by Lindsey Iler
“Why am I not surprised? Typical Graham Black fashion, huh?” She rolls her eyes and shakes her head. The motion is barely visible, but her disappointment is evident when she pushes away from me.
“Hey!” Violet shouts, frantically waving her hands in the air. “Get your asses in here.” Her carefree attitude changes when she notices the look on Kennedy’s face.
Kennedy huffs a loud grunt and stomps toward the house. “Your castle awaits you, Mr. Black,” she mutters before she hits the steps. Violet wraps an arm around her and looks over her shoulder with an understanding but sad smile.
What the hell happened between there and here?
I storm through the front door with my eyes to the ceiling, purposely avoiding everyone in my path. Music bellows from the inset speakers. I cover one ear to hear a fraction of what Violet is screeching at me. It’s no use.
“I can’t hear a damn thing you’re saying.”
She drags me down the hallway, through the kitchen, and out the back door. The cool March wind blasts my skin. I rub my arms to gain some warmth, or maybe to distract myself from the knowing look my best friend’s sending my way.
“Tell me everything.” Violet’s clenched fists bite into her hips.
“We showed up. Apparently, Graham lives here,” I nod at the house, “and he volunteers at a goddamn orphanage like a real life Father Teresa.”
“Excuse me?” Her eyebrows scrunch together and she laughs.
I figure Graham’s hiding on the other side of the door. “Oh, and apparently he’s moved in with the cast of Jersey Shore. While I’ve been going to group therapy and battling my inner demons, he’s been kicking it here in Connecticut, close enough for me to touch, but far enough away to be absent from my life entirely.” My insecurity bleeds through every snap of my tongue.
Violet’s face displays too many emotions for me to zero in on one, but as she paces the length of the porch, I know I’m in for her classic ‘you’re a fucking idiot’ speech.
“Don’t forget I’m your best friend, okay? Because what I’m about to say isn’t going to make you happy, and I’m okay with the consequences of my words. You need to hear this.” Violet nods her head to encourage my forgiveness.
My hands cover my face, and I shake away the anxiety deep within my bones. “Twist the knife, babe.” When I peek through my fingers, Violet tucks her lips between her teeth. She knows me too well.
“You may not have given up on him, Kennedy, but you didn’t dig deep enough to keep him around either.” She shakes her head. “You can’t be mad at him for living his life, and clearly, he’s here because of you. He wouldn’t have given up his dream of sunny Georgia for this cold ass weather.” She runs her fingers along the soft icicles dangling from the railing.
“You trying to say I’m not worth freezing your ass off for?” I joke, hoping to break some of the natural tension that comes with the presence of Graham and me.
“You know what I mean, Ken. You can’t punish him for doing what you asked of him.” With her lips tight, Violet flashes a sad smile.
She’s right. Goddammit, she’s right. I walk to the door, but turn back to her, gripping the handle a little too tight. “Can I punish him a little bit?” I gesture with my thumb and pointer finger a quarter inch apart.
She smirks. “It wouldn’t be a typical Graham and Kennedy filled weekend without a little punishment.” She mockingly cheers me.
The sliding door opens. I pull my hand away before it knocks me over. “You girls going to stand in the cold all night, or come inside and play?”
“Do you have to word it like we’re some weird convoy of friends who switch partners and live in a cul-de-sac?” Violet whips around to face Rick.
He shakes his head back and forth with a laugh slipping from his mouth. “What?”
“I told her not to bother with the documentary about swingers, but she couldn’t help herself.” I tap Rick on the shoulder when he ducks back inside.
With my arm wrapped through my best friend’s, I lead her where warmth awaits us. As soon as our steps breach the threshold, a shot glass is thrust in our faces.
“Drink. Lighten up, and for fuck’s sake, pull my man here,” Rick jerks his chin at Graham, who’s sulking in the corner, “out of the funk he’s been in since I’ve known him.”
“That seems unlike our Graham,” Amanda says, walking into the room. “The Graham we know is the life of the party.” She swings her arm around his shoulder and pulls him in close, but he’s quick to brush her off.
My eyes never leave Graham as the old meets the new, sharing stories of our pasts, leaving out no detail of Graham’s infamous career in snagging enough tail to make a professional blush. A bored expression is plastered on his face, though, and he never stops picking at the tiles beneath his hands. I wonder what makes him most uncomfortable. Is it me being present for the reminder? Or maybe he’s afraid I’ll find out the truth of what he’s been up to in our time apart.
Graham’s fist strikes the counter, startling us. “Enough,” he shouts. “Enough with the stupid stories of who I was in high school. Enough with it all.”
Everyone’s laughter and chatter come to a halt.
Rick steps beside him and elbows him. “Chill out, man. It’s okay.”
Graham’s eyes soften as they find me again. A blonde leaning against the center island gives him an almost invisible nod in encouragement. Her smile widens as his eyes answer her silent plea.
Who is she? And why do I get the sense she knows something most of them don’t?
“I’m. Not. That. Guy. Anymore.” Graham’s eyes lock with mine. “I’m not that guy anymore,” he pleads for our understanding. Mine most of all.
Griffin eggs him on. “What’s got you all worked up?”
“The guy they’re talking about hasn’t existed for a long time. I don’t sleep around. I don’t drink to excess. I don’t do a lot of the things I’ve been known for in the past because I don’t want to be the guy who walks away when people need him, and I don’t want to be the guy who finds some sort of pleasure in someone else’s pain.”
“I don’t know how we could think that of you. You’ve been here for how long, and we’ve never seen you with a girl. Griffin thought you were gay for a while,” Rick chimes in.
Graham scoffs, pushes off the counter, and walks toward the door to escape the situation. “I’m not gay,” he mutters under his breath.
“Well, clearly, the way you’ve been eye fucking her.” Rick points to where I stand, staring at Graham’s stiff spine.
Graham whips around. I know that look. He’s about to put us in our place. “I don’t drink because I’ve learned a few hard lessons in their wake. And more importantly, I’m not eye fucking her, Rico. I’m in love with her. I always have been.” He steps out of the kitchen, but swings around to face us once more. His proud eyes scan over every one of his friends, new and old. “Oh, and when I disappear, I’m volunteering at an orphanage for kids who’ve lost their family to domestic violence, because I grew up with a piece of shit father whose favorite past time was whooping my ass.”
Griffin steps forward. “We didn’t know, man. You’re not exactly an open book. You can’t blame us for trying to push you when you never told us to stop. We would’ve understood.”
“You’re a do-gooder then, or something?” Rick’s eyes shift between Graham and me.
“I’m not a do-gooder. I want to be better … for her.” Graham stalks out of the room.
I freeze, knowing every eye in the room is focused on me. A sharp elbow hits my side, and I peek through my eyelashes, too afraid to face what awaits me.
Violet nods at the door Graham disappeared through. “I think maybe now would be the time to let up on the punishment, and be the girl for him you were in high school.”
A lot has changed. I’ve changed. Even more than Senior year. “I don’t know that girl anymore,” I whisper. My biggest fear wrapped in a small, simple statement.
&nb
sp; Violet taps her finger on my chest a few times. “A few scrapes and bruises don’t damage the heart. Not a heart like yours, anyway.”
I drag out of the room without looking back. As if the biggest emotional bomb hasn’t been dropped about one of their own, their conversation and laughter ensue.
With slow precision, I take the stairs until I find myself wandering up and down the hallway. I’ve passed the sign on his door several times but haven’t built up the courage to knock. As I go by each room, I read one of his roommates’ names. Mark is directly next to Graham while Griffin and Rick are across the hall. There’s a blank door at the end, and for a split second, I tell myself it’s okay to snoop, but reluctantly pull back from the doorknob before I swing it open.
A mental pep talk has me rapping my knuckles against Graham’s sturdy door. His feet stomp across the wood floor. The door swings open and there he stands, one hand resting high on the door, and the other rubbing his shoulder.
I storm past him into his bedroom. When I whip around, I shake my head out of confusion, and maybe out of contentment. “What have you been doing here all this time? Because clearly you haven’t been doing what I assumed you’d be doing.”
“Running wild? Is that what you think I’ve been up to?” he barks, offended by my accusations. I nod in answer. The way he looks at me now makes me feel two feet tall.
He shuts the door behind us and sits on the edge of his bed. After standing in front of him for what may be a century, I glance around the room. Two large windows span the backside. A few steps give me a vast view of the immaculate backyard. With my hands resting on the dresser beneath the windows, I bow my head, close my eyes, and take a long deep breath to get a bit of control. When my eyes spring open, a beautiful picture frame sits before me, tucked in the back corner of the dresser.
I run the pad of my thumb over the glass. Two faces I barely recognize. “Where did you get this?” I turn to find Graham close behind me.
A reluctant smile forms over his face. “The best and the worst day of my life.”
“How did you get this, though? I don’t even have one.” My eyes narrow, confused.
Graham takes the picture from my shaky hands. “You looked so beautiful, even with the torn dress and messy hair.”
That day seems so far away, and at the same time, like yesterday. As always, I’m not sure how we’ve gotten to where we are today. How is it possible so much time has passed from that moment to this one?
Anger boils beneath my skin, remembering what happened before the picture. “Sometimes I still hear the ringing of the gunshot.”
“I remember the exact moment I thought he’d shot you. I feel trapped under his thumb all over again, like the hopeless kid he was used to seeing in me.”
“You were never trapped under his thumb. He believed you were.”
Graham rummages through his dresser drawer. The way his back tightens proves I’ve hit a small nerve. “Do you need something to wear?” He pulls out gray sweatpants. It’s Graham’s subtle way of asking me to stay the night without asking the hard question.
In the bathroom, I change out of my jeans and slip the soft cotton fabric up my legs. When I open the door, Graham’s on the edge of his bed, his hands flailing back and forth as if he’s having a conversation with himself.
I lean against the doorframe, observing him. “You have anything good to say?” Graham peeks up at me. “You look like you have a lot to say. Maybe you should say it to me instead.”
“You being here, in front of me, is surreal. I moved to Connecticut in hopes I’d witness that smile again, but God, Kennedy, I’d be lying if I didn’t feel my hope running out.”
“Can we pretend you are you and I am me for the night? None of our history matters, because, Graham, I’d really like a good night’s sleep.” My eyes begin to droop. All the sleepless nights in the past year are finally catching up to me.
Graham stands and takes my hand. The warmth from his skin erases the tension in my shoulders, and I relax into him. My cheek rests against his arm as he guides me to the bed. When he pulls back the covers, he inspects my reaction. I’m more than happy to slide between his sheets if it means I can be close to him.
Graham climbs in after me, holding his arm out, inviting me to lay against him. My head rests perfectly on his chest, and I skim my hand up and down the hard planes. Only our breathing sits between us, and it seems neither of us knows what to say or do.
I inspect the new additions to Graham’s skin. The long sleeves he wears have kept them hidden. When we were in high school, he never once mentioned the desire to ink his skin, but always made small comments about my two tattoos.
“They all have a meaning?” I ask him.
He nods, holding his breath as my fingertip grazes the birds along his forearm. When I twist his arm to inspect the other side, he tenses. There’s a soft script along the outside I can’t quite read.
“What does it say?” I whisper.
Graham fidgets beneath me. “She’s the best kind of sleep.”
At his words, my heart quakes within my chest, and the blood beneath my skin rises a good twenty degrees at the memory. It’s one of the only moments from our Senior year where I remember feeling at peace. I still have the note he left on my pillow, tucked away in a box under my bed. “How do you manage to do that?”
“Do what?”
“Make my heart not broken.” I bolt up and stare out the large window. The sweat multiplies as my hands wring together in my lap. “Somehow, you’ve always had this innate ability to make me feel like my past has been erased. I’m not sure how I feel about it.”
“Lay down and try to figure it out.” Graham’s voice goes husky.
A rather amused part of me wants to turn around, straddle his lap, and ride him into the sunlight. I think better of it, and instead, listen to his instruction. Sex will complicate things, but I’d be lying to myself if I say the thought hasn’t crossed my mind at least once today.
My head falls softly onto his chest, and again, I trail my hand up and down until it stops along his waistband. My finger gingerly dips beneath the elastic, and I hear his loud intake of breath, but never hear his lungs exhale. I leave my hand there, allowing the warmth of his body to overtake me. My eyes flutter shut, and I welcome the sleep only he can bring.
*****
“Wakey, wakey, eggs and bakey,” a voice whispers in my ear.
I jolt upright and find Amanda sitting on the edge of Graham’s mattress. My eyes shift sideways as he stretches out his arms beside me.
He smiles when his eyes finally focus on where I sit. “Good morning.”
“Good morning,” I say. My voice is raspy from being jerked from the best sleep I’ve had in some time.
“We must have fallen asleep,” he explains our compromising position.
“Uh huh.” Amanda stands and grins down at me. “Get up. Rico’s making breakfast, then we’re going to go out and have some fun.”
“Rick’s making breakfast?” I question, obvious surprise in my voice. “He doesn’t seem like the Betty homemaker type.”
Graham’s eyebrow quirks up. “You’d be surprised what he can do in the kitchen.”
“You’d be surprised what he can do in the bedroom.” Amanda wiggles her eyebrows and saunters out of the room with a sway in her hips.
“You don’t think she actually slept with him, do you?” I stand, being sure to hold the drawstring on the sweatpants.
“They don’t call him Rico Suave for no reason, so I assume he gave her the presidential treatment.” Graham shakes his head, amused by Amanda’s antics.
He stretches to his full height and kicks off the covers. As if me in his bed is a normal morning, he pulls his t-shirt over his head, exposing his bare chest. My heart aches from the sight. A copper flavor coats the inside of my cheek before I realize I’ve broken the skin.
Filled with a sexy confidence, he strides to the dresser and pulls out a clean white t-shirt. I sile
ntly beg for him not to put it on yet. It’s been too long since I’ve seen him in all his glorious form. A part of me yearns for the chance to get my hands on his smooth chest and inspect the new body he’s worked so hard for.
He peeks over his shoulder, and a sly smirk reserved only for me forms. “I could always tell when your eyes were on me.”
I take a step toward him. “Why do you think that is?”
He nods his chin my way. “You do it, too, you know?”
“Do what?”
“Sense me.” Graham inches my way, closing the gap a little more. “Junior year at the pizza joint, you got snotty with the waitress, but earlier, when I walked in, I stood by the door and you were laughing. God, your laugh has the ability to stop traffic. It’s contagious. After a while, I saw your back stiffen, and you turned to find me.”
“Veronica, the bitchy waitress. You know, Violet and I still laugh about that night.”
Graham turns his back to me. I don’t need to see his face to know what he’s thinking. His mind runs a mile a minute. “That was also the night you learned the kind of monster I’d been in the past.”
I step around him, desperate for my eyes to show the sincerity in what I say. “You’ve never been a monster. You simply wore the mask of one.” I shrug, believing every word. “And you know the beauty of masks, Graham?” I close the gap and rest my palm on his cheek. “Masks are easily removed.”
He averts his eyes, aiming them on his dresser. “Why have you always believed in me?”
“Because I’ve never stopped seeing you.” I drop my hand from his cheek and wrap my arms around his waist. “I’ve missed you, Graham, so much, sometimes it’s unbearable. Not a day goes by I don’t regret the day I pushed you away.”
He pulls back and holds me at arms-length. His eyes burn into me with acceptance of where we’ve been, and where we are hopefully going. “Like I said, I’ve been here the whole time.”
A knock at the door has us both stepping away from each other. It’s like we’re keeping a secret everyone already knows.
Violet peeks through the small crack. “You guys ready to eat?”