“I wonder if you know what that feels like. To have everything and nothing.”
I have all the luck in the world…
I rubbed my jaw, hating the feeling of commiserating with fucking West.
“I want Story. I’ve wanted Story since I was thirteen and my father has…” he trailed off and folded his arms.
“So what the fuck do you want, West? What’s your big fucking wish?”
“I want what you want, Grayson. I want my happily ever after. I want to win her over. I want her to love me. I want your child to call me daddy. Then I want to fill her with more babies who call me daddy. That’s my endgame. That’s always been my endgame. Who’s the real monster here, Grayson?”
At that moment, my grandfather looked over and raised his glass to me.
“You,” I said without hesitation, but my eyes were still on him.
Everyone broke for dinner, and again I was forced to watch Story leave without a word to her. She stared at me as West pulled her toward their wing. I stayed, leaning against the wall, staring at the spot like she was a ghost I could summon with strong emotion.
It would be hours until I saw her.
The smell of salt air mingled with gingerbread being baked in the kitchen. I rustled the coins in my pocket. I’d been thinking for a while now—there was a way to get Story out. I have four coins in my pocket, four coins I could use to just fucking end all of this.
One caveat: I don’t get to go with her.
It was a game of chess…one for her, one for our baby, and two so my grandfather doesn’t challenge. Finding the fifth is that Hail Mary for me, that hope for our happily ever after.
But I could get her out now.
Get them out—
Josephine St. Germaine stepped in my way. She stared at me, eyes a broken emerald shining different colors of green—jade, shamrock, deep pine. It was wrong to see those eyes; Josephine never stepped in my way.
“Christmas always makes me miss home,” she said.
Josephine never spoke to me, even on Christmas. It was enough to make me pause.
“I miss your father the most on this day.”
Then she brought up my father, and anger drenched like hot acid. I worked my jaw, brushing past her.
“Your father already tried it, Grayson. He gave those coins to your grandfather and was dead the next day.”
I stopped. Coins—she said coins, as in, plural. Everyone else has only talked about finding the one. I slowly turned around. Josephine still smiled into her champagne, as if we were discussing the weather.
“I did everything I was supposed to do, but…Story didn’t find it. She didn’t find the coin.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
She sucked in air, eyes crossing the room to where one of my cousins had stumbled into the hallway, drunk and singing sexist Christmas songs. “Not here. Tonight, after dinner when everyone is drunk and fighting and distracted.”
“I don’t know what you’re playing at, but I don’t want any part in it.”
Her brow knitted. “Don’t you ever wonder who gave you those coins at the funeral?”
I stared at her, jaw clenched. I didn’t say it aloud. I couldn’t. But the question burned in my mind.
You gave them to me?
It seemed like forever until she spoke again, then slowly her eyes traveled back to mine. “There is no getting out of this world, Grayson. Not alive.”