Chapter 1. GRAHAM

Chapter 1

GRAHAM

I was sure I would never love anyone as much as I loved Zoe.

Something about first love defies duplication. Before it, your heart is blank. Unwritten. After, the walls are left inscribed and graffitied. When it ends, no amount of scrubbing will purge the scrawled oaths and sketched images, but sooner or later, you find that there’s space for someone else, between the words and in the margins.

I accepted some time ago that for me, that someone else was my daughter, Cara. The conclusion seemed reasonable at the time. She was the only tangible thing that survived that tumultuous relationship, and the only piece of Zoe I was allowed to keep in the end.

I called Zoe the day after she told me it was over to ask her why, and what I’d done, and if I could do something, anything to win her back. I thought we were in love—that whatever it was that made her end it, I could fix. Neither of us knew yet that she was pregnant.

“Why are you trying to make me feel bad? ” she asked. “This is hard for me, too. ”

I took a controlled breath. “Doesn’t seem that way. ” Earlier that day I’d passed her in the hall as she leaned against her locker, flirting with a couple of our classmates, guys whom summer had turned into men. The same couldn’t be said for me. Though Zoe and I were both seniors, she was more than a year older. My summer birthday and the skipped grade in elementary school meant I’d only been sixteen for four months. I wouldn’t turn seventeen until a couple of weeks after graduation.

She huffed an exaggerated sigh. “Jeez, Graham—I’m in fourth-year theatre, you know. I can act like I’m fine when I’m not. ”

No way was she acting when Ross Stewart, varsity wrestling team hero, made some teasing comment and she giggled up at him, batting her lashes, her small hand on his ham of a forearm. It had been less than twenty-four hours since our breakup. I was hoarse from crying for half the night, and she was smiling and flirting, her eyes as bright blue as always.

“What can I do, Zoe? Did I do something wrong? If you’ll just talk to me, tell me what you need me to do—”

“Graham, there’s nothing you can do. I’m just not, you know, attracted to you anymore. This decision is about me and my feelings. Not you. ”

I’m not attracted to you anymore sure sounded like it was about me. I felt as if she’d kicked me through the phone. Zoe had been my first everything, though I hadn’t been hers—a fact that had never bothered me. I’d been a willing enough pupil, and despite our arguments and a multitude of misunderstandings, I thought we were good together. Right up until she broke my heart.

“Is there someone else? ” I don’t know what I expected when I asked. Maybe that she’d deny it immediately. She was silent for too long on the other end. I could feel her deliberating. “Shit, Zoe, ” I whispered, my voice breaking due to the overnight crying bender.

“I’m sorry, Graham. But I don’t want to talk about this with you anymore. I can’t help how I feel… or don’t feel. I never meant to hurt you, but you and me are over now. You’re gonna have to accept it. ”

I didn’t talk to her for a couple of weeks after that, though I saw her around at school. While our breakup was out-of-left-field and excruciating for me, it was liberating but awkward for her. I only knew the awkward part because her friends Mia and Taylor told me that the reason she changed her routes between classes and started going off campus for lunch every day was because watching me mope was such a downer.

“I’m not moping. I mean sure, I’m kind of depressed—I wasn’t expecting this. I can’t just become resigned to it overnight. ”

Mia rolled her eyes. “It’s been like two weeks. ”

Taylor shrugged one bony shoulder, screwing her mouth up in the no-big-deal smirk she was fond of making. “You really need to move past it already, Graham. Zoe has. ”

I stared at them, bewildered. “She did the breaking up. She was probably moving past it when she did it. I haven’t had time to acclimate to being so expendable. I can’t just snap out of it like the past year meant nothing. ”

Even though that’s exactly what Zoe had done.

“Graham and his I’m-a-genius vocab, ” Mia mumbled, just loud enough for me to hear as they walked away.

“Seriously, ” Taylor agreed.

***

When Emma kissed me last night, right before I bolted from her hotel room, I recognized a resurgence of the yearning I’d felt for her the whole time we were in Austin. I thought I’d conquered it, because she wasn’t possible—for so many reasons.

For one, she’s young—eighteen now, seventeen when I met her. She carries herself with a maturity that belies her age, though, and once I knew her better, I knew why that was. With a deceased mother and an emotionally absent father, she’d been parenting herself for years. But I couldn’t forget that behind that mask of maturity was a girl who’d fallen for Reid Alexander, king of the Hollywood douchebags. I had pushed her into the friend box in my head and held her there forcibly. I couldn’t fall for a girl who’d fall for Reid—reason number two.

Reason number three—she lives on the opposite coast, though my subconscious mind (okay, fine, my completely conscious mind) did everything imaginable to change that fact. Once we started talking about college and her desire to act on the stage instead of in front of a camera, it made sense to suggest universities and conservatories in New York. That’s what I told myself, while thoughts of her being that near, all the time, buzzed feverishly through my head.

Finally, reason number four—I don’t share Cara with anyone but family and a couple of very close friends. Her existence is unknown to the world at large, though that won’t be true for long. When Emma ran into us at the coffee shop yesterday and interacted with Cara, that part of my wall began to fall.

Our kiss last night all but detonated the rest of it.

“Let’s get out of here, ” I say now, glancing at my watch before tossing bills onto the table and taking her hand. “What time is your flight? ”

Her eyes don’t waver from mine as I pull her from the booth. “Noon. ” Holding her hand as tightly as she’s holding mine, I lead her through the café to the exit, a riot of thoughts whirlpooling in my brain. Soon, she and her dad have to leave for the airport, where they’ll board a plane for Sacramento. Suddenly, the end of August is intolerably far away.

The first time I saw Emma was almost eight months ago. Leaving my hotel room to talk Brooke down from a freak-out over seeing Reid for the first time in years, I noticed Emma, slipping a key card into her hotel room door. Small and slim, surrounded by luggage, she glanced up as my gaze scanned over her, blinking her beautiful green eyes. I smiled, instantly curious who she was. I was on a Brooke-support mission, though, with no time to stop and chat with beautiful strangers.

“Hey, ” I said, feeling like a dork. What kind of guy comes out of his hotel room wearing pajamas and says hey to some random girl in the hall right before entering another girl’s room?

Two nights later, we finally met after the first cast outing. I recognized her in the club, talking with MiShaun and dancing with some of our costars, but Brooke kept me close until it became clear that Reid intended to ignore her completely. On a smoking break outside, I spotted Emma waiting for a taxi back to the hotel, and on a whim, I asked to share her cab. Brooke was ticked that I just left her there, but I couldn’t be sorry.

I lay in my bed that night tasting the sound of her name on my tongue—Emma.

We began running in the mornings and we hung out alone a couple of times, talking, while I weighed her involvement with Reid. I was patient and cautious until the morning I sat next to her on a covered picnic table, soaking wet, waiting for the rain to lighten up so we could finish our run. As we sat there small-talking, another conversation was taking place under the surface.

Her ponytail dripped down her back, her thin t-shirt clinging like a second skin, and she smelled incredible. One loose strand of hair snaked across her cheek and clung to the corner of her lip, and I think I almost stopped breathing, staring at it. I reached to move it behind her ear, thinking don’t, don’t, don’t kiss her. Followed by kiss her, kiss her, you idiot.

I congratulated myself on following the former and ignoring the latter.

Until I walked out of Brooke’s room that night (another Reid-related panic attack) to see Emma leaving my door and sprinting to her room like she didn’t want me to see her. I had two choices: go to my room and beat my head on the wall, or knock on her door and try to mitigate the damages of her having witnessed me leaving Brooke’s room late at night.

I knew the best case scenario for keeping Emma at arm’s length was to let her assume Brooke and I were involved. She was already halfway there; all I had to do was nothing. Then the image of her upturned face that morning flashed across my mind’s eye, and my memory conjured the smell of the rain on her skin and in her hair. I considered the easy rapport we’d established, and the comfort I felt when she was near. In a fit of unprecedented impulsiveness, I was at her door inviting myself in, and before I left her room I’d held her and kissed her and fallen so hard that I was happy to be broken into bits.

24 hours later: Emma and Reid’s kiss-seen-around-the-world. The kiss that occurred the night after my daughter was rushed to the hospital, unable to breathe. The night I’d stoically accepted a blistering lecture from Mom about my smoking and Cara’s asthma, incredulous at the timing of Emma’s big plan to help me quit. That night, shot through the concern for my daughter, was the anticipation of returning to the first girl I’d fallen for since Zoe.

And then Brooke texted me the photo from the concert—the same photo that ended up on multiple gossip sites the next day, though she swore she only sent it to “a couple of trusted friends. ” I didn’t chastise her, not really, though I was disappointed that she’d be so careless. Her defense was that Reid and Emma had kissed in public, and anyone could have taken a photo of them.

“Anyone didn’t, though—you did, ” I said.

She shrugged. “The point isn’t the picture. The point is the kiss. ”

She was right. For me, the point was the kiss.

***

Now, we have less than three hours together, and we’re on the street and I’m remembering belatedly how freaking cold it is, along with the fact that I was in such a fog this morning that I forgot to grab a jacket when I left the house. I glance down at her, hunched and shivering in her thin sweater. Nestling her against my side, I point to a subway entrance. “It’s warmer underground, I think. ” We head for the descending stairs and hop on the R. The view from the bridge into Brooklyn can make you fall in love with New York, if you haven’t already.

Once we’re seated in the sparsely occupied car, Emma leans her head on my shoulder, our arms entwined and hands tightly clasped on my knee. I don’t think we even let go for the turnstile. “Let’s play Truth or Dare, ” I say, “but without the Dare. ”

Her brows elevate. “I thought you weren’t a games sort of guy. ”

I smile down at her. “I did say that, didn’t I? ” She nods. “All right, then. Let’s not call it a game. Let’s just call it getting the hard questions out of the way, because I know we both have them. You can go first. Ask me anything. ”

She chews her lip, staring into my eyes. “Okay… Why did you kiss me in Austin? ”

I laugh softly and she frowns. “Sorry. That one’s too easy. ” My gaze flicks to her mouth and back. “I’d wanted to kiss you ever since Quinton suggested playing spin the bottle, and by that night in your room, I’d run out of the willpower to fight it. ”

“Why were you—”

I place my fingers over her lips and shake my head. “Nuh-uh. My turn. ” When I slide my fingers across her mouth, she parts her lips. I want to kiss her again, but if I start, I suspect I’m not going to stop, and we need this talk. I’d rather spend the next month dreaming about kissing her than worrying over questions never asked or answered.

“Why did you kiss Reid the day after you kissed me? ” I’ve pulled no punches. This is the sorest point I’ve got, and I want it behind us.

She takes a deep breath, staring at our intertwined hands. It’s a full minute before she speaks. “When I went to Austin, I thought he was what I wanted. ” She checks my reaction, and I urge her to go on with a slight nod. “I was wrong. I just… didn’t know it yet. ” Her eyes fill and her voice is uneven. “I know that’s not good enough. ”

Fingers below her chin, I tip her face up so I can look into her eyes. “It’s the truth, so it’s good enough. Did you… love him? ”

Sniffling, she shakes her head, setting a finger over my lips. “Nuh-uh, ” she says. “It’s my turn. ” When I frown, she laughs, and a tear escapes the corner of her eye. She dashes it away with the back of her hand. “But no, I didn’t. ”

Squashing the urge to beat my chest like a Neanderthal, I pull her closer and inhale her scent, so familiar, even these months later. My voice drops. “Can I kiss you now? ”

Her expression turns coy. “Graham, that’s three questions in a row. I’m starting to think you don’t understand the concept of taking turns. ”

To hell with questions. We can talk on the phone. I can’t kiss her long-distance. “Oh, I’ll give you your turn, Emma. ” Closing the small space between us, I slide my hand behind her neck and touch my lips to hers. She presses closer—warm lips, sweet breath, soft fingertips drifting down the side of my face as we kiss.

Up to this point, we’ve been ignoring the small number of fellow passengers entering and exiting as we move down the line, stopping every few minutes. And then the train squeals to a stop, and three dozen loud, matching-t-shirt-wearing middle schoolers and their harried chaperones crowd into our car. A small pack of girls stare at Emma and me unabashedly, like we’re on a screen and not real people. Whispering behind their hands, their eyes wide, their attention swings between us and the group of boys who plop onto the adjacent seat and proceed to make fart noises with a weirdly impressive array of body parts.

So much for that kiss.

*** *** ***

Emma

       I thought of Graham a dozen times since we arrived in New York, chiding myself when my focus lingered on some tall, dark-haired guy standing hands-in-pockets at a deli counter, or crossing quickly at an intersection, or smoking in a courtyard.

       Graham quit smoking months ago, of course.

       More to the point, though—what was the likelihood I’d just happen upon Graham in a city this enormous? I felt silly for even considering it a possibility. And then—there he was, sitting in a coffee shop on MacDougal. With his daughter.

       “So, Cara is four? ” I ask, taking my turn.

       “She’ll actually be four in a couple of months, ” he says, leaning close, his breath warm in my ear. “Right after my birthday. ”

       “Landon is so immature, ” one of the girls across the aisle declares to the others. They all nod and level disdainful looks on the boy responsible for the majority of rude noises.

       “What’d I do? ” he says, palms up. “What? ”

       One of the other boys offers, “Bitches, man, ” and a fist bump in consolation, and they all howl with laughter while the girls huff and refuse to look openly at them again.

       Graham and I stare at each other, our eyes tearing and lips compressed in an effort to remain outwardly indifferent. “I would be willing to swear I was never a preteen boy, ” he says, rolling his eyes.

       “That sounds like denial. ”

       “Yeah, well, that’s my story. ” His eyes dance. “Next question: Are you seeing anyone now? ”

       Emily set me up with several guys during the past few months—dinner, movies, ballet, bowling. Each one was perfectly nice, but I didn’t feel a connection with any of them. Then, during the community theatre production of It’s a Wonderful Life over the holidays, I met Marcus. He’d already been accepted early-decision to Pace, and was elated at the possibility of us both starting college in New York in the fall. Since December, we’ve been out multiple times. I saw him last weekend. We’re supposed to hang out tonight when I get home. And… I agreed to go to his small private school’s prom next weekend.

       “Hmm. Not the quick refusal I was hoping for, ” Graham says, his thumb moving hypnotically over the back of my hand. “Should I plan to follow you home and challenge some guy to a duel? ” In his eyes, I see the teasing and the sincerity behind his words. “I’ve never been a horribly possessive guy, Emma, and I know this is all sudden and unforeseen for both of us. But watching you with Reid was almost more than I could take. I don’t think my heart can tolerate sharing you again. You’re free to make your own decision, of course. But I have to be allowed to make mine, too. ”

       I hate the thought of hurting Marcus. He’s been patient, never grilling me about my well-known failed liaison with Reid Alexander. When I came back home after the School Pride photo shoot last month, Marcus maintained his cheerful disposition while I pulled myself through a delayed depression over the whole Reid debacle and came to grips with the fact that I still cared for Graham and felt his absence, though whatever was between us in Austin was long gone.

       Except now, suddenly, it’s not gone. And Graham is sitting here next to me, waiting for me to tell him I want him.

       “I have been seeing someone, but it’s not… this. ” I swallow, hard, hoping he’ll give me the time to be compassionate. “I’ll end it when I get back home. ” When he exhales, I realize he was holding his breath. “But… I did promise to go to his prom next weekend. ”

       His lips quirk and he watches me closely. “Should I be worried? ”

       I shake my head slightly. “No. ”

       His forearm flexes as he brings our interlaced hands up, rotating his arm and kissing the back of my hand. “Then I guess there’s no reason to begrudge some poor guy his prom date. ”

       The knot of girls across the car sighs audibly, and I think one of them just took our picture with her phone. It’s possible that they know who we are. School Pride doesn’t come out until next month, though the media blitz has begun. Or maybe they’re just starry-eyed girls, and the two of us tangled up in each other on the subway is classic NYC romantic—which makes me think of Emily. I’m going to have a lot to tell her when I get home.

       “Are you, you know, seeing anyone? ”

       He shakes his head, his dark eyes intense despite the half-smile on his lips. “I passed the point of being willing to settle a long time ago. If I’m not fiercely inclined, I don’t bother. ”

       I press my lips together, but they kick up on one side. It isn’t really fair, that I’m happy to have no competition for his attention while he trusts me to go home, go to prom with some faceless boy and then kick him to the curb.

       The preteens reach their stop, and the noise escalates to something resembling the running of the bulls as the chaperones attempt to make sure every single one of them makes it off the subway before it pulls away. It’s so quiet once they exit that I can hear my own breathing.

       Graham leans closer. “How is it that I’ve survived seeing you only once in the past five months, and now the thought of being separated from you for four months seems insane? ”

       I lean my cheek onto his shoulder, caught up in his penetrating gaze. “The premiere is next month. My agent says there’ll be TV and radio talk show appearances before then, probably starting next week. ”

       He grimaces. “Emma, I’m not the star of School Pride—you and Reid are. I’ll be at the premiere, of course, but most of those other appearances will just be the two of you. ”

       For some reason, I’d not considered this possibility. “Huh, ” I say, and Graham chuckles.