21. Blair

G riffin returns home today, and after our conversation last night, everything is changing between us, and I'm nervous. I'm also scared where that might leave me in the end if we don't work out. He said he won't kick me out or stop helping me, but he can't know for certain what he will or won't do in the future.

Rolling out of his bed, I grab one of his T-shirts and hold it up to my nose, inhaling deeply. I might have to start stealing his clothes because I can't get enough of how comforting, safe, and serene he smells.

I throw his HEAU Hockey Legends T-shirt on and let it settle onto the tops of my thighs. Grabbing my phone off of the nightstand, I see a text from Mrs. Potts.

Mrs. Potts: Chip and I are going to run some errands this morning. We should be back early this afternoon.

I type out a quick response so she knows I saw it.

Sounds good. Have fun!

Mrs. Potts: Do you need anything?

No, thank you!

Setting my phone back down, I focus my attention on Griffin's room. It's clean, orderly, and decently decorated. I wonder if that's Griffin's doing or Mrs. Potts's.

I wander out of his room and start down the stairs. I have the entire house to myself. What should I do?

As I step onto the landing and turn to head down the rest of the stairs, I freeze in place as a terrible, horrible idea creeps into my mind.

Spinning on my heel, I look across the landing to the set of stairs I've never been up, the ones Griffin banned me from, the ones that lead into the west wing.

My rotten idea comes to life as I approach the double doors calling out to me.

I probably shouldn't do this. It's a major invasion of privacy. But my curiosity gets the best of me as I continue up the stairs and place my hand on one of the golden doorknobs at the double-door entrance. It's probably locked anyway, so it won't matter if I try to turn it.

Twisting my hand, I find no resistance, and the entrance into the unknown opens with little effort.

Deep down, I was hoping that it would be locked. Then, the decision to continue would be out of my hands.

Turning my head, I take one last look behind me and listen for any noise. No one's home—I know that. I just want to be sure.

Silence is all I find.

Taking a step inside, I'm greeted with cold and stale air, smelling of mustiness. It smells like an old home, vastly different from the rest of the house, which is kept spic and span.

What the hell is he hiding in here?

As I step forward and the door slams behind me, an eerie shiver snakes its way down my spine. Now, I feel like I have the tiniest right to know if Griffin's a creepy serial killer with a murder wing in his house.

I flick the light switch on, and the lights in the hallway illuminate. That dreadful feeling only grows in my chest.

This place is untouched, with dust and cobwebs decorating every surface. It must have been a long time since anyone has come in here. This hallway mirrors ours in the east wing, but it looks completely different. Ours is welcoming and warm; this is cold and screaming at me to leave.

I drift forward, curiousness moving my feet, the silence making me more and more on edge as I approach the first door on my right.

Maybe I should turn back. I can pretend I was never here. I could just ask Griffin what this place is and why no one ever comes here.

But I am already this far in. I'll just take a quick look around and leave. I won't mess with anything. No harm, no foul. Although I am a bit disturbed that Griffin never mentioned this creepy part of the house. The dust has even built up on the doorknobs .

How long has this place been abandoned?

Grabbing just the sides of the doorknob, I twist and push the door open, immediately inhaling dust. I cough hard, trying to clear my lungs.

Once I feel like I can kind of breathe again, I begin looking around.

A blue race car bed sits against one of the walls. The room is decorated exactly how I imagine a young boy would want—toys everywhere, some even strewn on the floor, like they were being played with before freezing in place. Laundry fills a basket in the corner, and I see a little boy's clothes piled high.

I wonder if this was Griffin's childhood room. But I can't imagine why he would have left it untouched for all these years.

It's clear no one has been here in ages. Walking over to the dresser, I drag my finger along the edge, picking up what appears to be an inch of dust that has gathered over time. As my eyes continue to wander over everything, I notice the picture frames, all face-down on top of the dresser.

Lifting one up, I find an image of Griffin. He must be a young teenager in this. But he's not alone. Pictured next to him are two adults, who I assume are his parents, and a little boy, nearly a spitting image of Griffin. It must be his little brother.

He rarely mentions his family, and when he does, he only speaks about when they left him …

My eyes land on the object centered between the face-down picture frames, and my heart drops to the floor.

It takes me all but a moment to realize what this room is. It takes not a second more for my heart to shatter into pieces on the floor and to understand that Griffin's story about his family leaving him has a meaning far worse than I ever imagined.

Sitting between the frames is a tiny urn with an engraved gold plaque.

It reads, Gavin Hawthorne, forever in our hearts.

Oh God.

Mindlessly, I set the picture frame back down as my heart races.

His little brother …

This is his little brother's room, not Griffin's.

My stomach churns, and I feel like I might be sick.

He never told me. He never elaborated on his family. I should have asked, but he changed the subject whenever I pushed him about personal stuff or ignored it altogether.

Everything around me freezes, and I seem to run out of the room in slow motion.

I find the next door and open it. As it creaks on the hinges, it reveals a dark office with a gigantic wooden desk at the center and a nameplate on the desk that reads, Linus Hawthorne .

I've never questioned that the rest of the house is empty of family photos. The walls are decorated with art rather than memories. I assumed that was just their way of making the space their own, not that perhaps those memories are too painful to remember.

Closing the door, I walk softly, nearly tiptoeing to the next room, feeling incredibly out of place. But I have to know if it's true and see it for myself.

The next room I find makes my worst fear come true .

A king bed decorated in a colorful spread, muted from the years of isolation, sits against the furthest wall, beneath a large window with embroidered drapes. This is the most colorful room in the house, yet it feels tremendously heavy and sad.

A bright purple velvet couch sits in the corner, opposite of two blue chairs, with a rustic table between them.

My eyes spot what I was hoping never to find. And I slam my eyes shut, trying to stop my brain from processing what I see. But it's too late.

No. No. No. No. No.

I force my eyes open, and they land on two urns sitting side by side on the little table.

His family didn't relocate across the country. They didn't start a new life. They didn't move on and forget about their son. They weren't terrible people who abandoned Griffin.

They … died.

I drop to my knees, feeling weak and nauseous.

How did this happen? When? How long has Griffin been mourning his entire family in silence?

My heart shatters at the thought of what he's been through and will forever go through.

I can't imagine losing my dad. He's everything to me. He has been my rock my entire life; losing him would be like losing myself.

My skin crawls as reality becomes more and more real, and I've never felt more sinful in my life, standing in a place that I should have never come in. The west wing was sealed off from the rest of the world, frozen in time.

Oh no, I've made a horrible mistake .

Standing to my feet, I stride out of the room, gently shutting the door behind me. I shouldn't be here. I never should have come in here. This was never for me to see.

Twisting the knob out of the west wing, I throw it open, nearly sprinting at this point, and slam right into Griffin, who has never looked angrier.

Oh God, what have I done?

Backing away, I hold my hands up in surrender as his chest puffs with each quickened breath. His hair falls loosely over his forehead, but it does little to hide what he's feeling.

"What the fuck are you doing?" His tone is cold and emotionless, but his face shows all of the disgust and rage his voice doesn't.

My back hits the door, and a tear strikes my cheek. "Griffin, I'm so sorry. I?—"

"What? You didn't mean to? Did you accidentally fall into the west wing? Did you trip up a flight of stairs, through double doors, and into the one place I'd explicitly forbidden you from entering? The one part of my home I don't let anyone see? Is that what you were going to say?" His voice grows louder with each accusation, his eyes reddening by the second and tears welling as his lips twist into a deeper scowl.

His lip quivers, and I heave at the pain I'm causing him.

"Griffin, I'm so sorry," I cry out, my voice shaking uncontrollably as I begin to hyperventilate between sobs. "Please. I'm sorry. It wasn't right for me to go in there. I shouldn't have!"

"You're right, Blair! You fucking shouldn't have!" He takes a steadying breath as a single tear rolls down his cheek, and as he opens his mouth to speak, my chest tears in two. Calm and dangerously cold, he orders me, " Get out ."

"W-what? Griffin, please," I beg, stepping toward him.

He steps away from me and yells, "Get out, Blair!"

I gasp and run as fast as I can to get my phone, which is still in his room. I can't go anywhere. I don't have a vehicle.

I hear Griffin smack the door or the wall or something hard and roar, "Fuck!"

I call Lumi once I reach my phone, and he answers on the first ring.

"Hello?"

I try to take a deep breath, but my diaphragm is still convulsing, and it comes out more like a horrible wail. "Can you pick me up? Right now?"

"What happened?" he asks, his tone instantly worried.

"Later. Please get here," I beg him and run into my room.

"I'm on my way. Be there in less than five," he tells me, and I end the call without a word.

I rip Griffin's shirt off of me and throw it across the room before changing into a hoodie and yoga pants. I slip my tennis shoes on, grab my purse, and try to get downstairs and out of this house as fast as I can.

He needs space.

I need space.

We need to cool off, and that's not going to happen right this second .

Lumi is pulling up when I hit the stairs outside, and I fly down them and into his front seat.

"Oh my God, Blair, what the hell happened?" he shrieks. "What is going on?"

"I'll fill you in. Just drive," I tell him, leaning my head against the window as everything begins crumbling to the ground around me.

"Where?" he asks, pulling forward to loop around the driveway.

"Anywhere but here," I murmur and peek at the front door, searching for Griffin once more before the house is out of view, but he never shows.

My stomach is churning, and I feel like I'm going to throw up. My body feels like it's on fire, so I roll the window down and close my eyes.

I'm dreaming. This must be a horrible dream, and I will wake up at any second now. That's the only scenario I can handle. The alternative is far too devastating.

Tucking my legs into my chest on the seat, I repeatedly hit my forehead on my knee. I fucked up so badly, and I don't know how to fix it.

"What happened?" Lumi whispers, stilling my head.

My face is soaked, my tears dripping onto my pants. My chest hurts so badly right now. It feels like daggers are sticking out of it, and every breath I take makes them slice deeper and deeper into me.

I don't even know how to begin explaining this to him. I can't exactly share all of Griffin's secrets that I'm not even supposed to know about .

"Just take some deep breaths," Lumi murmurs. "I'll drive us around."

Nodding, I rest my cheek on my knee and stare out of the window.

I can't believe his family is really gone. How long ago did it happen? How did it happen? How long has Griffin been suffering in silence?

He might not always have a smile on his face or be a bubbly guy, but I never would have guessed that he's been mourning his entire family.

I knew there had to be a reason he kept everyone at arm's length. I knew there was a story behind the nightmares he had. But I couldn't have ever imagined it being this.

My throat burns like I've swallowed acid, and my heart is cracking every one of my ribs. Gasping, I do my best to calm my hyperventilated breathing, but I fail miserably.

Lumi reaches out and rubs my arm. I don't know what I would have done without him. I would be all alone.

My heart drops into my stomach.

The same way Griffin is right now.

I might have royally messed up. I might not be able to fix it.

But I won't let him go through this alone.

When Grant sent that video to the whole school, Griffin refused to leave my side. He clung on to me, letting me fall apart in his arms. He was my strength, so I could be weak.

When I look over at Lumi, he meets my eye, seemingly reading my mind before I say with utmost certainty, "Turn around. "

Lumi's lips tip up into a grin, and he veers around an intersection and speeds away toward Hawthorne Manor.

I'm absolutely terrified. What if this is a mistake? What if he just yells at me to leave? Then, I'll tell him no and stand my ground. I won't let him go through any more pain alone.

Lumi turns onto Griffin's driveway, and my hand is on the door, ready to run.

"Do you want me to wait?" Lumi asks as the house comes into view.

I shake my head as my heart jumps into my throat. "No. I'll be okay."

"Call me later, please. I'm going to need to catch up," Lumi scoffs.

"You got it."

As he approaches the stairs, I throw the door open and jump out before he finishes coming to a stop. Catching my balance, I take off up the stairs as fast as I can. I shouldn't have left him. I should have stayed. But I'm here now, and I'm not going anywhere.

I reach the landing and continue to pump my legs hard, not slowing, even as I get to the top of the stairs and throw one of the front doors open.

I run through the foyer beneath glowing chandeliers. My heart and stomach are a tangled mess as I race through the house. I know where he'll be. I don't have to guess. I don't have to call out to him. I know. I know because I know Griffin. He doesn't want to be alone, and the only ones to keep him company are in urns in the west wing.

As I reach the stairs to the second floor, I spot Griffin, and as if lightning strikes me, my soul cracks apart, and pain lances through me. He's sitting on the steps to the west wing with his head in his hands, tucked between his knees. Sobs tearing through him.

I did that. I caused that pain to surface.

I'm out of breath, panting heavily, as I ascend the stairs to the landing.

"Go away, Blair," Griffin utters between hitching breaths.

I climb up a step toward him, my voice shaky and barely audible as I say, "No."

His head snaps up to mine, and I somehow fall apart even more. His eyes are downturned, bloodshot, and soaked with tears. Snot drips out of his nose, and his face is splotchy and red.

He scoffs, and a wet, squelching sound reverberates out of him. "No?"

Shaking my head, I swallow hard and take another step, only four remaining between us.

My breathing is ragged, but I try to remain strong. For him. For us. "No. I'm not leaving."

His lip quivers as his chest rises and falls unevenly. "Get out. I want you to leave." His words are choppy and pained.

I take another step, shaking my head. I bite down on my lip, and my ears pound loudly from the blood rushing through my veins, matching the thump of my trembling jaw, as I take another step.

"I'm not leaving you," I tell him as tears fall from my lashes and crash onto the marble floor.

He doesn't say a word. He looks straight ahead with upturned eyebrows and a shattered heart. I take another step, and he looks straight up at me as my legs graze against his.

"You want to cry? Cry. You want to hit something? Hit me."

He inhales sharply at my words, the same ones he once told me.

"You want to scream? I'll listen. But I'm not leaving you." I hyperventilate. "I won't leave you, Griffin."

He gasps as a guttural cry slices through him, echoing down the long, empty corridor. " Blair ."

Throwing myself onto the step, I catch him as he launches himself at me, his head crashing to my chest as he shatters to pieces in my arms.

"I'm right here," I sob, holding on to him like my life depends on it. "I'm right here."

I will be his stability so that he can be weak. The same way he was for me. I will hold him in my arms for eternity if that's what it takes for him to find peace.

"I'm so sorry," I apologize and press my wet lips against his disheveled hair. "I shouldn't have gone in there."

He clings to me, his fingers digging into my skin. "I couldn't bear to talk about them. To even think about them. I haven't gone into that wing since the day of the crash. If I never processed it, then they were never really gone." He trails off as he heaves and cries, and we gently rock back and forth. "It was my fault."

His words crack my chest in half.

"You don't have to explain it to me. You don't have to talk about them until you're ready. "

"I wanted to tell you. I really did," he cries into my lap. "I just didn't want you to hate me the way I hate myself."

Pulling him tighter against me, I promise these words to him. "I could never hate you, Griffin. No matter what."

He weeps and forces a few long breaths in and out of his quivering lips. "That n-night, they weren't even supposed to be on the road. But I decided to sneak out and go to a dumb high school party. It got busted by the cops." He gasps and buries his head. "The only reason they got in the car that night was to pick me up."

Oh God.

He takes a shuddering breath. "Gavin was only six. He was the happiest, brightest kid. Mrs. Potts was gone that night, so my parents brought him along so he wasn't left alone in the house."

My tears drop into his hair, and I press my lips against them as he continues, his words sporadic and broken, "They were hit by a drunk driver. It took hours for the news to reach the cops at the party and then me. God , I wished it had been me so badly. That guilt … that pain is all-consuming."

He lifts his head from my lap, and I cup his face in my hands and stare into his eyes.

"It's not your fault, Griffin. You were just a kid."

He frowns. "Maybe, one day, I'll believe you."

"Then, I'll say it to you until you do because it's true ," I cry out, wishing I could take some of that crushing burden from his chest.

He nods ever so slightly, and I can see in his eyes that he thinks the worst of himself. That what happened really is his fault.

We don't say anything for what feels like minutes or hours. We just look into each other's eyes with no walls or barriers. We give each other the rawest version of ourselves.

Brushing his cheeks with my thumbs, I wipe the wetness away.

"You came back." His whisper cuts through the silence.

Carefully, he sits up, pulling out of my touch, as his breathing and mine begin to even out. Side by side, we look at each other, our broken pieces fitting perfectly together.

Nodding, I look up at him, forcing a glimpse of a smile. "You can't get rid of me that easily. I'm not going anywhere."

Delicately, he reaches out and brushes the fallen hairs from my face before running the back of his fingers against my cheek.

"You found me, the real me. Even the parts I kept buried so deep that I'd forgotten they existed." His words are a whispered confession between us. "I would be lost without you."

Leaning forward, I rest my forehead against his. "I'm right here."

His fingers lift my chin up slightly, and his hand wraps around my side, tugging me further into him.

He pulls away enough to gaze into my eyes before guiding me closer to him with the fingers beneath my chin. His warm breath brushes against my lips, and I inhale.

"I know, and I'm never letting you go again."

He seals his lips against mine.

Everything … everything we've been through since we met has been leading to this moment. I can feel it, the connection we share; it's tangible. The same way the ocean tides are connected to the moon and life itself is connected to the sun; I am connected to Griffin.

He kisses me tenderly, like if he does it too hard, I might break. But I've come this far. I'm not going anywhere. Pushing back against him, he grunts, grabbing my jaw and sliding his hand into my hair.

As his tongue traces the seam of my lips, I part them, giving him full access. His tongue dips into my mouth, dancing with mine as we find a perfect rhythm. He kisses me like nothing else in the world matters, like the only thing he needs to survive this pain is me.

Our apologies are woven with each press of our lips and gasp for air.

We understand each other without words, but rather the emotion pulsing between us.

His hand tightens at my waist, and as we both come up for air, his forehead rolls against mine. The sound of our heavy breathing is enchanting, like a song I've been dying to hear for so long.