Loving Grayson ✓ (Book 2, the Hating Series)

27

Dallas

Neal was beating the shit out of Grayson, and it was all my fault.

Everything was my fault.

I'm the reason Grayson was here.

I'm the reason that he ended up losing his shot at an athletic scholarship... I'm the reason he was hit by that car—which, in turn, makes me the reason that he was currently getting beaten up by the Whitman brothers.

How does he not hate me?

"Let go of me!" I snarled, attempting to shove Callum off of me.

"You asked for it." I hear Callum respond before shoving me forward. I fall front-first toward the ground, my arms reaching out just in time to stop me from completely smacking my face against the cold, hard ground—that could have been embarrassing.

God, why am I going on about the possibility embarrassing myself when this entire day has been nothing but embarrassing!

I turn back to throw a scowl in Callum's direction before I turn my focus to Grayson, and Neal.

God, I feel like shit. I think to myself before forcing myself to get up off of the ground so that I could pull Neal off of Grayson, which proved to be difficult, given that Neal was twice my size. He could probably swat me away like a fly and I'd go, well, flying.

But in all seriousness, Neal was completely unbothered by my attempts to pull him off of Grayson.

Am I seriously that weak?

Maybe I can blame it on whatever I was currently on?

For fucks sake, Dallas, pull yourself together!

I release my grip on Neal's sleeve and walk backwards. I was starting to feel a little dizzy, but that didn't matter at this particular moment, all that mattered was stopping Neal from kicking Grayson's ass.

I had a plan.

Was it a sane plan? Who can say.

Would it work? There's only one way to find out.

I force my dizziness to stay at bay before darting forwards so that I could tackle Neal—in doing so, an awful, bestial growl escaped from me. I manage to take Neal down with brute force, which was surprising to me.

Stop Neal from beating up Grayson; check!

Of course, my brain was not working properly right at this minute so I didn't anticipate the aftermath to me tackling this Herculean jerk. His eyes glared daggers into mine, and I swear every single hair on my body stood as I shivered with dread.

This is the part where I also get beat up.

Reflexively, I was already beginning to flinch away from Neal as he scowled at me.

Fuck, he's going to kill me.

I decided to accept my fate by closing my eyes, my head leaning backwards.

Guess I had a good run....

My entire world came to a halt as I anxiously awaited my possible death by Neal's massive fists. Then, through the sound of my own heart racing, the call of police sirens approached from a distance.

"Shit! The police are on their way, let's go!" I hear Avery say.

I open my eyes and Neal is still glaring at me before his scowl fades as he gets up on his feet in a hurry and starts towards the door.

"Who the fuck called the police?" Neal's deep voice spat from the direction of the door.

"I don't know, but we should head out the back so we can avoid them." I heard Callum say.

"Let's go." Avery demanded.

The three Whitman brothers rush behind the bar and dart through the door to the back, one bye one. Before Avery walked out of sight, though, his eyes found mine. His face looked racked with guilt, though I could be wrong. I think we've already established that Avery Whitman is a well practiced liar—psychopathically so. When he turns and exits the building, I turn my focus to Grayson. His face was bloodied red and his eyes were closed—which caused my heart to skip a beat.

"Grayson?" My voice quavered with fear.

For a moment there was silence, but then his voice made me feel at ease. "Yeah?" It wasn't his usual tone of voice, it was more strained and faint than usual.

I choked out a sigh of relief as I scoot closer to him. "Are you okay?" I asked, worried that he might have taken too much of a beating. His head tilts to the left, slightly, his eyes on mine. Then, of all the things I expected him to do; he smirked. He actually smirked at me!

"What's with the smirk?" I wondered. "Are you having a stroke?"

He scoffed before taking a deep breath. "You're worried about me." He says before smiling and closing his eyes.

"How did you know where I was?" I wondered, though I realise now as I'm staring down at Grayson's bloodied face that this is probably not the best time to ask.

"I uh..." He gulps, taking a minute before continuing on. "I thought you sent me a photo of you and Avery, but I guess it was just Avery trying to lure me down here."

I could feel my eyes beginning to well with tears, uncontrollably so. "I'm sorry."

"What for?" His voice is barely audible as the sirens got louder.

"This is all my fault." I sniffled, looking upward towards the ceiling—I hear that helps with keeping tears at bay. "If it wasn't for me, you wouldn't even be in this situation." I look back down to Grayson and his eyes are closed.

"Grayson?" I gave him a gentle shake in the side.

All I could hear was the sirens pulling up out front.

"Grayson?" I called again, this time I was much louder. Still, nothing.

Oh my god.

I lean forward and place my right hand index finger just beneath his nostrils to see if he was breathing.

He was, thank god.

The front door to the bar opens with a loud clang as two officers entered the building.

"Help!" I called out the second that I saw them, alerting them to my location.