Chapter 21

Chapter 21

Emma

Over grilled ciabatta and brie, Reid asks me about Marcus. I admit that we were dating, and that he was correct in assuming I’d broken things off with him right before the disastrous prom night.

“Why’d you even go with him, then? ” He tops off our wine glasses and sets the bottle back into the ice bucket. A chef arrived to make our dinner. She’s in the small gourmet kitchen, so we’re sitting close together on the sofa and talking quietly.

“I felt guilty. ”

His mouth turns up on one side and he lowers his chin—a look that would have melted me not so long ago. “Go on. ”

I shrug, concentrating on spreading the brie evenly over the surface of the bread. “It’s always hard to break things off with someone. ”

He takes the cheese spreader from my hand when I’m done. “Why not wait until after his prom to do it, then? You gave him too much of an opportunity to be an asshole, and he took it. ”

My face warms. “I was worried that he was expecting… things to become more serious. ” I glance up to see that he’s mulling over the back and forth that occurred between us. “I thought it was better to be honest up front. ”

He laughs softly. “The honesty policy doesn’t always work out so well, huh? ”

I purse my lips. “Well, actually, it did. I didn’t feel guilty any more after that. I knew from how he reacted that I’d made the right decision about him, even if it was a wretched night. ”

My words apply to him last fall as well as they do to Marcus two weeks ago, and his eyes tell me he knows it.

“I am sorry, you know, ” he says. I swallow and ignore it when his gaze dances to my mouth and back.

The server who arrived with the chef exits the kitchen and stops several feet away. “Please excuse me. Dinner is served. ” He indicates the small table adorned with linen, china, and a romantic cluster of candles. I worry again that Reid arranged all of this while pretending that production was responsible, and the repetition of his apology from March does nothing to contradict that concern.

Just when I think he’s dropped the subject, Reid leans back in his chair, twisting the wine glass in his hand and watching me, his eyes as dark as Graham’s in the low light. “So why’d you break it off with Marcus so suddenly? ” He tilts his head. “There’s someone else, isn’t there? ”

Graham thinks I have an effective poker face, but that’s not the case tonight with Reid. Either he’s been spying on me, or my thoughts are as clear as glass to him. I could lie right now, but he’d know. He’s already smiling as though he does. “Who is it? ” He leans up, waiting.

I’m saved by the server again as he removes our salad plates and delivers the main course of pappardelle pasta and roasted mushrooms, but the reprieve is short-lived and Reid isn’t letting this go.

“Well? ”

I sigh. “It’s Graham. ”

His eyes widen slightly and fall away from mine momentarily. “Really. ” And then those eyes flash to mine and away, as though he knows something I don’t. “Hmm. Interesting. ”

“Interesting, why? ”

He shakes his head minimally, his attention on his plate as he slices a bite. We dine in silence and I wait for him to elaborate, but he says nothing more. Finally, he rests his silverware on his plate, folding his arms in front of it. He stares at me. “I have one request. ”

Request? “What? ”

“If he fucks it up, I want another shot. ” Before I can sputter a reply, he holds up one hand and adds, “I don’t want an answer. I just want you to know where I stand. And I’m not going to interfere with whatever you two have going on, ” he smiles then, his expression far from angelic, “unless you ask me to. ”

***

Graham told me two days ago that Brooke was visiting New York—meeting with people about the movie she plans to film late summer. They had dinner together last night, and he was late Skyping with me because of it—but he was completely open with the fact that she’d come over and had spent a couple of hours with him and Cara. And I was fine with it.

Until I got a text from Emily earlier today, with a link to the paparazzi photos of the two of them. Suddenly his devoted friendship with her isn’t as easy to stomach. On one hand, they’ve known each other for years and have a mutually supportive history I can’t hope to challenge. On the other hand, my best friend is spitting nails and telling me he’s no better than Reid. Her last text asks the question I can’t answer: He never told you he had a KID. What else is he hiding?

It’s true—I know only what he tells me, and my heart has no problem trusting every word he says. But I was stupid about Reid. I was stupid about Marcus. What if I’m being stupid about Graham, but I just don’t know it yet?

All I could hope was that the photos wouldn’t look as bad on a full-sized screen as they did on my phone. Once Reid and I checked into the hotel and I shut myself into my room, I brought up the links on my laptop. On my 15-inch screen, they’re definitely worse. Graham stands in the doorway to his home—a place I’ve never been—smiling down at Brooke as she runs her fingers through his hair, her breasts brushing against his chest. There’s no awkwardness or irritation on his face. He seems fine with her touching him that way.

I’m not fine with it.

Knowing I had hours before our appointed Skype time, I spent the afternoon napping, reading, and watching Reid play video games, followed by dinner and ending with Reid’s out-of-nowhere declaration. He’d asked me not to answer, and I hadn’t.

He seemed almost confident that Graham would screw up. At best, he’s seen the photos; at worst, his new and improved relationship with Brooke makes him privy to information I don’t have. His indirect allegation planted a seed of doubt that I can’t reject entirely, as much as I want to.

At 9: 00, I sign on and am so happy to see Graham’s face that I almost want to ignore the whole confrontation. “Hey, ” he smiles.

At 9: 01 I get a text from Emily: You are not allowed to ignore this btw. ASK HIM.

“Hi. All done with finals? ”

He heaves a deep sigh. “Yeah. One more paper to wrap up and I’ll be finished. How are you? Snug in your hotel room, I see. ”

“Yes. I’m so ready to get up after sunrise again. I’ve been up before 5: 00 every day this week. ”

At 9: 02, Emily proves how well she knows me with another text: I’m serious, Em. ASK. HIM.

I bite my lip, debating the words to use. “Graham, um, Emily sent me a link to some photos…” I hope he knows about them already, that he can explain them away.

“What photos? ”

“Of you and Brooke? ” I hate the inflection of my voice—like this is a harmless question.

“Brooke? I don’t understand. ” He doesn’t know. Damn.

“I’m sending you the link. ” My heart is pounding as I watch him pull up a browser and click on the link, no sound but the tapping of his laptop keys.

It’s obvious when the link is loaded—his brows knit and he looks pissed. “What the hell. This was last night. ” He examines the three photos closely, and then his eyes scan side-to-side as he reads the accompanying story. I wait silently for his response.

Finally he pulls up the Skype screen, and my first instinct is to hide my face. “Emma, you know none of this is true, right? ”

This is what I want him to say. Exactly what I want him to say. The last thing I want to be is a clingy girl who’s so insecure that she can’t handle her boyfriend talking to another girl, but I can’t brush aside the uneasiness. “But the pictures—the way she’s touching you…” A knock sounds on my door, and I’m glad for the escape. “Just a minute. ”

When I pull it open, Reid stands there with the room service menu in his hand. “Hey, did you want some—what’s the matter, Emma? ”

I shake my head, feeling like an idiot and trying not to cry. “I’m fine. ”

He tosses the menu in a chair and his hands go to my shoulders. “What’s wrong? ”

“I’m fine, ” I repeat, stepping back and grabbing the menu. I hand it back to him. “I’m not hungry, but thanks. ”

He spots the open laptop on my bed and arches a brow. His voice lowers to a whisper. “Talking to Graham? ”

I nod.

He takes my chin in his hand, looks into my eyes, and in the same low tone tells me, “Come talk to me when you’re done, if you need to. ” Fantastic—he’s definitely seen the photos.

I nod again, so he’ll leave, and I shut the door behind him once he does.

Graham’s expression is shuttered when I return. “Was that Reid? ”

“Yes. ”

“Why is he coming to your room? ”

My answer slips out before I consider the implications of it. “We’re in a suite. ”

He gazes at me silently, sitting back slowly from the webcam, becoming blurry. His hand lays curved across his mouth as though he’s literally preventing himself from speaking. His fingers shift and two words escape. “A suite? ”

“There are two bedrooms. ” My tone is defensive. He’s questioning Reid sharing a living room with me for one night, while the whole world is viewing photos of him with Brooke pressed to his chest as she gazes up at him, her fingertips grazing his forehead in an intimate caress.

“Awesome. ”

“What are you implying, Graham? ”

He takes a deep breath. “I’m not implying anything. I just don’t trust him. ” He stares away from the screen, silent after this pronouncement, and my screen’s image of him is still too distant for me to guesstimate his theories. His physical withdrawal is easy enough to read, though, even from thousands of miles away.

The constricted sensation that keeps me from swallowing prevents me from replying as well. Not trusting Reid shouldn’t affect Graham’s confidence in me.

Finally, he looks at the screen and leans closer, and I gulp at the lump in my throat, sliding down like a grapefruit in my windpipe.

“I have a research paper to finish and turn in tonight, so we’ll talk tomorrow, all right? ” he says, and I nod and whisper goodnight.

*** *** ***

GRAHAM

What did I tell Emma before—that I’m not possessive? Screw that.

During the past three weeks, we’ve spent an hour or more on Skype every night that we weren’t together. She’s relayed stories about her stepmother, childhood acting gigs and Emily, and I’ve strummed my guitar and sung her lines of songs that I might or might not have written, which might or might not be about her.

Tonight we were off in fifteen minutes. Her naiveté about Reid Alexander was pissing me off and I was about to unleash a whole string of assertions that can’t be unsaid.

I’ve watched my parents when they argue. Their disagreements seldom become elevated enough to include raised voices, but whenever my father’s jaw is so clenched that he could grind diamonds between his teeth, he goes for a walk around the block. It doesn’t matter what kind of weather it is, either—I’ve seen him take off in tempest conditions and come back soaked to the bone with an inside-out umbrella. The point is to never say words you can’t take back.

“I thought you were supposed to communicate with each other? ” Cassie asked Mom once, years ago, after Dad stomped rigidly out the front door. “Isn’t that what your whole, like, career is based on telling people to do? ”

Brynn and I eavesdropped from around the corner. We stared at each other in mute acknowledgement of Cassie’s direct hit. Cassie was often Dad’s advocate, though Mom usually told her to stay out of it. This time she merely sighed. “Yes, but there are exceptions. When you find yourself about to say something that crosses a line, something that could cause irreparable harm, sometimes the best you can do is just not say that thing. ”

“Dad would never say something like that, ” Cassie huffed.

Mom laughed once, no amusement in the sound. “Exactly. ”

I do have a paper due tomorrow, but the body of the paper is done; only the citations page remains. Inadvertently, I’ve instituted my own version of walking around the block, because there are a load of words threading through my skull right now and none of them are easygoing or objective.

I don’t fault Reid for his multitude of casual hookups. I’m a guy—I’ve had plenty of my own and I’m not that big of a hypocrite. What I fault him for are the two times I know of that he actively encouraged a girl to fall ass over elbows for him—as Brooke would say—when he had no intention of sticking around. I could excuse what he did to Brooke as immaturity, if he hadn’t done the same thing to Emma recently. As soon as he doesn’t get what he wants, he’s out screwing as many girls as he can run through.

Emma seems to think that because he’s playing nice at the moment, he’s above suspicion. Like he took no for an answer where she was concerned. But I watched him that night everyone went out—the calculating gaze he leveled on her. If this was two hundred years ago, I’d have contemplated taking him outside and beating the shit out of him for looking at her like that—and that pinky swear thing he did with her would have guaranteed it.

***

My paper submitted, I’m unofficially finished with college. At one time, I considered pursuing graduate degrees and becoming a professor like my parents, but that was a year or so ago, before I began getting more steady work as an actor. Standing in front of a class droning on about analytical symbolism and rhetorical theory while striving for tenure and churning out research? Strangely, some of that is appealing. But I enjoy acting more, and I don’t need to reach Reid Alexander status to feel successful doing it.

It’s almost 11: 00 p. m. in San Diego, but Emma has to be up early to get to the studio. As sure as I am of her, as sure as I want to be, I don’t want to think about the fact that I left her hurt and angry tonight, with no one to talk to but Reid Alexander. Not my brightest move.

Damn.

I didn’t ask her about her interview in San Bernardino. I didn’t find out if the drive to San Diego in Reid’s bright yellow Matchbox car was as uneventful as he’d predicted. I didn’t tell her the end of the story where I’m the TA in her literature class, and she’s the student who forgot to turn in her paper on time…

I hadn’t batted an eye at the photo and story of Reid kissing her at the airport. She told me it was on the cheek (the photo angle made it impossible to tell), and over so quickly that she didn’t even feel it.

I know how the paparazzi play their games.

And I do trust her.

So she should trust me when I tell her there’s nothing between me and Brooke but a strong, committed friendship.

I pull up the photos again, and read the short blurb.

Is another undercover romance blooming inside the School Pride cast? Brooke Cameron (of Life’s a Beach fame) was spotted cozying up to costar Graham Douglas late Wednesday in the doorway of his Manhattan brownstone. They spent a long evening catching up, we presume, as Ms. Cameron left the home alone and none the worse for wear after a visit lasting a bit over three hours. Cameron and Douglas play Caroline Bingley and Bill Collins, respectively, in one of the most highly anticipated teen hits of the summer.

Me: I’m sorry for bailing on you so early. Skype tomorrow at 9?

Emma: Okay

Me: Miss you

Emma: Miss you too