How Sinners Fight - Eva Ashwood Page 0,15

shuts the engine off and goes around to the trunk, pulling my bag out for me. I don’t wait for him to open up the passenger door, slipping out while he’s busy with my bag and looking up at the massive house. I’ve been here once before, when Max and I crashed his party and I stripped in the living room. But it somehow looks even bigger and more impressive in the light of day.

He leads me up the wide stairs to the front door, then unlocks it and lets me in. Our footsteps echo a little as we step into the stylishly minimal foyer of white stone and marble. As I watch him kick off his shoes in a familiar way that seems out of place in a house like this, it finally hits me—

This is Gray’s reality.

This is his house. This is where he grew up.

Just like I became familiar with Brody McAlister’s shitty place and wandering hands, this is where Gray’s entire life exists. This wealth is what he eats, sleeps, breathes. Everything. This is where he’s lived his entire life. It’s the world he’ll continue to be a part of for the rest of his life. One day, he’ll inherit all of this.

And where will I be? What will I do?

I’m not even fucking sure.

“Damn,” I tease, following him deeper into the house, “where’s the butler? This shit is real, how many servants do you have?”

Even though I’m joking, Gray’s face hardens a little. “It’s not all it’s cracked up to be,” he mutters under his breath, leading me through a living room that looks like it’s never been used. “Trust me.”

I bite my lip. I’m not sure exactly what his comment alludes to, but I get what he’s saying. Reality isn’t as sweet as the outside looks, which I guess is true whether you’re rich or poor.

But damn, I think, if I had all of this, I’d find it real hard to get pissed about anything.

“Like I said, my parents aren’t here,” he adds. “They're not going to be here for the rest of winter break, so it’ll just be you and me.”

We finally stop in a room that looks a little more lived in—it’s a bit less stuffy and more inviting. I could picture chilling in here with the guys, talking or messing around or some shit, and not worrying about breaking something valuable like I would in the other rooms I’ve seen.

I glance up at Gray. Despite my earlier joke about servants, I have a sudden strong suspicion that we’re the only two people in this house.

Worry still lingers in his eyes, but I catch a hint of heat simmering there too, contained and controlled in true Gray fashion. Vaguely, I wonder how long it will be before we end up with our clothes scattered on the floor around us, our sweaty bodies wrapped around each other.

Clearing my throat, I drop his gaze as I look around the room again, my attention snagging on a framed picture of a pretty girl, maybe fifteen or so.

I don’t have to work hard to guess who it must be.

Beth.

“She looks like you,” I murmur, picking up the picture from the side table to look at it closer.

They’re not identical twins, but the resemblance is clear. Even if I hadn’t spent as much time with Gray as I have, I’d know they were brother and sister in an instant.

“I wish I could’ve met her.”

The words come out before I have a chance to stop them. Maybe I shouldn’t have said that, but it’s true.

Gray takes the picture from my hands. Raw grief flickers like an open wound over his face, his swallow catching in his throat. I watch as he tries to push it away, tries to stifle it—and he does, just barely. It still haunts the depths of his eyes, and his pain hits me like a blow to my chest.

“She was one of my favorite people,” he says, his voice a little hoarse as he sets the picture back down. “I’m a fucking asshole.” He laughs humorlessly, glancing at me. “You know that as well as anyone. But Beth made me better. She made me want to be better. I don’t like a lot of people, but she was the best. The absolute best.”

My heart twists in my chest.

You’re not alone.

I understand.

How many times have I wanted someone to tell me that? How many times have I wanted someone to be there for me? How