Mind Code (Coded Connections Duet #2)

Chapter 22

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Grey

A knot of guilt tightens in my stomach as I make my way down to Amelia’s office. The chatter about Elysium’s AR project announcement still echoes in my ears from lunch, and Amelia’s uncharacteristic silence weighs heavily on me.

I need to figure this out before they launch it.

I’ve tried everything to trace the project, even sneaking another round of research in last night while Amelia slept on the couch beside me, but there’s nothing.

It’s like the company’s wiped all traces of it.

Except the big announcements that are on every screen in the hallway and cafeteria.

I’m contemplating approaching the CEO to inquire about it as an employee—to ask who’s leading the project so I could see if this work could potentially integrate with Jamie. I would tell them that I may see an opportunity for AI-steered lensless AR, which I absolutely do, but I’m only ever going to collaborate on that with Amelia when we have our own company. I want to build something new with her, separate from Elysium, where we can pursue our vision and create innovations on our own terms.

I would be willing to give them some ideas and hints of what is possible, though, if it means I’d get the information we need. However, before I can articulate this or even ask the guys what they think about this approach, I know I have to ask Amelia for her permission.

It’s her work, after all, and I’ve promised to respect her boundaries.

Even if it’s killing me to do so.

But when I push open her door, the office is empty. Frowning, I check my watch. It’s only four p.m. She shouldn’t be already gone for the day, even if it is Friday. And I checked her calendar before I got down here—there were no meetings scheduled.

Is she out in the hallway, stealing some more fish?

No, she wouldn’t risk that with it still being so busy.

I need to finally ask her what’s up with that anyway.

Sighing, I pull out my phone and open the tracker app. I haven’t told Misha or Oliver that it’s still on her phone. They haven’t asked, and honestly, I’m not ready to give up that peace of mind yet.

Not until this beta test of a relationship is solid.

The app shows Amelia’s location at Denny Park. A growl rumbles in my throat. This just proves keeping the tracker was the right call. Without a word to anyone, she’s taken off to the park and is probably playing piano without anybody watching her back.

Concern and frustration bubble up inside me as I speed-walk toward the elevator. My mind races with possibilities—what if something happened to her again?

The ding of the elevator snaps me back to reality, and I step inside, jabbing the button for the ground floor. The elevator descends, and I try to calm my nerves, reminding myself that Amelia is resourceful and strong. But the knot in my stomach tightens with every passing second. The doors slide open, and I make a beeline for the exit, my heart pounding in my chest.

Denny Park isn’t far, but the distance feels like miles as I hurry through the bustling streets.

Finally, at Ivor E. Key, I spot Amelia perched on the edge of the piano bench, but she isn’t playing. She looks beautiful today, dressed in a long brown button-up sweater and leggings. But what catches my attention, freezing me in my tracks, is her talking with a guy I’ve never seen before.

At first, I feel possessive, but then I look closer, and her body language is a dead giveaway—shy and defensive.

She isn’t comfortable talking to him.

Meanwhile, the guy is leaning in, making an obvious attempt at flirting. My jaw tightens as I stride over, and just as I reach them, Amelia stands, taking a step back from him. When she catches sight of me, the tension visibly melts away from her.

I’ve got you, baby.

“Hey, Princess. Sorry I’m late,” I say, leaning in to kiss her. When I glance up again, the guy is already retreating.

Smart move.

Amelia exhales deeply. “Thank you. He wasn’t terrible or anything, just insistent and wouldn’t leave me alone, even after I told him I wasn’t interested.”

I have to wrestle with the urge to follow that jerk and teach him a lesson he’ll never forget. But I can’t leave Amelia by herself. Instead, I bend down to pick up her bag, sling it over my shoulder, grab her hand, and guide her away from the scene.

“Where are we going?”

“Grandpa’s,” I tell her, pulling out my phone to send a quick message. “I get that you have an urge to play, but not here. I’m going to give him a heads-up.”

Amelia stops me with a gentle tug on my hand. “I already texted him. They said he and Morgan would be at a doctor’s appointment for the next two hours at least. That’s why I’m here.”

My eyes widen in surprise.

Why didn’t I know about this?

Then I recall the missed call from Grandpa yesterday. They probably wanted to inform me, but I was too preoccupied with Amelia and tracking down her project.

Damn.

I’m a lousy grandson.

“Did they say what kind of doctor appointment?” I ask, hoping she at least knows more than I do.

“Morgan said it was just a check-up.”

Just a check-up.

Okay.

That’s okay.

“I have a key,” I tell her, trying to stay light despite the worry gnawing at me.

As we make our way down the street, I notice her red-rimmed eyes.

She’s been crying, and it kills me to see her like this.

“Why aren’t you at work?”

Amelia sighs, her shoulders slumping. “I just had to get out of there. It’s one thing to know they have my project, but it’s another to have it shoved in my face all the time.”

My heart aches for her as we walk up the steps to the house, and I unlock the front door. The familiar creak of the old wood beneath our feet echoes in the quiet. Then Peanut comes bounding toward us, his nails clicking against the hardwood floor, and I crouch down to greet him, arms outstretched. To my surprise and slight indignation, he bypasses me completely and heads straight for Amelia, tail wagging furiously, his whole body practically vibrating with excitement.

“Nice to see you, too, traitor,” I mutter, standing again and setting down Amelia’s bag with a soft thud.

“Hey, buddy,” Amelia gushes, her voice softening as she crouches down to pet him fiercely. Her fingers disappear into his thick fur, and for a moment, I see a genuine smile light up her face.

Good.

Once she’s done cooing over Peanut, lavishing him with attention and baby talk, I pull her close, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m so sorry,” I murmur, and the words feel inadequate, but I need her to know. “I never fail, and it kills me that I’m failing when it comes to you.”

Amelia looks up at me, her stormy blue eyes filled with warmth. “You could never fail in my eyes, Grey. I’m just a little raw with everything that’s happened. It’s not your fault.” She leans into me, and I wrap my arms around her, the tension slowly ebbing from her body.

“It’s going to be okay,” I whisper into her hair, trying to inject as much conviction into my voice as possible. “We’ll figure this out, I promise. Come on.”

We make our way to the piano, Peanut trotting alongside us, and Amelia sits, but she doesn’t make a move to play, just strokes Peanut’s head.

I stand beside the piano, arms crossed over my chest, watching her closely. “What’s wrong?”

“Somehow, the urge to play is gone. I thought it would help when I left Elysium. That’s why I went to Denny Park, but even there, I don’t really feel it.” She shrugs, looking lost.

A pang of guilt hits me .

I mean, I knew having her work taken from her bothered her.

It bothers me plenty.

I have been so occupied with solving the problem for her that I forgot to properly comfort her. My mind races with potential solutions, analyzing the situation from every angle when what she really needs is emotional support.

“Why do you think that is?” I probe gently, trying to shift gears and focus on her feelings rather than the technical aspects of the issue.

Amelia just shrugs again, her shoulders slumping. “I probably just need a break,” she says, her voice tinged with exhaustion and a hint of frustration.

I watch her, feeling a pang of helplessness wash over me. I wish I could do more for her, to make her feel better, but right now, all I can offer is my presence. It doesn’t feel like enough, but I hope it’s something. So, I sit down on the bench beside her, our shoulders touching. Tension radiates from her body. She’s wound so tight, like a spring ready to snap. She turns to me, her always so lit-up eyes dulled behind her glasses, the usual spark dimmed by whatever is troubling her.

There is more to this.

The way she’s avoiding eye contact, the slight tremor in her hands, something deeper is going on.

“Amelia, I thought we had no secrets anymore,” I say softly, trying to coax her into opening up.

“You have me all figured out, haven’t you?” She smiles sadly, a ghost of her usual cheeky grin. Then, catching me off guard, she asks, “Do you know why I wear my smartwatch on my dominant hand?”

The sudden change of topic throws me off balance. “No,” I admit, curious where this is going.

“Because I have a motion detector that identifies when I pull my hair,” she explains. “It alerts me so I can understand what I’m doing and, in the best case, stop it.”

My eyes widen. I knew my girl was a genius, but she’s so much more—she’s the whole damn package, a brilliant mind wrapped in a compassionate soul.

“That’s so damn smart,” I praise, unable to hide the awe in my voice. But Amelia laughs, a soft, self-deprecating sound that tugs at my heartstrings.

“I’m not telling you this to brag,” she says, her cheeks flushing. “It’s just… it’s been a part of my life for so long, you know?”

“Why are you telling me about it then?”

“Before moving to Seattle from London, I needed it constantly. Once I arrived in Seattle, it became less frequent, mostly surfacing when my parents called. However, being back in London, I found myself reverting to old habits, pulling at my hair quite often. I even bought a new laptop to work on upgrading it while there because it became that bad again.”

I bite my cheek at this, grabbing her hand and squeezing it. The thought of her struggling so much tears at me.

Especially because I was part of the reason she struggled.

“But now…” she continues. “Since we’ve been back, I haven’t had the urge to pull anymore. It’s like an itch that comes back whenever something doesn’t work my way or when I’m anxious, and believe me, I am anxious right now. But it’s basically gone. The urge to pull is gone.” She fiddles with her smartphone, then looks up at me again. “I’m looking for a therapist. I think I could need a little help with processing what happened with my family and also with my coping mechanism because… this can’t be right. The urge to play piano is gone too. I mean, sure, I want to play piano from time to time, but it’s not a need. It’s more of a want. And I don’t know when the last time was that I just wanted to play and didn’t need to. Maybe on my birthday, but not for a long time before that.”

“I’m proud of you for seeking help,” I say earnestly because I really am. “And there is nothing wrong with talking to a therapist, Misha does too. I guess I could use one as well.” I smile, and she gives me a soft smile in return. I bet taking this step wasn’t easy for her. But then I furrow my brow, confused. “But you just said you left work because it got too much, and you needed to play…”

“No,” she corrects me. “I just said I thought it would help, but it didn’t. I was sitting there, thinking that what I really needed was you, Misha, and Oliver. To talk to you or to hold me or… I don’t know. It’s just… is that healthy? Is that a new coping mechanism that’s just as unhealthy as the others? Unhealthy for me to be this attached to a new relationship, and unhealthy for you to have this kind of responsibility or even power over me? I should probably ask the therapist, but, well, I haven’t found one yet.”

Power over her?

“If someone has power over the others, it’s you who holds it over us, Amelia.” I look into her eyes, seeing the worry there. “Needing people in your life isn’t a coping mechanism or unhealthy,” I assure her. “Believe me, having your people around you to help you cope and to be there for you is more than healthy.”

I watch as a hint of relief softens the tension in her face, her shoulders relaxing. “You really think so?” she asks, hope lacing her voice.

“I know so,” I reply, squeezing her hand a bit tighter. “We’re here for you, Amelia. Always. Through thick and thin, come hell or high water.”

She lowers her gaze, a blush creeping across her cheeks. She mumbles something so softly I can barely hear her. “And what if… what if it’s more than that? ”

Curiosity piqued, I reach out, tilting her chin up to meet my gaze. “What is it, Princess?” It comes out soft, like a soothing balm meant to ease whatever worries are swirling inside her beautiful mind.

“Is it… is it still healthy if the need to have you around is… indeed a need?”

My brow furrows at her question, trying to decipher the meaning behind her words. I’ve always felt the pull between us—a need that goes beyond mere want. But I’m not quite sure that’s what she means, and I don’t want to assume. “What are you talking about?” I ask, carefully choosing my words to gauge where this is coming from and how to address it without adding to her distress.

She looks so small, so tentative, like a fragile bird ready to take flight at the slightest provocation. “I’m… I don’t know. I’m… fuck. ”

My hand cups her cheek, my thumb stroking her soft skin in a gentle, reassuring caress. “You can talk to me about anything,” I reassure her. “There’s nothing you can say that will make me think less of you or push me away.”

“Here goes nothing,” she murmurs before she takes a deep breath. “I’m not used to having this much sex.”

My eyes widen at her confession, surprise coursing through me.

Oh.

Oh.

“Okay, that’s… more than understandable,” I reply, trying to keep my voice steady, even as my mind races to catch up with her admission. “I’m sure we can talk to Ollie and Misha about dialing it back… I’m sorry if we are overwhelming you.”

God, we’re fucking idiots.

Of course, having three men who can’t keep their hands to themselves might be too much. We should have been more considerate, more attentive to her comfort levels.

Fuck.

“Oh, my God, no, ” Her eyes go wide as she rushes to explain, her words tumbling out in a frantic cascade. “No, it’s the other way around. I promise it’s not what you’re thinking at all.”

What?

“Amelia, I’m not quite sure I’m still following,” I admit.

Her cheeks flush a deep crimson, and it’s like she is struggling to find the right words. “I… I know you said I shouldn’t talk about other men, but we’re not in bed, so…” She trails off, and I can’t help but chuckle at that.

Good girl, following directions.

“And I’m not fucking you right now, so yes, you are allowed to,” I tease, trying to lighten the mood and put her at ease.

“I never really liked sex,” she admits, looking down at the piano keys, her fingers ghosting over them without pressing down. The confession hangs in the air between us, heavy with implications. “I mean, I never really liked it with my ex . It was always about what he liked and never about what I liked.”

Wow, what a fucking bastard.

The thought of her being with someone who never cared about her pleasure makes my blood boil. I can’t even fathom having sex with her and not making sure she’s enjoying every moment, every touch, every kiss. She deserves so much more than that, and I’ll be damned if I don’t give her exactly that. She’s mine, and I intend to show her just how good it can be when it’s all about her.

“I mean, I liked the feeling. That’s why I have a vibrator, but I somehow never enjoyed sex with him that much. It always felt… lacking, I suppose. ”

“And now you like … having sex?” I’m genuinely curious about where this conversation is heading, but I’m quite sure the orgasms I witnessed her having weren’t anything but real.

“ Now sex feels like I’m on cloud nine, and I’m addicted to your touch… all of yours. And I’m wondering if this is… maybe an unhealthy addiction.”

God, she’s fucking adorable.

And this cute little talk about sex is making me so damn hard.

“Sex addiction is a thing, yes. But I don’t think enjoying a healthy, active sex life puts you at risk for that. It’s natural to crave intimacy, especially when it’s with people you care about… or are in love with.”

“Are you sure?” she presses, still looking for validation, her fingers tracing patterns along my palm, sending shivers up my arm. “Even if I think about it all the time?”

I lean closer, unable to resist the pull. “Think about what, baby?”

God, this innocent side of her is so damn sexy.

“Your hands on me, my hands on you,” she confesses, her voice barely audible but filled with longing.

Good God.

Knowing she wants me, that she thinks about me, I have to suppress the growl threatening to erupt at the thought. Instead, I keep things lighter, more reassuring, even if I want to spread her out right here. “There’s nothing wrong with wanting to feel good.” I reach out to cup her cheek again, my thumb tracing her cheekbone. “There’s nothing wrong with wanting us. We want you just as much,” I assure her. “Maybe even more.”

“You do?”

I need to do a better job at letting her feel it if she has to ask that question .

“I have a longing for every fiber of your being, every second of the day. Most of the time, my hands are shaking from holding back from you. You’re intoxicating, Amelia, in the best possible way.”

I lean in, closing the space that separates us as my hand threads possessively through her silky hair. Her breath hitches in anticipation as my lips descend toward hers, the air between us charged.

“Grey.” The softly spoken plea escapes her lips just as they meet mine, igniting a fire in my veins.

“When did they tell you that they still had two hours at the doctor?” I ask against her lips.

“Maybe an hour ago?” she responds breathily, betraying the effect I have on her when her body unconsciously leans towards mine.

“Perfect.” The word comes out as a growl.

I’m going to spend the next hour showing her just how much she’s wanted.

Giving a sharp whistle, I send Peanut scampering upstairs. Then, in one fluid motion, I pull Amelia into my lap, cradling her against my chest. Our lips meet once more, and a moan escapes her as I stand, holding her up to me, and with gentle reverence, I place her on the polished surface on top of the piano.

“You make my knees so weak I have to spread yours,” I joke, but my words are laced with a possessive hunger that surprises even me as I push them open and step between.

“You’re an idiot.” She chuckles, the sound a sweet melody that does nothing to dampen the fire burning within me.

“Ah-ah, are you gonna be a good girl for me?” I ask, my hands already itching to touch her, claim her.

“Yes, Mr. Donovan,” she whispers, her eyes sparkling with mischief .

“It’s Doctor ,” I tease, correcting her with a playful smirk.

“Ugh…” She groans, but the sound is cut short as I sweep in and kiss her deeply, my hands wandering down to roam her thighs, sliding under her button-up sweater and up to her waistband. The feel of her skin under my fingertips is intoxicating, and I want more.

“What are you doing?” Amelia asks, a hint of nervousness creeping into her voice, “They might come back.”

“They won’t. Not yet,” I breathe out against her temple, my lips trailing down the side of her face. “Trust me?” She nods, her eyes locking onto mine, filled with a trust that humbles me. “My goal is to never make you feel pressured but always desired. You can tell me no , Amelia.”

“I want you.”

That’s all I need.

I hook my fingers into the waistband of her leggings and panties, pulling them down in one swift motion as she lifts herself from the piano. I sit back down on the bench, my heart pounding in my chest.

I’m eye level with her now, her most intimate part exposed to me, her bare legs dangling down, mindful of not touching the keys. I grab her calves and kiss up each leg, making her moan and lean back, her body arching in sweet surrender. The scent of her arousal fills the air, and I can’t resist the urge to taste her, to make her cry out in pleasure.

I lean in and breathe her in deeply, moaning before my tongue darts out, teasing her, tasting her, and her fingers thread through my hair, pulling me closer, urging me on.

“More, please. I need you.”

I nibble her clit, making her buck her hips into my face before I kiss the inside of her thigh and lean back. “I like the begging, but you’ll get what I give you.” Standing, I pull her to me, away from the piano and to her feet before guiding her to sit on my lap, her back to my chest, the heat of her almost undoing me even through my pants as she settles on my aching erection. “Play for me,” I tell her, a command laced with desire.

She turns to look at me, her eyes wide with surprise, and stammers, “W-what?”

But I’m already slipping my hand under her sweater again, seeking the heat between her legs. Her eyes flutter closed as I find her clit, circling it, feeling her respond to my touch with a soft moan.

“Play for me, baby,” I murmur against her ear, my breath a warm whisper that makes her shiver. Her fingers, ever so slightly trembling, find the keys, and she starts to play “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star,” making me laugh.

Little minx.

Her body rocks with the rhythm of the piece, and there’s a stutter in her playing as I push a finger inside her. She leans back against me, her head resting on my shoulder.

“Good thing you can play with your eyes closed,” I whisper, my breath hot against her ear as my lips trail down her neck. Her skin is soft and warm under my mouth, and I leave a mark just below her hairline—a secret hidden away, known only to us.

My fingers continue their relentless dance between her thighs, stroking and teasing with a rhythm that has her breath hitching, her hips instinctively bucking into my hand. I press deeper, feeling the wet heat of her arousal and the way her body tightens around my fingers. The sound of her breathing grows ragged, punctuated by soft whimpers that send a shiver of anticipation down my spine.

My cock throbs with a desperate need to be inside her, to feel that tight warmth envelop me. But not yet. Not until I’ve pushed her to the edge.

My mouth continues its assault on her neck, licking and sucking, drawing out more of those delicious sounds that drive me wild. When I sense her getting closer, her body trembling with the effort to keep playing, I withdraw my fingers, savoring the slickness on them. I bring them to my lips, licking them clean one by one, each taste a sweet reminder of how much I own her pleasure.

Her eyes flutter open in surprise as I stand, leaving her no choice but to follow. Her lips part, a soft gasp escaping as she looks at me, her chest rising and falling with each labored breath. I don’t give her time to think before I open my pants, freeing my aching cock. The sight of it makes her eyes darken with desire, her pupils blown wide as she anticipates what’s coming.

I sit back down and pull her onto my lap, positioning her above me. In one swift, fluid motion, I thrust into her, filling her completely. The heat of her surrounding me, the way she clenches around me, it’s almost too much. My hands find her clit again, rubbing in perfect time with my thrusts, each movement sending sparks of pleasure through both of us.

“Play,” I command, my voice rough with the effort of maintaining control. Her hands tremble as they return to the keys, but her playing is erratic now, notes stumbling over one another as she struggles to focus on something other than the relentless rhythm of my thrusts.

Her moans grow louder, more desperate, the music forgotten as she succumbs to the pleasure coursing through her body. Her hands leave the piano, gripping my thighs instead, holding on tightly. I feel her cunt clenching around me, gripping me hard.

But I’m not ready to let go just yet.

I lift her off me, pulling out of her with a groan. The sight of her flushed and swollen cunt, glistening with her arousal, is almost more than I can take. I reach out, my fingers stroking up and down her slick slit, teasing her entrance as I stroke my cock with my other hand. The contrast between her soft heat and the tight grip of my own hand threatens to overwhelm me.

Her eyes meet mine, her expression one of pure, unrestrained desire. She’s completely at my mercy, and the power of that knowledge sends a thrill through me. I continue stroking her, watching her squirm, her body still quivering.

“Fuck,” I whisper, barely able to keep control. “You’re so damn beautiful like this. Play,” I tell her again, but she shakes her head, her eyes meeting mine with a desperation that takes my breath away.

“I can’t,” she pleads, “I need you back inside me. I need to come.”

A slow smile curls my lips as I recognize the power she’s handing me. “Say please,” I insist, my tone laced with the authority I know she craves.

“Please,” she breathes out, the single word a surrender that sends a jolt through me.

Gripping her hips, I guide her back down onto my lap, filling her once more with a driving need. Her tight, wet heat envelops me, gripping me like a vice, the sensation so exquisite it borders on pain.

“Just like that. Fucking take it, baby. It’s yours,” I growl out, my hips surging up to meet hers, my fingers finding her clit, circling and pressing until she’s crying out my name, her body writhing and convulsing around me as she shatters into a thousand pieces.

The sound of my name on her lips, the feel of her tightening around my cock, it’s my undoing. I can’t suppress the tide of ecstasy that rises within me, the climax that builds and crests. I let go, surrendering to the pleasure that rips through me, my release pulsing forth as I fill her completely, marking her as mine in the most primal way possible .

Holy shit.

I hold her close, our breaths mingling, and I want to stay like this forever, with her cunt wrapped around me, but reality starts to seep back in, reminding me that we can’t remain in this bubble forever.

Morgan and Grandpa absolutely could come back home any minute, and now that I’m thoroughly fucked out, I understand that that would be…

Unfortunate.

I press a soft kiss to her temple, my fingers tracing lazy patterns on her thigh.

“You’re incredible. I would love to just stay like this, but we should probably get our clothes back on.”

“You’re right.” I watch as Amelia stands, a soft gasp escaping her lips as I slip out of her letting my cum glide out of her and down her thigh.

I want to push it back inside her with my cock.

Reaching for a tissue on the dresser next to me, I clean her, then myself, before disposing of the evidence in the bathroom. When I return, Amelia is already dressed again.

I feel a surge of pride at her thoroughly fucked appearance.

I did that.

Amelia’s smile warms me as I approach her, and I can’t resist pulling her close for a kiss, whispering against her lips, “That was amazing.”

“It was. Such a good thing you found me,” she murmurs, her voice filled with affection.

The words send a pang of guilt through me, twisting in my chest like a knife. My expression falters, and I can see the change register in Amelia’s eyes. They narrow, studying me with a critical intensity that makes me want to look away. But I force myself to meet her gaze, knowing I owe her that much .

“Right… exactly how did you find me? How did you know where I was?” she asks, her tone shifting from warmth to wariness.

God, I fucked up.

“Amelia, I—” I try to explain, my words coming out hesitant and fumbling.

She takes a step back, creating a physical distance that mirrors the emotional chasm I feel opening between us. Her face clouds with suspicion, and I see the trust I’ve just managed to build back up starting to crumble.

“How did you know I was there, Grey?” Her voice is sharp now, demanding answers.

I swallow hard, knowing that the truth will hurt her, but unable to lie. The words feel heavy on my tongue as I confess, “When you were attacked, I installed a tracker app on your phone. I only used it once before, when you went to London, but I was looking for you earlier and couldn’t find you, and I panicked, so I checked it. I’m sorry. If you give me your phone, I’ll uninstall it right now.”

The hurt that blooms in Amelia’s eyes is like a physical blow. Her brows furrow, and I see tears welling up, threatening to spill over. My heart aches, and I instinctively reach for her, wanting to comfort her, to explain, to make it right somehow. But she pulls away, her body language closing off as she wraps her arms around herself protectively.

“You told me to trust you, ” she says, her voice barely above a whisper, but each word strikes me like a thunderbolt. “You said you would never overstep my boundaries again. You said this would stop. You said no more secrets. ”

The accusation in her tone is unmistakable, and I want to defend myself, to explain that I only did it out of concern for her safety, but I know that any excuses I make now will only sound hollow. I’ve broken her trust, and the realization of what that might mean for us fills me with a cold dread.

I’m at a loss for words as Amelia moves toward the door. My heart races, and a cold sweat breaks out on my forehead. Instinctively, I follow her, my feet moving of their own accord, but she turns on her heel, holding up a finger. Her eyes, usually so warm, are now cold and hard. “Don’t follow me like the fucking stalker you are,” she spits out, her voice laced with venom.

She leaves, slamming the door behind her, and all I want is to chase after her, to explain, to beg for forgiveness. But my body is torn between following her and respecting her wishes. Fate intervenes as my phone vibrates on the piano, the sound jarring in the sudden silence. I grab it, still intending to follow Amelia, but pause when I see Morgan’s number flashing on the screen.

My thumb hovers over the answer button for a split second before I swipe to accept the call while I head out, my voice tight with tension. “Morgan, can I call you back—”

“Grey,” Morgan’s tearful voice cuts me off, shaky and urgent. The sound of it sends a chill down my spine, and the hairs on the back of my neck stand up as I come to a standstill. “You need to come to the hospital, now, ” she chokes out between sobs. “Grandpa, he… it’s bad…” Her words trail off into a muffled cry, and my world tilts on its axis.