Page 52 of Always Been His

“We were outside, and it started raining, and I…” The lie dissolves before it’s fully formed because Iris has known me since I was six years old, and she can see straight through me. “I can explain. Just let me⁠—”

“If you tie the knot at the front, it’ll stay while you—” Grayson’s voice comes down the kitchen stairs ahead of him, easy and unhurried, a gray hoodie in his hand. Then his foot hits the bottom stair, and he sees Iris standing in the doorway and goes completely still. “Shit.”

Iris looks at him.

She takes in his bare chest and the dry hoodie in his hand. She looks at me and my ripped leggings and the saturated hoodie covering my nakedness, and the whole picture assembles itself in front of her in about three seconds flat.

“What the fuck,” she says, barely audible.

“Iris,” Grayson says, his voice careful.

“What the actual fuck,” she says again, louder this time, her hand coming up and pressing flat against her sternum. “You two… out there… while Dad is…”

“Iris, please just let me talk to you,” I say, stepping toward her.

“Don’t.” She backs away, her voice cracking. “Do not come near me right now, Sienna. I swear to god.”

“Bubbles,” Grayson says, moving off the stairs.

“And you.” She turns on him, her blue eyes glassy and furious. “You knew. She’s my best friend, Grayson, the one person I told you was off limits⁠—”

“Iris.” His voice drops into the quiet register he uses when things are serious.

“I trusted you.” Her voice breaks clean in half on the last word, and that’s what gets me, it’s the one that lands in the center of my chest like a stone through ice.

Then she turns and runs.

Her feet hit the stairs fast, the old farmhouse steps creaking under her in quick succession, and my body reacts, holding the wet hoodie to my chest as I push past Grayson and hit the bottom of the staircase.

“Iris.” I take the stairs two at a time, my hand on the rail, my ripped leggings flapping at the hip with every step. “Iris, please, just let me⁠—”

She is faster than she looks when she is angry and she has always been angry in a way that moves. By the time I hit the second floor landing her bedroom door is swinging shut and I get my palm to the wood half a second too late, the latch clicking into place on the other side with a finality that lands somewhere behind my sternum.

The door down the hall opens and Maggie narrows her eyes on me, holding her robe tight to her chest.

“Richard is asleep,” she says, low and firm. “Whatever this is, it needs to come down significantly.” She turns around and goes back inside the room before I can apologize.

“Iris.” I press my forehead to the door, one palm flat against the wood. “Iris, please open the door. Please just let me explain.”

Nothing.

I knock again, softer this time. “Iris, come on. Please. I love you. Just open the door.”

“Sienna.” A hand lands on my shoulder as a sob lodges in my throat.

Grayson shakes his head once. “Give her tonight. She isn’t going to open that door right now, and you have bigger things to worry about.”

“Bigger than my best friend hating me?” My chest aches, and I feel a flood of unshed tears building behind my eyes and making my head pound.

I never wanted this. I never wanted to hurt Iris, but I realize now that I can’t live without Grayson either.

Without a word, Grayson shows me his phone.

The screen is lit with notifications. Dozens of them. I open the first and the headline loads before I’ve finished reading the source.

POP STAR ECHO SPOTTED IN MAINE: LOCALS CONFIRM SIGHTINGS, EXCLUSIVE PHOTOS INSIDE.

My stomach hits the floor.