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“How the hell did she know? How’d she get in front of us?” His voice is a terrifyingly visceral mix of frustration and anger. But it’s hearing him say “us” to her that makes my knees feel like they may not hold out.
Why is he talking to her and not me? That awful claw of jealousy is instantaneously resurrected.
“She’ll leave me when she knows,” he says, and his words propel me forward. I step out from behind the door. Amber sees me before Graham senses me and her eyes grow wide.
“What’s wrong now?” Amber’s eyes move to me and Graham’s shoulders tense as what she’s saying sinks in. Disappointed tears prick my eyes, but I banish them.
“When I know what?” I ask and cross my arms over my chest. He spins around, and he looks like he’s seen a ghost. I just watch him with a dispassionate stare. I don’t want to show any of the emotions I’m feeling. Not the anger, not the disappointment, not the fear.
“Apollo, I thought—”
“Yes, I heard. You thought I was sleeping,” I say flatly. “What’s going on?”
“Listen, I want to tell you what I can. But can you wait until … I don’t want to say too much—”
“Say too much?” I interrupt loudly and then take a deep breath to regain my composure. I feel like I’ve traveled back in time. “Why are we back here again? What have I done? Why don’t you trust me? Why are you talking to Amber and not me?” I ask him. My river of anger pours out into a pool of hurt, and I don’t try to hide it.
“It’s not that.” He stands up, and I take a step back. I don’t want him near me.
“Then, what is it? Why can’t you just tell me the fucking—” My voice breaks, “—truth?” I clutch my chest and wish I could contain the hurt that flows like a river after it’s damn near breaking.
“I’m trying to protect you,” he says, his voice full of desperation that matches what I’m feeling.
“From who? The only person who has ever hurt me intentionally is you.” I give him a very pointed look.
He has the gall to look affronted. “I have never hurt you intentionally. I would never,” he says and the look in his eyes in so earnest that I can tell he believes that.
“Isn’t lying intentional? What’s more damaging than withholding your trust?” I shake my head. “Betraying trust? For leaving gaping holes in people’s lives? That’s what you did, and you’re doing it again,” I accuse.
“No. No. No,” he repeatedly says, as if saying it can make what I said less true.
“Yes. You are,” I say firmly. “I will not live with a liar.” He flinches but doesn’t say anything. “Life is too short. I’d rather be alone than share my precious life with someone who would rather lie to me than let me see all of him.” My heart is racing as I say these words. I mean them. I can’t imagine life without him. Not again. But, if I have to worry that he’s hiding things or that he doesn’t trust me, we’ll be finished before we ever get started.
He’s watching me; his gaze isn’t quite focused. “I’m scared ...” He says it slowly as if he just realizes it.
I nearly sag with relief because even though it’s not enough, it’s the most honest thing he’s said to me in a long time. I walk to him and stand on my toes to hold his precious face in my hands. I look into his eyes and let him see my own truth.
“Me, too. But, I chose you over my fear.”
His slides his hands around my waist and it’s such a comforting, supportive touch that it gives me the courage to keep speaking.
“I want to be your home, Graham. The place where you can be yourself. The place where you can ask for anything you want and know that you’ll never be ridiculed for it. I want you to be mine. I love you so desperately. Please. Please. Tell me what’s happening.”
“Okay.” He swallows hard. I can almost hear the wheels turning in his mind.
I narrow my eyes at him. “Everything. You know how I like details. All of them. Don’t leave anything out because I will know,” I warn him. I glance around the cabana and see Graham’s packed suitcase standing by the door.
“Were you really going to leave me here?” I ask incredulously. He flushes and looks down at the floor.
“Are you insane?”
“I wrote you an email,” he says and has the decency to look ashamed.
“I would have killed you if I’d woken up to find you gone,” I tell him. I see the tiniest hint of a smile on his face. “I’m assuming you’re leaving because you need to get back to New York and not because you decided you couldn’t bear being with me.”
His smile disappears.
“A story broke this morning. I need to get back and deal with it.”
