)

RING. RING. RING.

The phone was ringing again, and Grayson didn't answer again. He was lying on his bed; he and Alison were staying at a hotel for the night, returning to Boston tomorrow morning.

"I kissed Alison." Grayson couldn't wrap his head around the fact that he had kissed Alison, and she had kissed him back. His fingers instinctively brushed against his lips. Alison tasted like vanilla ice cream, a sweet flavour that left him wanting more. The thought made him sit up abruptly, his cheeks flushing with heat.

He reached out to grab the phone, only to realize that it wasn't his. It was Alison's phone—the one he had forgotten, once again, to return. Frustrated with himself, he knew he had to give it back and, perhaps, an excuse to see Alison again.

Alison was next door, so Grayson got up and went to the wall that separated their rooms. He put his ear against it, trying to listen and figure out if Alison was still awake or if she had gone to sleep. Suddenly, a loud crash shattered the silence from the other side of the wall. It was unmistakably the sound of breaking glass.

Grayson didn't waste any time. He quickly ran out of his room and barged into Alison's room without even knocking. He found her on the floor, carefully picking up broken glass and surrounded by the smell of Spiritus.

"Alison."

Alison remained silent, her eyes cast downward, avoiding Grayson's intense gaze. She continued to gather the broken shards, her hands trembling slightly.

He quickly grabbed her hands, noticing the blood that covered them. Grayson's anger subsided, replaced by a mixture of concern and confusion as he met her eyes. It reminded him that they both kissed only to forget their problems, yet clearly it wasn't enough. "Stop," he demanded, his voice low but gentle. "You're hurt." But Alison gently pulled her hands away from his grip and continued picking up the broken pieces of glass.

Grayson wanted to leave, to give her space, but he found himself staying, silently watching, her hands trembling slightly. The room remained quiet, the only sound being the occasional clinking of glass. When Alison had finished, her hands stained with blood, she stood back up and reached for a nearby bottle of Spiritus on the table.

She was halfway there when she stumbled, but Grayson caught her. However, she pushed him away and continued towards the table. Once she reached it, she slumped into a chair and poured herself a small shot.

Grayson stood beside her, watched as she took one shot after another. He knew it was best to just observe. It reminded him of Jameson after Emily's passing.

It felt like it happened yesterday, Grayson was heading to the pool to distract himself, when he saw Jameson walking on the roof railings with a bottle of Whiskey in his hand. Jameson was clearly trying to drink away his pain after Emily.

At first, Grayson just watched as his younger brother moved from one end of the railings to the other, taking sips from the bottle. He didn't feel anything to the sight of Jameson, in fact, he thought Jameson deserved the pain. But guilt soon washed over him because he knew he was responsible for Emily's death, not Jameson.

Grayson stood frozen by the pool, unable to move or speak. He watched as Jameson took another step, almost slipping. Then, suddenly, Nash appeared beside Jameson and pulled him away from the railing. Grayson heard faint voices, but he remained quiet and still like a statue.

Nash appeared again, looking down this time. Grayson couldn't see Nash's eyes, as his cowboy hat obscured them from view, but he knew they were fixated on him. That's when it all started. Since then, Grayson always froze in the face of danger.

"Don't waste your time," Alison suddenly spoke, her words coming out surprisingly crystal clear. "You can't fix me."

"I know when it's a lost cause," Grayson shot back, his response sharp, but soon regretted it. Alison's blue eyes met his silver-grey ones, and for a moment, there was a spark in her blue gaze. She took another shot and poured herself more, emptying half the bottle. Grayson clenched his fists, frustrated by her stubbornness.

Alison's lips curled into a slow smirk as she took another shot of Spiritus, her eyes locked onto Grayson's. Without warning, she playfully punched his chest and uncurled her fist, her touch gentle and tender. "You're next," she whispered, her voice barely audible. Slowly, she slid her hand down his chest, leaving a trail of warmth in its wake, before leaning back into her chair and taking another shot. Grayson's heart fluttered at her touch, but he quickly suppressed it.

There was enough of Spiritus for one shot, and Alison poured its remain into the glass. Grayson gently took the shot glass from her hand and set it aside. "Alison," he said softly, his eyes never leaving hers, but she cast them downward. Grayson leaned closer to her, his hand gently lifted her chin, making her meet his gaze. Alison's eyes met his, and for a moment, they seemed to understand each other without the need for words. She leaned into his touch, seeking comfort and eventually fell asleep.

The words echoed in his head, "You're next." One by one, they had all gone before him. First Alison's mother, then her father, and her brothers too. Now, he was next.