn’t I good enough? I was three , Lilly. Fucking three.”

Reaching out, my thumb swipes across his cheek. “You were always good enough. You are good enough,” I tell him, and his eyes shoot to mine. “His choices don’t define your worth. You’ve built your life despite him, and that’s something to be proud of.”

Leaning into my touch, he lets out a breath. “Yeah, but at what cost?” It’s a rhetorical question. “I’m just…I’m so fucking tired of pretending it doesn’t matter.”

“You don’t have to pretend, not with me,” I whisper. “I’m here, Greyson. I’m here for you, okay?” Soothing my thumb across his cheek, I say. “You need me to go down there and beat his ass? Because I’ll do it.”

He finally cracks a smile, his bright blue eyes coming back to life. “You’d really do that?”

“You’re my boyfriend,” I wink. “I’d do anything for you.”

“ Fake boyfriend.” He reminds me.

I smile, my fingers softly caressing his hand. “Fake or not, I’m here. Always.”

And I mean it.

“I’m sorry—”

“Hey,” gripping his chin with my thumb and forefinger, I lift his face to look at me. “Don’t ever apologize for showing your emotions, okay? You crying further proves how much of a perfect person you are.”

Blinking, tears fall from his eyes and roll down his cheeks. “You think I’m perfect?”

“Other than the fact you pour your milk before your cereal,” I tease, nudging his knee. “Yes, I think you’re perfect.”

Snorting, he brings his hand to his nose and wipes. “It tastes better when the milk is added first.”

Laughing, my knees begin to ache, so I rise from the floor. But once I stand, his eyes widen once he sees how erect my nipples are from the air-con that’s been blasting through the room.

“Fuck, Lil-Bug,” his eyes widen as he takes me in. “Did you really drive all this way, wearing that?”

Looking down at myself, I see I’m wearing a skintight tank top that’s a size too small, no bra…and fucking booty shorts. When he called, I was chilling in my room trying to pie ce together something for the article, and I didn’t think twice about what I was wearing when I shoved my laptop off my lap and ran to the car.

“Uh, yeah.” I wince, awkwardly tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.

“Do I have to beat any fuckers up for staring at my girlfriend?” He’s joking, but somehow that sentence makes my heart flutter.

“ Fake girlfriend,” I smirk. “And I don’t know, I didn’t pay attention to who was around, I was more focused on hurrying up here to see you.”

Snaking his hands around the back of my thighs, he pulls me closer and soothes patterns across my skin, making soft sighs escape my lips.

“Thank you for coming,” he smiles at me, seeming genuinely thankful. “I totally wasn’t expecting to open the door to see you standing there.”

“You sounded like you needed someone,” I confess, lifting my hand and running it through his hair. “And I know what that feels like.”

Smiling, his eyes lock with mine. “Can we make a pact?”

“What sort of pact?” I ask, intrigued.

“Let’s promise to always be there for each other when the other one needs us, yeah?”

“Yeah,” I whisper, a smile tugging at the corner of my lips. “Always.”

“Is this the part where we kiss to seal the deal?” He smirks, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

I playfully swat him across the head.