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“Feeling powerless.” He swallows, with a heart wrenching expression on his face. “I’ve been there before, the first time they took Naomi away from me. The way she was gripping onto my shirt, crying and refusing to let go. She didn’t understand what was happening, why she was getting separated from her big brother. That scares me. The feeling of being completely powerless. I couldn’t protect her from that pain.”
I reach toward him, curling my fingers around his hand. “You were just a child yourself, Grayson. You didn’t have a choice. It wasn’t your fault.”
Grayson smiles tightly. “Tell that to the fifteen-year-old boy who is still angry at the unfairness of it all. What scares you?”
I blink. I wasn’t expecting him to ask me the same question and now that he did, I don’t know how to answer it. What scares me? I’ve never thought about it.
I don’t know…
I’m scared of spiders and anything that crawls or slithers.
I’m scared of the ocean, of the unknown that lives in the deep water.
I’m scared of…
“Thunderstorms,” I tell him, shakily.
Because I’ve never had anyone hold me during them. Because I’ve always been alone, hiding under my blankets in the dark, listening to the thunder as it tears through the darkening skies, the heavy wind shaking my windows, the rain slamming against the roof.
I remember five-year-old Riley — her first hurricane.
Running to her parents’ bedroom, knocking on their door, sobbing in fear. The door opened and she fell into her mother’s arms, silently asking for comfort.
Only for her to put five-year-old Riley back into her room, locking the door behind her. So that she wouldn’t be able to disturb them again.
I am scared of being…alone. In the dark.
But I don’t tell Grayson that.
I lean toward him, blinking in surprise when I catch a whiff of my favorite soap. “You kinda smell like me,” I tease, changing the subject.
Grayson makes a fake exasperated sound in the back of his throat. “You have a lot of girly stuff,” he explains, raking his fingers through his still wet hair. “I used the vanilla soap instead.”
“You call me Goldilocks…maybe I should call you Vanilla Boy.”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“Vanilla Boy,” I mouth teasingly.
I don’t know where this side of Riley is coming from, the one who sneaked a boy into her bedroom, and is teasing him so freely. But there’s something about Grayson that makes me comfortable around him.
Almost like a gut instinct that tells me I can trust him.
“Vanilla Boy sounds so…plain and vanilla-y,” Grayson complains grumpily.
“Are you saying you’re not a vanilla lover?” My cheeks heat with a blush when I realize what I just said. And that’s where you shut up, Riley.
His eyes narrow on me. “You don’t know what type of lover I am, Riley,” Grayson rasps, his voice deeper, taking on a huskier undertone.
I shift closer to him, until our knees are touching and our bare arms brush against each other. “What if I want to find out?” I whisper, slightly breathy.
Our gazes lock together.
His chest rattles with a hitched breath.
My pulse speeds up.
Thud.
