Where You Are
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.