I’m in desperate need of coffee and eye drops as I shuffle into Graham’s kitchen the next morning. My head is pounding, I’ve had barely an hour of sleep, and my stomach is screaming for me to fill it. I showed up at his front door, unable to call him and hoping like hell he hadn’t moved in the year since I’ve seen him, and as soon as he opened the door, I collapsed into his arms.
He held me while I sobbed, barely able to get out the story through my crying and wretched sounds until I could cry no more, but had lost my voice.
I’ve lost more than my voice.
I still can’t believe the way Braxton spoke to me. The callous, hurtful things he said are permanently etched into my brain and every time I blink, my eyes sting from the pain but it’s the flash of his furious face when I first looked at him after seeing he had a picture of Graham that hurts more than anything.
He thinks I’d cheat on him. He thinks I’d go to a bar and get drunk while pregnant. He thinks I’d betray him in such horrific ways, I still can’t fathom it. And he might have been drinking, but he wasn’t so completely wasted as to not understand what he was saying.
“God,” I groan, filling my cup of coffee from the prepared pot on the counter. Screw decaf today. One cup of the good stuff won’t hurt anything.
“Not God,” Graham says. His voice makes me jerk, and coffee sloshes over the side of my mug. “But perhaps your knight in shining armor.” He walks straight to me, and I don’t have time to brush the spilled coffee off the dress I’m still in from last night. I passed out on the couch before I could change.
“How’s my princess?” He presses his lips to the top of my head and sniffs. “Besides stinky.”
“Broken.”
“Not broken,” he murmurs before pulling away. “Just maybe dented a little bit.”
I’d laugh if it wasn’t true, but instead, I don’t respond. Tears are filling my eyes again and it hurts so much to keep crying I turn away from Graham while he goes about getting his own breakfast. He’s dressed in jeans and a gray polo shit, jeans ripped at the ankle hems and around the edges of his back pockets. His hair is tousled, not neatly styled like I’m used to seeing it.
And on his arm is the tattoo he showed me last night. Be You. Be True.
I flinch at the tattoo and open the fridge, my shoulders shaking while I pretend just seeing that ink doesn’t make me cry.
He was telling me about coming out to his parents, how they’re in absolute denial and are certain a girlfriend—or a wife who happens to be pregnant already, even better—is certain to change his mind and like me, he’s simply going through some spoiled rich child, millennial phase of growth.
But we’d gone to that bar to listen to live jazz music where I’d sipped sparkling water and he’d begged me for more details on Braxton. Mostly what he did and what he looked like.
As I told him, his eyes popped wide and he’d begun rolling up the sleeve of his dress shirt. “Got this done two months ago, gave me the courage to come out to my parents. Went to MadInk because I heard it’s the best. Braxton did this.”
Written in an Old English–type scroll, I’d skimmed my fingers over the ink of his arm, smiling, thinking of Braxton. I was thinking of Jimmy wanting me to live my life, Braxton giving me the keys to do so, Graham having the strength and being connected to both of us in some way without even knowing it.
I love it, I’d told Graham.
He’d smiled down at me. You love him.
My smile had gone wonky. Yeah.
And somehow, in all of that, someone who knew me, knew my connection to Braxton or maybe Braxton himself, had taken a photo.
Using the moment I realized I really truly loved him, to destroy it.
What a freaking mess.
I grab a raspberry Greek yogurt from the fridge and slam the door so hard the entire appliance shakes.
“Easy, killer,” Graham says. He’s laughing but there’s still concern in his voice. “Don’t take this out on Frigidaire.”
“You’re so weird,” I mutter. I grab a spoon and plop down on the stool, tear off the wrapper of the yogurt and dig in.
“You going to be okay today? I can take the day off studying. Not like I’ll pass anyway.”
That explains why he’s dressed casually. He’s still studying for the bar and I know he does all his studying at the Portland Central Library where it’s quiet and he can hide and pull his hair and groan his frustration without anyone hearing.
“I can help you. Don’t know how a law student dropout can help, but I can try.”
“Nah. You’ve got other things to worry about.”
Yeah. Like calling Jenna. Somehow getting all my crap out of Braxton’s and back into my studio.
I’m going to miss my painting room.
Not as much as I’m going to miss Lucy, though.
Or Braxton.
I sniff and dip my head.
“Hey.” Graham walks to me and presses his finger to my chin, forcing me to look at him. “You’re going to be okay, right? Talk to him. Clear this up.”
I shake my head, but he has such a firm pinch on my chin, I can’t move much. “You didn’t hear the things he said to me.”
“No. And they’re shitty, and trust me, I want to punch him in the face for saying that to you, but it also sounds like there was a lot in his head. Listen to him, you at least have to figure out a way to move past this for your child’s sake.”
He’s right. I know he is.
That doesn’t mean I’m making the first move though. No way in hell.
“I need to call Jenna.”
“Yes, you do. But when he calls you, don’t avoid him.”
He lets my chin go and I shove a spoonful of yogurt into my mouth, not answering.
Leaning forward, Graham rests his elbows on the other side of the counter. “Love you, Cara. You need anything from me, any help or anything, you know you can always come to me, right? And you can stay here as long you want too.”
“I know. I really missed you, Graham.”
“Good. I missed you too. Next time you decide to be your own person and not your parents’ puppet, don’t forget there are people in that life who still love you and I’m one of them.”
He points to his chest and I nod.
“Speaking of puppets…”
“Don’t start.” He rolls his eyes and pushes off the counter. “I want to be a lawyer. Just because I want the same things he pushes down my throat doesn’t mean I am him.”
“Thank God,” I mutter again.
He laughs and ruffles my already-messed-up mane. “I’ve got to go study, but I’ll be back around five. You going to be here?”
“Don’t know.” I shrug. I plan on calling Luca and telling him I’m not coming in, and I have to call Jenna, but if she and Dan can move my stuff out and back to my apartment, that won’t happen until after she gets off work. I say all this to Graham, more thinking out loud than anything, and he kisses my cheek.
“No problem. Call me and let me know. You’re here, I’ll bring home dinner. You’re not, we’ll talk soon.”
“Thanks, Graham.” My chin wobbles. “I’ll let you know.”
He gives me a quick hug, grabs his laptop bag and backpack, and heads out with another shout that I can stay if I want.
He’s been so good to me. Last night when I left Braxton’s, I gave the taxi the address of Graham’s place, quickly crossing off Jenna as an option. She’d go ballistic, Dan would probably be pissed but maybe he wouldn’t, and it was that uncertainty, not knowing where Dan would fall, that held me back.
Braxton might be a dick, but I don’t need to ruffle their friendship any.
God. How am I going to keep being friends with them if Braxton and I don’t work out?
“What a mess.”
I drop my head on the counter and cry.