Page 75

“Not broken,” he murmurs before pulling away. “Just maybe dented a little bit.”

I’d laugh if it wasn’t true, but instead, I don’t respond. Tears are filling my eyes again and it hurts so much to keep crying I turn away from Graham while he goes about getting his own breakfast. He’s dressed in jeans and a gray polo shit, jeans ripped at the ankle hems and around the edges of his back pockets. His hair is tousled, not neatly styled like I’m used to seeing it.

And on his arm is the tattoo he showed me last night.Be You. Be True.

I flinch at the tattoo and open the fridge, my shoulders shaking while I pretend just seeing that ink doesn’t make me cry.

He was telling me about coming out to his parents, how they’re in absolute denial and are certain a girlfriend—or a wife who happens to be pregnant already, even better—is certain to change his mind and like me, he’s simply going through some spoiled rich child, millennial phase of growth.

But we’d gone to that bar to listen to live jazz music where I’d sipped sparkling water and he’d begged me for more details on Braxton. Mostly what he did and what he looked like.

As I told him, his eyes popped wide and he’d begun rolling up the sleeve of his dress shirt. “Got this done two months ago, gave me the courage to come out to my parents. Went to MadInk because I heard it’s the best. Braxton did this.”

Written in an Old English–type scroll, I’d skimmed my fingers over the ink of his arm, smiling, thinking of Braxton. I was thinking of Jimmy wanting me to live my life, Braxton giving me the keys to do so, Graham having the strength and being connected to both of us in some way without even knowing it.

I love it,I’d told Graham.

He’d smiled down at me.You love him.

My smile had gone wonky.Yeah.

And somehow, in all of that, someone who knew me, knew my connection to Braxton or maybe Braxton himself, had taken a photo.

Using the moment I realized I really truly loved him, to destroy it.

What a freaking mess.

I grab a raspberry Greek yogurt from the fridge and slam the door so hard the entire appliance shakes.

“Easy, killer,” Graham says. He’s laughing but there’s still concern in his voice. “Don’t take this out on Frigidaire.”

“You’re so weird,” I mutter. I grab a spoon and plop down on the stool, tear off the wrapper of the yogurt and dig in.

“You going to be okay today? I can take the day off studying. Not like I’ll pass anyway.”

That explains why he’s dressed casually. He’s still studying for the bar and I know he does all his studying at the Portland Central Library where it’s quiet and he can hide and pull his hair and groan his frustration without anyone hearing.

“I can help you. Don’t know how a law student dropout can help, but I can try.”

“Nah. You’ve got other things to worry about.”

Yeah. Like calling Jenna. Somehow getting all my crap out of Braxton’s and back into my studio.

I’m going to miss my painting room.

Not as much as I’m going to miss Lucy, though.

Or Braxton.

I sniff and dip my head.

“Hey.” Graham walks to me and presses his finger to my chin, forcing me to look at him. “You’re going to be okay, right? Talk to him. Clear this up.”

I shake my head, but he has such a firm pinch on my chin, I can’t move much. “You didn’t hear the things he said to me.”

“No. And they’re shitty, and trust me, I want to punch him in the face for saying that to you, but it also sounds like there was a lot in his head. Listen to him, you at least have to figure out a way to move past this for your child’s sake.”

He’s right. I know he is.