Chapter 111 #111

Chapter 111 #111
Chapter 111
~Dwayne's POV~

I stared at the doorway.

Not Dante as I had thought.

Gramps.

He stood there in his wheelchair, hands folded over the armrest, eyes sharp and calculating as they moved between Shailyn and me. 

"Well," he said slowly, each word deliberate. "Isn't this cozy."

Shailyn sat up straighter, the blanket sliding down to pool at her waist. "Gramps. I didn't hear you come in."

"Clearly." His gaze settled on me, and I felt the weight of it like a physical thing. Cold. Assessing. Finding me wanting. "What are you doing in here, Dwayne?"

"Bringing Shailyn dinner." I gestured to the tray on the nightstand, the soup still steaming.

"How thoughtful. And you needed to sit so close to deliver soup?"

The question hung in the air between us, accusatory and sharp.

"I was just keeping her company," I said evenly, refusing to rise to the bait.

"I'm sure you were."

The air in the room turned glacial. I could feel Shailyn's tension beside me, see the way her hands twisted in the blanket. She was afraid. Not of me. Of him. Of what he represented.

I stood slowly, deliberately, letting every inch of my height show. It was a petty move, but I needed the psychological advantage. "Is there something you need, Gramps?"

He smiled. Cold. Thin. Like a knife drawn across ice. "Just checking on our dear Shailyn. Making sure she's being properly cared for."

"She is."

"By you? Or by her husband?"

The question was loaded, and we both knew it. I felt my jaw tighten. "By everyone who actually cares about her wellbeing."

His eyes narrowed to slits. "Careful, boy."

"Or what?" I took a step closer to his wheelchair, and satisfaction flickered through me when I saw his hand tighten on the armrest.

Shailyn shifted on the bed, her voice cutting through the tension. "Gramps, I appreciate you checking on me. But I'm fine. Really."

"Of course you are, dear." His tone softened when he addressed her, though I couldn't tell if it was genuine or just another manipulation. The old man was a master at wearing whatever mask suited the moment. "I just worry. You gave us quite a scare."

"I know. I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize. Just rest. Take care of those babies." His eyes cut back to me, and the warmth vanished like it had never existed. "And keep appropriate boundaries with family members."

Something hot and dangerous unfurled in my chest. I took a step toward him. "What exactly are you implying?"

"I'm not implying anything. I'm stating facts. You're in your brother's wife's bedroom. Alone. Sitting inappropriately close. Some might find that... questionable."

"Some might find a lot of things questionable in this house."

The words came out before I could stop them, sharp and pointed. I saw understanding flash across his face. He knew I was digging. Knew I was getting close to something.

"Dwayne," Shailyn said quietly. A warning. Please don't.

Gramps's smile widened, showing too many teeth. "Indeed. This house has many secrets. Best not to go digging where you don't belong."

"Is that a threat?"

"It's advice. From someone who's been around much longer than you. Someone who knows where all the bodies are buried." He paused, letting that sink in. "Metaphorically speaking, of course."

"Long enough to make a lot of mistakes?"

Something flickered across his face, surprise, maybe, or recognition. "We all make mistakes, boy. The question is whether we learn from them."

"Or cover them up."

The temperature in the room dropped another ten degrees. The air felt thick, oppressive, like standing in the eye of a storm.

Gramps moved back slightly, his movements measured and controlled. "I think I'll leave you two to your... dinner. Shailyn, rest well." 

He walked past me, and as he did, he leaned in close enough that I could smell his cologne, expensive, old-fashioned, cloying. His voice dropped to a whisper meant only for my ears. "Dwayne, a word of advice, focus on your own affairs. Not your brother's."

The threat was clear. Stay away from Shailyn. Stop asking questions. Mind your business.

He turned and wheeled out, leaving the door open behind him, another deliberate choice. A statement. Nothing to hide here. All perfectly innocent.

I stood there, fists clenched, watching him disappear down the hallway. My heart pounded against my ribs like it wanted to break free.

"Dwayne," Shailyn said softly.

I turned to her. She looked small in that big bed, vulnerable despite the fire I knew burned inside her.

"You should go. Before this gets worse."

"I'm not afraid of him."

"Maybe you should be." Her voice was barely above a whisper.

"Are you?"

She hesitated, and in that hesitation, I saw everything. Fear. Regret. Resignation. "I'm afraid of what he can do.."

I wanted to ask what she meant. Wanted to push, to demand answers. But something in her expression stopped me,exhaustion, maybe, or the bone-deep weariness of someone who'd fought too many battles and lost them all.

"Okay," I said instead. "I'll go. But Shailyn—"

"Yeah?"

"If you need anything. Anything at all. You call me. Understand?"

She nodded, and I thought I saw moisture gathering in her eyes. "I understand."

I left before I could say something I'd regret. Before I could close that door and finish what we'd almost started. Before I could make everything infinitely more complicated than it already was.

\---

My mind was racing as I walked down the hallway.

That moment. Before Gramps interrupted.

We were so close. So fucking close.

I could see it in her eyes. The way she was looking at my lips. The way her breathing had changed, shallow and quick. The way the air between us had felt charged, electric, like touching a live wire.

She wanted to kiss me.

Or maybe I was imagining it. Projecting what I wanted onto what was actually happening. God knows I'd done that before, read signals that weren't there, convinced myself of things that existed only in my head.

Either way, it didn't matter now.

I made it to my room and shut the door, leaning against it. My hands were shaking. From anger or desire or fear, I couldn't tell anymore. Maybe all three.

My phone buzzed.

Luke: Found something on the fingerprints. Call me.

I was about to dial when another thought hit me.

Jack.

He'd been too quiet lately. No messages. No unexpected appearances. Nothing.

That wasn't like him.

Jack Morrison was many things, but subtle wasn't one of them. He was a bulldozer in human form, crashing through situations with all the finesse of a wrecking ball. His silence was more alarming than any confrontation could be.

I pulled up his number and hit dial.

He answered on the second ring. "Dwayne. Wasn't expecting to hear from you."

"We need to talk."

"About?"

"Everything. In person."

"That sounds ominous."

"Tomorrow. The café on Fifth Street. Noon."

He paused, and I could almost hear him thinking through the phone. "This about your mother?"

"This is about a lot of things."

"Fair enough. I'll be there."

"Don't be late."

"Wouldn't dream of it."

I hung up and stared at my phone.

Jack knew something. I could feel it in my gut, that instinct that had kept me alive this long. Whether he knew he knew it or not was another question entirely.

I grabbed my jacket and headed downstairs. I needed air. Space. Something to clear my head before it exploded.

As I passed the library, voices stopped me.

Low. Urgent.

I slowed, every muscle tensing, and pressed myself against the wall outside the door.

"—didn't clean up well enough." Gramps's voice. Cold. Angry. Nothing like the concerned grandfather act he'd pulled upstairs.

"I did everything you asked." Cynthia. Defensive. Desperate.

"Clearly not. There are still loose ends."

"What loose ends?"

"The kind that could destroy everything if they come to light."

My pulse thundered in my ears. I held my breath, straining to hear every word.

"I was careful—"

"Careful isn't good enough. You should have been thorough."

Silence stretched between them, heavy and damning.

"What do you want me to do?" Cynthia asked finally.

"Fix it. Before someone figures out what you did."

"And if I can't?"

"Then we deal with it. Permanently."

My blood ran cold. Deal with it permanently. The way they'd dealt with my mother?

I needed to hear more. Needed to know exactly what they were talking about, what Cynthia had done, what loose ends remained.

I shifted slightly, trying to get closer to the door without making noise.

A floorboard creaked.

Loud. Sharp. Unmistakable.

I froze, every muscle locked.

The voices inside stopped immediately.

Shit.

I turned to leave, to get away before they came out and found me eavesdropping—

And nearly collided with someone standing directly behind me.

My heart stopped.