CHAPTER 10
Grant
I stowed my sunglasses in my pocket, then headed downstairs. There was enough time for breakfast before heading to campus for the lecture Hazel was taking. There were always enough empty seats for me to audit, and the professor never noticed.
I added banana slices, maple syrup, and chopped walnuts to a bowl of oatmeal, then decided to make a second bowl. I wasn’t sure what Hazel liked besides sour candies, and candy wasn’t the best fit for oatmeal. But I could put some on the side anyway. Maybe it would make her laugh.
But there weren’t any sour candies in the pantry. I’d have to fix that.
I finished my bowl, but there was still no word from Hazel. We were going to be late if she didn’t hurry. I scanned the news on my phone, then listened to five minutes of a podcast when Hazel came barreling down the stairs. Sweat pants. A large t-shirt. Hair tucked in a messy bun. A bounce in her walk that seemed as impulsive as it was energetic. Her eyes vibrant like turquoise gems. She was beautiful.
Physical attraction aside, there was no point in being attracted to someone that hated you.
“Where are your clothes?” I asked.
“In the laundry,” she said. “This mine?” She didn’t wait for an answer and popped the bowl of cold oatmeal in the microwave for a few seconds. “Thanks, Muscle Boy.”
That again? I inhaled deeply. “And your backpack?” Her gaze was fixed on the microwave, making sure the bowl wouldn’t bubble over. She opened the door with a second to spare. I checked my phone. “We’re late.”
She smirked, side-eyeing me as she fixed her bowl. Maple syrup. Brown sugar. No bananas. She checked the pantry, but added nothing, and seemed satisfied.
It was the ‘we’ that made her smirk. It wasn’t my class but yeah, I’ll admit, I was more interested in learning about the history of rock and roll than Hazel was.
That should have been the first red flag, but I ignored it.
“You can eat it in the car,” I said. I grabbed an oven mitten and handed it to her.
“Not going,” she repeated. She settled on a barstool at the counter.
“Not going?” I asked. She shrugged her shoulders. “We paid for that class—”
“Youpaid for the class.Youinsisted that I go.Ihad nothing to do with it.”
How could I convince her that it was a step in the right direction?
But it wasn’t Hazel’s direction.
I plugged earbuds into my phone and finished the podcast. Helping someone normalize had a lot of down-time compared to working with Veil Security Services. As the podcast finished, a flash of gray, teal, and blond went by. I pulled the buds from my ears.
“Where are you going?” I asked.
“Holy hell, Grant. Can I go anywhere without you prying?” I stared at her, waiting for an answer. “To check the mail.”
“You’re in pajamas.”
“You think that concierge cares?”
“They do if they’re showing rooms.”
“Whatever.”
When she came back, she was clutching a piece of mail, the same white envelope as the others. She sat down at the kitchen table, turning it over in her hands. Then she ripped it open and read. Her face drained white.
Hazel stared past the paper, into nothingness. Stone-faced. I reached over to take it from her hands, and she didn’t stop me.
You think he’s protecting you.
But he’s full of lies. Hidden truths.
