The Cursed Series, Parts 3 & 4 (Cursed #3-4) - Rebecca Donovan Page 0,17

grass that has now been trodden on from my feet passing over it so many times. Grant is quiet, watching me contemplatively. He sways in the lime-green orb that looks like it should be suspended on a Ferris wheel. Gripping an orange polka-dot pillow to his chest, he’s a picture of rumination.

“Did I lose you?”

“Uh”—he presses his lips together pensively—“let me see if I got this. Your mother was friends with Brendan’s mother when they were teenagers. And dated Wil’s uncle. Who may or may not be your father. But you could be Wil’s cousin or Brendan’s sister, depending on who is your father. And Lily’s father may not actually be her father. She could be Brendan’s and this other guy’s sister instead. How’d I do?”

I raise my brows, impressed. “That’s pretty good.”

“But I don’t understand the pictures and the notes. Why be angry with you? Especially if it involves your mother before you were born? And if they know the truth, why not just say it?”

I blow out air through pursed lips. “Exactly.”

“Why don’t you trust Brendan? From the sounds of it, no one does, except Ashton. What’s his story?”

I shake my head. “I don’t know. He thinks I can help him understand his mother’s death. She died by suicide when he was little. It may have something to do with this too, but I have no way of knowing for certain. He doesn’t share well. And I have no clue why Ashton trusts him. Something happened between them before she came to Blackwood, but he won’t tell me.”

“Do you think Ashton’s involved?”

I twist my face in doubt. “I don’t think so. But she’s important to him, so there may be some sort of connection. Except I can’t see how it could possibly have anything to do with me or my mother.” I sit down next to him, and he drapes an arm around my shoulders. “I promised to answer five questions to help Brendan find answers. And he agreed to do the same. So I could ask him about Ashton, but I don’t think it’ll help me understand why any of this is happening.”

“Can you ask her instead?”

I swallow. “She’s hurting right now.” I bite my lip and hold my breath. “We went to a party at the barn last night, and someone drugged us. I only had half a beer, so I was out of it for a bit and woke up with a killer hangover. But Ashton’s pretty sick.”

“What?!” Grant exclaims, jumping up to stand. “Did they hurt you? Or Ashton?”

I widen my eyes at the visible distress pulsing through him. His cheeks are ruddy and his eyes frantic. I never thought Grant could ever get worked up; he’s always so composed. But he looks like he could potentially hurt someone right now.

“We’re okay,” I assure him, holding out my hand to coax him back to me. He releases a quick breath to fight for calm before taking my hand and sitting beside me again. “I was actually hoping you could check on a guy who’s attending Printz-Lee for the summer. He was hanging out with us and was drugged too. His name’s Sawyer. Not sure of his last name.”

“Yeah, I can check.” Grant melts back against the swing. “Any idea who did it?”

“I … don’t know,” I answer, not sure how to mention the guy in the woods. Or my suspicions of Vic.

He pulls me into a hug, and I release the tension that’s been building since I started recounting the details. “I’m glad you’re okay. I … don’t … I can’t even think about what I’d do if something happened to you.”

My chest fills with heat, and I hold him tighter. I can’t assure him that I’ll be okay, that nothing will happen to me. Not with Vic still out there.

“Um … how did you get on campus?” I ask him, realizing it’s Saturday and Grant is never here on the weekends.

Grant laughs. “Uh, Lance got me in. Said that I was helping him with a paper. Speaking of, are you off phone and tutoring restrictions yet?”

I sit up. “Oh crap.” I think back to where I last saw my phone, hoping no one has done a security check. “I have to find my phone. I’m not supposed to be out here.” I stand, and Grant follows. “I gotta go.” I lean up and wait for Grant to meet me in the middle, kissing him intensely before breaking apart and running off. “I’ll call