Page 23 of Run to Me

“Remind me to never drink again.”

“Done.” He scoots closer to me on the bed. “Spill the beans, toots. Tell me all about the man who wears the tightest jeans on the market.”

“You’re infuriating, and there’s nothing to tell. It’s history.”

“Your nipples have been threatening to stab me in the eyes since I spoke his name, so I’d say it’s recent history.”

“I’m cold, asshole,” I grumble, reaching for the covers and drawing them to my chin. Graham waits with an eager grin, so I curl onto my side and tuck my hands under my cheek. “Fine. If you must know, I had a crush on him growing up, but I grew out of it and moved on. The end and get the hell out.”

Lying down flat, he mirrors my position and softens his voice to a near whisper. “That was such a lovely story filled with lies and denial. Please continue.”

I bark a laugh, then wince at the hammering in my skull. Graham brushes the curls out of my face and strokes his knuckles along my cheek. The tender gesture forces my eyelids to shutter, and I’m grateful his teasing has come to an end. He knows where I draw the line between having my buttons pushed and being pushed too far. Any conversation veering toward my past is too far in my book.

“You can talk to me. Nothing leaves this room.” His earnest tone promises safety and silence.

As I contemplate opening up about Jensen for the first time, I hold Graham’s gaze and recall a strategy game I used to play with my Nana when I visited her. The game pieces were little glass stones stored in velvet pouches. His eyes remind me of the amber stones.

Now that I think of it, Tatum’s eyes are the same color as the blue stones. I picture Jensen’s eyes when I remember the rare, light green stones. My grandmother was a big believer in signs, fates, and foreshadowing, so maybe she was on to something. But maybe not. I believed in fate with regard to Jensen, and boy, was I wrong.

“I used to believe I was born just for him.” I whisper the confession, trailing my finger along Graham’s arm and pulling strength from him as I lay myself bare. “Like, why else would God give me to a crappy family in a crappy town? I had to have some reason for existing. And I truly thought I was made for him.” My sniffle clues me in to the fact I’m crying, so I attempt to laugh the pain away. “It was a stupid, romantic notion dreamed up by a stupid, silly girl.”

“Hey.” He laces our fingers together and squeezes my hand. “Please don’t call my best friend stupid. She’s not. She happens to be smart and funny and beautiful, inside and out. And more importantly, she’s in love.”

I scoff. “You can’t be in love with someone you don’t know anymore. I stopped talking to him thirteen years ago. We’re different people now than we were back then.”

“I think he would disagree. He asked if you and I are together, and he looked devastated when I said we are every night.”

My eyes go wide before I break into a laughing fit, making my headache worse. “Oh god,” I breathe. “I would’ve loved to see his face.”

Graham grimaces. “Nah. I felt pretty bad afterward. He was crushed. I’m all for weaponizing someone’s jealousy to give them a shove in the right direction, but this was different, Maisy. A lost man never knows which way to go. And judging by his face last night? That guy is a very lost man.”

His comments sober me up, chasing away the traces of amusement until all I hear are Jensen’s pleas.

“Haven’t you punished me long enough?”

“Spare five fucking minutes of your life for me.”

Unable to witness the sympathy for Jensen on Graham’s face, I roll to my back and rub my forehead to ease the tension building there. The question I should ask myself is whether Jensen is lost because of me or if he’s lost without me. For all I know, it’s neither. Something else could be going on in his life, and Graham is misreading the situation.

No matter the reason, I can’t risk finding out. Opening myself up to Jensen means opening the door to a world of heartbreak, and I won’t risk the fall again.

Done with this conversation, I change the subject. “How much time do I have to get ready?”

We returned to Austin after last night’s awful karaoke performances because we have to be on set early today. I wish I had followed Graham’s responsible lead and passed on the liquor.

“Not long.” He checks the time on his cell phone and rolls off the bed, landing on his feet. “Grab a breath mint and a bra. We leave in twenty.”

The skinny twenty-year-old in my makeup chair has a baby face and short brown hair parted neatly on one side. He’s likely never met a whisker, and I’m not surprised Graham cast him to play a young high school kid.

“You look like shit today. Ow⁠—”

Harmon Mahon, an unfortunate name, presses a finger to the corner of his eye. I’m not at all sorry for stabbing him with the eyeliner pencil.

“Never tell a woman she looks like shit.”

“Sorry. I meant to say you look tired.” He throws up his hands when I glare at him. “What am I allowed to say?”

“Saying nothing works well for most men.”