Page 85 of Burn the Script

Hooking the bag on my shoulder, I squeezed past him and headed for the stairs. He gave chase.

“Darling, please. I thought you’d be happy. If you’ll hear me out, we’ve made a good plan.”

“The only plan you’ll ever have is the one where you get everything you want in the end, no matter the cost. What you haven’t realized is I’m always the cost.” My voice caught on the lie as I reached the foyer.

Graham’s love for me was the cost. Giving him up was the price I had to pay. He lived a somewhat sheltered life, despite his fame, and I refused to watch the world he’d given so much of himself to break his heart.

“I’ll send someone to pick up the rest of my things.”

It took two tries to open the front door. I failed on the first try because it was locked and I couldn’t think straight. My fumble allowed him time to rally the fighter in him.

He grabbed my arm as I crossed the threshold. “Miguel, look at me.”

“Let me go.” My commanding tone wavered at the end.

His voice hid none of his agony. “If you’re ripping my fucking heart out, then at least have the balls to look me in the eye.”

“Stop pressuring me!” I cried, spinning to face him. “I need time to think.”

Crazed eyes flickered between mine at lightning speed. “How long? Days? A week? Tell me how long you need and what I can do to fix this.”

In the grander scheme, we were both at fault. I’d expected this day of reckoning but did nothing to stop it. Graham made crucial decisions for us, doing what he thought was best for the sake of his career. Aside from complaining about being left out, I stayed quiet and let him lead.

What I hadn’t expected was Graham becoming the biggest threat to our security. Given his history of being reckless and impulsive, I should’ve known better. That oversight was my fault, alone.

I raised my chin as high my heavy guilt would allow. “You can’t fix this tonight. Now let go of me. I need space.”

“For how long? Miguel, I can’t—” His breath shuttered, and tears raced down his cheeks. “Don’t leave me, darling. Please. I’ll make it right.”

“Give me time. I’ll come to you when I’m ready.”

The lie cost me dearly when a glimmer of hope returned to his eyes. I’d never be ready to stand in his spotlight or ruin his life.

A sob attacked my throat, but I held it at bay while looking at his chest. “Goodbye, Graham.”

I ripped my arm from his grasp and hurried down the steps. Cruel silence lengthened the short distance from the porch to my car. I opened the driver’s door and threw my bag into the passenger seat, still choking on that sob.

“Miguel!”

The crack in his voice—the sheer agony in his realization—struck my chest, and the sob broke free. I’d hear the echo of his pain for years to come, if not a lifetime.

I didn’t look back when I started the car and threw it into gear. I didn’t check the rearview mirror as the car rounded the trickling fountain. A flood of tears hindered my vision as I passed through the gate, but I kept driving.

For four years, Graham and Tatum’s fake relationship was the shield protecting us from public scrutiny and unrelenting criticism. The shield was destroyed, and there could be no looking back. There may never come a time when I would look forward either. Everything had gone sideways. And after that night, I expected sideways would be the perfect word to describe a life without Graham.

37

GRAHAM

NOW

Saturday, February 25th

My Darling

Are you home yet? I’m ready to talk.

Me