14. June 21st

14

June 21st

T he run through the woods takes more out of me than I care to admit, but when I make it to the crash site, I can immediately tell something isn't right.

Exiting the woods, I cross the street to the edge of the embankment where my brother's car went off. It's on the corner of a sharp bend. Accidents have happened here before, and looking down, I can see the evidence of the vehicle's landing below: broken limbs, tire marks, at the bottom I can even make out parts of the car that were left behind. But that's not what is off.

There aren't any skid marks. No indication that he even tried to brake.

What's more, there's shattered red reflective glass all around. Sure it could have come from another car, but as I reach down I find red tape on one of the pieces.

Auggie had broken one of his lights and instead of getting it fixed, we had put this tape on it.

I drop the piece to the ground in shock.

Before I can investigate any further the squeal of tires causes me to look up. I expect to see Darius's truck.

Not Maxwell Thorne's black BMW.

I am frozen in shock as the car skids up. It stops when he is right beside me, blocking me off in the curve of the road, trapping me on the edge with a very long drop behind me. After a few beats he rolls the window down. "Whatcha doing all the way out here Sunday School?"

His tone is mocking, hateful. I can't make out anyone else in the car with him and the hairs on the back of my neck prick up. I don't want to be near this man. Especially not alone.

He reaches through the window and snags me by the front of my shirt before I can make my escape, but there really isn't anywhere to go. I'm stuck between his car and a two-hundred-foot drop. I stumble forward and use my hands to catch me from tumbling through his window. I hadn't noticed it before, but now that I'm looking for it, I see he's wearing a class ring.

Just like the man in the picture.

Was it him?

"I don't know." The words come out less sure than I intended, and I watch as a sinister smile spreads across Maxwell's face.

"Well, why don't I give you a ride ?"

My anxiety thickens and my mouth goes dry. This man is dangerous.

"Let her go," Grayson's rough voice cuts through my fear. Even though I can't see him from my vantage point, I immediately find my anxiety dissipating as if everything is going to be okay.

Maxwell is sneering at me, our faces are still only a few inches apart. I can feel his hot breath and smell the alcohol on him. "Oh, look here, you never could take care of yourself, could you?" Maxwell pushes me back.

I'm so close to where Auggie's car went off the road that for a sick moment when I lose my balance, terror shoots down my spine, but before I can topple backward into the ravine, Grayson suddenly appears around the car and is reaching out and pulling me towards him. Into the safety of his arms.

Maxwell doesn't say anything else, instead he peels away, missing us both by inches.

"You, okay?" Grayson's gruff voice is thick with an indecipherable emotion. He straightens me up and does a once over of my body as if checking for injury. His clothes are covered in grease, his hair is in disarray. He clenches his tattooed hands into fists when his examination makes it to my shirt.

I look down at the fabric and see it has torn a bit from Maxwell's handling.

I don't want to meet Grayson's eyes. Today has been an emotional day without the added guilt of his judgment. "What aren't you all telling me?" I stare at the red reflective plastic with tape on it lying on the ground as I ask the question that has been eating at me since the memorial. "How are you here?" How do they know when I need them? I don't have the courage to voice the last part. It means admitting that I do need them.

I finally look up at Grayson's depthless light eyes. The hazel is more noticeable in the sun's setting rays. He is exhausted. It is written in code into his very being, as if every piece of him is held together with glue. I realize I never humanized Grayson before, he was always just the older brother . But in this moment as the sun slowly sinks on the horizon, as I stand just a few inches apart from the man, I come to a stark realization. Grayson is tired and lonely .

I don't notice I am moving until my hand reaches up to cup his cheek, he leans into it and the scratchiness of his beard tickles a bit. He closes his eyes and lets out a shuddering sigh.

"I don't know how to answer you without it not making any sense. I just need you to trust us. If you see the Thorne brothers—Maxwell and Rayden—their friend Mark, or the sheriff's son, William, please just run. Run as far away from them as you can and when you think you've run far enough? Keep going. They aren't good men."

I understand Maxwell Thorne, but why would I need to keep away from his older brother, Rayden? He's harmless. I start to drop my hand, but Grayson reaches up, placing his much larger one, on top of mine. Pressing my palm further along his jaw. My hand is sandwiched between his hardened face and rough fingers. Grayson bends down, watching me the entire time. I am unsure of what his move is, and I don't get a chance to find out as the notorious sound of Darius's truck approaches us.

Grayson doesn't jump back, but I watch as something shifts across his face. He lets go of my hand and it drops weakly between us. He places a chaste kiss on my forehead. "One day, this will all make sense, but please, until then, be safe? Don't run off without us."