CHAPTER 31
Brooke
My phone buzzes. When I answer, Reid says, “You’re on.”
Emma is in the corridor, about to turn the corner. My heart is thumping so hard I can barely hear her footsteps. I face the window, like it’s normal to be taking in the 3 a.m. courtyard view while talking on the phone, no big deal. Here we go.
“Graham’s supposed to call me soon, but I wanted to let you know the soon-to-be-news,” I say, listening for Emma’s footfalls. She hears Graham’s name and stops at the corner, just as I knew she would.
“So am I going to get the dirty details?” Reid says, determined to make this artificial conversation miserable, just because he can.
I concentrate on saying what I want her to hear. “You know how impatient I am. I’ll be happy when he’s taken care of this so we can be together openly. All we have are stolen moments when she’s not around.”
“Your cruelty knows no bounds, does it?” Reid says. I want to tell him to shut the hell up. He’s only on the line to know when to exit his room, the jackass.
“He doesn’t want to hurt her, but we’re meant to be.” I try to sound casual, but Reid’s comments are making my teeth grind. “My God, that night we spent—I mean, I’ve been with a lot of guys—” Reid laughs softly in my ear, the bastard “—but he was mind-blowingly hot. Better than anyone, ever.”
“If only it were true…” Reid says. I’m going to kill him.
“We should have given in to this thing between us years ago instead of putting so much effort into remaining friends only.”
“So he’s never, in four years, made a move?” Reid laughs. “Man, what that must have done to your colossal sexual ego.”
Son of a—ignore, ignore, ignore.
“I’m sure he’ll tell her soon. He knows I’m better for him—I’m even ready to be a step-mommy to Cara, and he knows Emma’s too young for that. Hey, he’s calling in—gotta go.”
I pretend to flash over. I imagine Emma around the corner, pressed to the wall, listening to every word I say. Time to step it up.
“Hey gorgeous.” My voice is a purr. “When are you going to tell her?” She’s probably leaning against that wall, stunned. I shove the guilt away. I’m right for him. “Graham, I know it seems brutal, but you’ve got to rip the bandage off. I want to be with you, out in the open.”
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.
At the outset, I thought this was simple. Not necessarily simple in execution, but simple in potential conclusions. Brooke would seduce Graham, and I would reap the benefit when Emma needed comfort and a shoulder to cry on. And here, literally in my lap, sits my hoped-for conclusion.
It’s the execution I’m having issue with.
I fully assumed Brooke would succeed in seducing Graham, but that has not been the case. The fake phone call was, for some reason, a deception I can’t slip past as easily as I’d like. Thanks to Brooke’s clever scam, Emma and Graham each believe the other is cheating. And having exclusive knowledge of the entire scheme makes me an accessory to purposefully breaking Emma’s heart. As my father would say in closing arguments—there is no other verdict to be reached.
I know how this feels—to think you love someone, to think you’re loved in return, only to be slammed breathless by betrayal. Brooke did that to me.
Absently stroking her, I notice that she’s grown quieter, still dragging in shuddering breaths. I grab a tissue box off the side table, pull a few tissues out and hand them to her. She blows her nose and dabs at her eyes, which somehow starts the whole process over again. It’s a full ten minutes before she’s calm.
“Emma,” I say, the sound of my voice like the crack of a rifle. An alarm is going off in my head, telling me not to say what I’m about to say. I ignore it. “Last fall, you never asked me about Brooke, or the pregnancy. You never asked if there were extenuating circumstances, or how I felt at the time, or if I wished I’d made a better decision.”
Her tears start to flow again, but she says nothing.
I close my eyes, inhale the familiar herbal scent of her shampoo, memorize the feel of her in my arms. I can’t say I love this girl. But I know someone who might. “You need to ask the questions this time, Emma.” My voice is soft and low.
She looks up at me, silent, and I’m staring back. Amazingly, her eyes are trusting, and I don’t know why. I don’t deserve her trust. I can’t and won’t tell her everything.
“What are you saying?” Her voice is raw, her face streaked with tears, and she has never, in my presence, been more vulnerable.
I press my lips to her temple, her cheek, the corner of her mouth, and her eyes close. She doesn’t protest. F*cking hell, it would be so easy. So easy. It’s been ten, maybe fifteen minutes. Graham may or may not have succumbed to Brooke’s lies and misleading photos. I’m positive she’s pulled out all the stops. As much animosity as there is between us, I’d have a difficult time refusing her under those circumstances—and Graham has naively trusted her for years.
“Go. Ask him the questions you need to ask. Now. Before I change my mind.” Cupping her face in my palm and pressing another tissue into her hand, I add, “And if you need to come back, come back. I’ll be here.”