No Promises

chapter five

GREYSON'S ROOM HAS always been off limits. A rule I put in place for myself to force my imagination to stay in its own lane. In high school, anytime I went over to Stevie's and Greyson was there in Malibu for a day visit or to stay the weekend, I got excited. Part of me doesn't know why. Nothing was ever going to happen, but a girl could hope.

Now I have no choice but to go in his room, and I intend to spend as little time in it as possible. The longer I'm there, the more my mind can wander and twist my stomach in knots at the thought of what could happen if I wasn't me. And he wasn't him. I'd like to think I'd have a chance with him if I wasn't Stevie's best friend, but maybe that's wishful thinking.

The leather-bound book is exactly where he said it would be, on the table next to his bed, and I'm glad I don't have to spend more time in this room than I have to. The cord wrapped around the book is loose when I pick it up, something falling out when I bring it to my chest. I lean to pick it up from the hardwood floor, the white sheet blank, but as soon as I touch it, the texture tells me it's a picture and when I flip it over I find it's not just any photo.

It's Mia.

She's smiling at the camera, making her crystal eyes shine as she leans her head back, the sun shining down on her pale skin making her glow. She's gorgeous—and Greyson's ex.

I remember her from school. She was a senior when I was a freshman, and from what I remember, she was sweet, and I was envious. Envious of how easily she attracted people, envious of her relationship with Greyson. The two were happy until they weren't.

They broke up not long before my junior year, and Stevie told me Greyson had said it was the distance, but I always thought it was more than that. Malibu wasn't that far from Los Angeles, and Greyson was worth the hour drive. It had to be something else, something Greyson didn't want to share with his family.

I stare at the photo before eyeing the notebook in my hand, wondering if I should put it back before sighing and tucking the photo into the back pocket of my shorts. There is no point in hiding that I found it from him. I just have to be honest with him. He'll understand.

Tucking the book under my arm, I carry it with me into my room where I grab my purse along with my keys. I lock up the apartment and take the elevator down to the parking garage, trying my best to remember where my car is without Greyson's Jeep around. It takes me a minute, but I eventually spot it and plug the address to the studio into the navigator.

I'm pretty much useless with directions, and even when I have navigation, I still get lost.

Thankfully, the studio isn't that far from the apartment, and even with Los Angeles traffic, I get there in under thirty minutes. The building is tall and intimidating, branded with the label name, and I almost don't want to go inside, but I work up my courage to climb out. Locking up, I pick my phone out of my purse and text Greyson that I'm here.

"Hi there, can I help you?"

I turn my head as the receptionist stands from her desk, a friendly look on her face. "Yeah, maybe. I'm looking for Greyson Alexander?"

"Oh! Robyn?"

"Yeah." I nod my head and press my lips together.

She indicates for me to follow her into the back, the long corridor lined with platinum and gold albums from label artists. I stop when I find Greyson and Stevie's dad's band, a whole wall dedicated to the career of Rock Salt. I was aware of how successful their dad is, their family plastered in the media constantly, but seeing it like this, it explains why they're all so ambitious. They had a role model that did what most dream of.

"He's just in here," she says, pointing to the black door, extending a smile in my direction before heading back to her reception desk. I thank her quietly before knocking on the door, hesitating for a moment before opening the door and stepping inside.