Where You Are

Reid murmurs, “Brutal indeed.”

“Yes, I can come down there now.” I start to turn in Emma’s direction. “I want you, too. You’ll see just how much when I get to your door.”

Reid starts to make another comment and I hang up on him.

Emma scrambles into the alcove labeled Ice and Vending just before I round the corner. Hearing one small, audible sob, I hesitate, but I force myself to glide towards Graham’s room without looking back. I’m right for him. I turn into the short hallway where his room is located and wait. I would say now comes the tricky part, but this whole damned thing is tricky. I don’t think she’ll come to his room to confront us. I gambled on the fact that she wouldn’t confront me, ten seconds ago, but who knows. Which is why Reid is about to inadvertently intercept her.

“Emma?” I hear his voice around the corner, on cue. “What’s the matter?”

I creep quietly towards the corner, not daring to peer around yet. I hear her gasping and hope she doesn’t start hyperventilating or something, because that would screw up our plans right quick. “I can’t—I can’t—” she says, the sob in her throat breaking free.

I edge around the corner, carefully. Reid is facing me, Emma facing him. Perfect. There’s no betraying glance from him, though I know he’s aware of me. He takes her face in his hands and stares down into her eyes with the most compassionate look I’ve ever seen on his face. My God, he’s good.

“Come with me,” he says. “We can’t talk out here in the hall.” She sobs again as he pulls her close, one hand gentle on the back of her neck, the other flat at the small of her back. Bending his head to hers, he murmurs something I can’t decipher, and she nods. They turn, his arm around her, and walk to his door. They go inside.

I pull back around the corner and walk to Graham’s room, scrolling through the photos I’ve just taken, making sure each one is clear.

This may be the most underhanded thing I’ve ever done, and the guilt is a bit crushing. I console myself with the knowledge that Reid really does seem to care about her. He’ll take care of her well enough. For a little while.

Pushing Emma’s tears from my mind, I focus on the goal at hand. My mother used to be fond of archaic sayings like: Don’t put all your eggs in one basket and You can’t make an omelet without breaking a few eggs and I’m always walking on eggshells around you. The last time she declared one of these I said, “What’s with all the damned egg wisdom? Is this all You can take the girl off the farm…” reminding her of her hog-slopping, chicken-chasing, Neiman Marcus-free past. She never said anything about eggs again.

Now, for some unfathomable reason, those clichés are pouring into my head—because my eggs are all in one basket. And I just broke them all to make one giant-ass omelet. And every step to Graham’s room is on eggshells, because this has to work. This has to work.

I’m right for him.

I knock on his door and he opens it with a smile, which fades a bit when he sees me. My heart falters. He was hoping for Emma. I drink in the jealousy because it obliterates any feeling of remorse. His head angles the tiniest bit. “Brooke?” he says. I push myself to stand taller and look him in the eye with an expression of pity.

“Graham. I have… something to show you.”

He doesn’t move from the doorway. “What?”

I indicate his room. “Can we go inside, please? I need to show you in private.”

He frowns, noting that I’m holding nothing but my phone, and stands back so I can enter.

I perch on the edge of his bed and pat the space next to me. “Sit.”

He sits, still frowning. “What’s this about?”

It’s about damned time, I think. “It’s about Emma. And… Reid.” His frown deepens and I pull up the photos on my phone. “I was going to get some ice, so I could chill a little Patron. I overheard them in the hall, whispering. And when I looked around the corner…” I hand him my phone, with the first photo pulled up.

He scrolls through them, slowly. One. Two. Three. Four. And again. And again. He hands my phone back to me, silent. A wild pulse vibrates at the base of his throat, and he’s so quiet I’m afraid to breathe.

“Graham—”

“I’d like to be alone, Brooke.” He doesn’t look at me.

I swallow. The key to this working is no confrontation, no communication between them, just like last fall. “I can’t leave you alone, Graham.” I place my hand on his arm, carefully. “You don’t have to talk. But I’m not leaving you alone with this.”

Covering his eyes with both hands, he lies back on the bed, knees still bent at the end, feet on the floor. I lean next to him without touching him, prop myself beside him on my elbow as he inhales, exhales, inhales, exhales. Finally, his hands drop and stares at the ceiling. He’s not crying. He doesn’t look angry. His face is nearly devoid of expression, as though someone took an eraser to it. Except his eyes. In his eyes, thoughts are rolling like a searchlight, scanning dark corners.

I reach and lightly turn his face towards me. “Graham,” I say, and then I lean down and kiss him.

*** *** ***

REID

I take her to the loveseat, not the bed. We sink into it, and she’s boneless and crying, easy to pull into my arms, onto my lap. Sobbing, she curls into the smallest possible Emma, her face turned to my chest as I hold her. She’s still wearing the goddess dress, barefoot and so undeniably lovely. My fingertips whisper over her back, her skin warm and soft.