I take it from him with reluctance.
“My father always said it’s better to have some cash on hand. He didn’t really like getting paid electronically, said it makes it easy for people to track you. He liked to get cash when he could but it’s hard to come by these days.”
Grayson makes conversation easily but the undercurrent of tension beneath his words gives me pause.
“Do you have a good relationship with your dad?” I ask.
“As good as it can be when he’s never home.” Grayson spares me a glance and feeds more money into the machine. “My parents work a lot. They busted their ass to give me a better life. And to afford all their prepper supplies.”
His life, before the moon madness, shines through the teasing syllables.
I’d been desperate to hear about it but never asked. It isn’t my place to poke into his past. It’s only my place to help make sure Grayson has a future outside of this curse.
“So you were alone a lot.”
He nods. “It’s not so bad.”
Typing in the numbers for his sweet treat takes his attention from me.
I know the feeling. I’d felt it even when I’d been surrounded by people. Secrets did that to a person. They isolated you, made you feel as though the eyes in a room skipped over you.
His bag of chocolate covered pretzels drops into the slot. “You get used to it. I did my fucking best to get good grades for them. Thought I’d show them how their hard work paid off. I got a scholarship to college.”
My heart lifts. “That’s amazing! I didn’t know you were going to college.”
“I did it to make them proud, but it actually made me proud to know I was able to accomplish it. And not for football either.” He leans closer and in a conspirator’s whisper says, “Art.”
Surprise ripples through me. “Art?”
“I mean, I’m playing ball too.” His fingers flex around the bag because hell, nothing is given at this point. “But my paintings got me the scholarship to state. I can’t tell you how amazing it felt to open the letter and see it. Congratulations, Mr. Larimore, and welcome.”
My guilt deepens. Grayson has so much ahead of him. He has an entire future where he gets to make his life count on his terms.
What do I have?
Lies and a fiancé I never chose.
Yet I’m the one who might take Grayson’s plans away from him if we can’t get to the cure in time.
“You don’t look like a painter,” I say at last. “You’re supposed to be starving and have a permanent hunch in your back from bending over your canvas.”
“That’s what everyone says. But people surprise you, I guess.” Our gazes lock as we lean against the vending machine. “How about you? What are you doing once we make it to the circus?”
He crosses his arms over his chest, the devil in his eyes. It’s always the mischief makers who hold the most allure.
My chuckle is sharp and pained. “How do you know I won’t join the circus?”
“You have a secret act? You’re really good on the trapeze, aren’t you?”
“Hey, you know all about my secrets. If I actually had a skill worthy of a circus then, hell, I might actually do it.”
Grayson stares at me and reads between the lines faster than I thought. “You’ve never made peace with being moonlocked, have you?”
The word itself stings. It digs in deeper than I want, and burrows straight into my heart. “I’ve learned to live with it. It’s one of those facts of life.” I nestle closer. “I mean, you get used to knowing there’s something wrong with you when you’ve lived with something for so long.”
His throat works. “It breaks my heart to hear you say that.”
“Why?”