“And you love him, too, right?”
I drop my eyes to the bright green grass under our feet.
“You know I do, Grady.”
“Then you’ll be fine. It might be hard, but if there’s two people who know how to get through hard things, it’s the two of you.”
I wag a finger up at him.
“Will you forget about us? Today is your day. We’ll figure it out.”
Even after he and Emmy have moved on to the next table, his words stay with me. I wish it was just hard. The tape is a complication I never saw coming. It’s a mess I made, a bad spill I’m determined to clean up before it reaches Rhyson.
The closer we get to the toasts, the slicker my palms become. The faster my heart races. The shorter my breath comes.
“Could I have your attention?” Rhyson finally clinks his champagne flute. “Me again. I promise it’s the last time.”
The crowd laughs, eating up all this face time with Rhyson, who they so rarely see in intimate settings like this. This isn’t him onstage or begrudgingly doing some interview, but it’s him with his family. With his friends, relaxed, joking, happy for Grady. It’s rare, and they love it. So do I.
“I have to go back to the beginning.” Rhyson looks at Grady with a small smile. “When I was really young, I used to get Grady confused with my father all the time because they’re twins.”
He finds Bristol in the crowd and points to her.
“There’s my twin, Bristol. Twins run pretty hard in our family.”
Bristol raises a glass, an enduring smile on her face until the attention shifts back to her brother.
“Anyway, I often ran to him when he was around, if I got hurt or needed something because he looked just like my dad.” Rhyson’s face sobers, and he drops his gaze to the champagne glass in his hand. “In a lot of ways, he’s been a second father to me. He taught me so many important things. Not tying my shoes or riding a bike. He taught me about being kind to people, though sometimes I’m still not very good at that.”
Rhyson gives half a chuckle before looking right at Grady.
“You taught me that I’m more than my music. More than talent, and that I could be loved for who I am, not for all the other stuff.”
Something so special and private passes between Grady and Rhys, I can barely watch. It’s the moment Rhyson should have had with his father, but maybe never will. I’m kind of glad his father isn’t here to see what he forfeited with such a special man. My eyes drift to Angela Gray just a few rows ahead of me. Her posture stiff, her lips tight in profile, her hands clenched in her lap. She is here witnessing that. I don’t know if it’s anger or hurt or some helix of the two, but emotion comes off her like an echo. I don’t hear it, but I feel it the way a clanging cymbal vibrates in your chest.
Emmy’s sister does her toast, and my eyes seek Rhyson out immediately, blood pounding at my wrists. He’s talking to Grip, who has wrangled his dreads into a long, winding trail down his back. Grip nods, and Rhyson catches me looking at them. He flicks his head toward the orchard before returning his eyes to his best friend, concentrating on what he’s saying.
There are so many people eating, dancing, talking, I’m confident I can slip off unnoticed, but of course one person does notice.
“You got protection?” San grins at me over his almost-empty champagne flute.
Exasperation rolls my eyes and twists my lips, but I just shake my head.
“I won’t need it.”
“Oh, that’s right, you get the shot.”
“Would you stop?” I hiss at him, glancing around to make sure no one nearby heard him publicly declaring my chosen method of birth control. “I really am gonna stop telling you girl stuff.”
“You been saying that since seventh grade.” His eyes comb the crowd like mine have done so many times since we arrived. “And be careful. We don’t know who’s watching.”
The reminder of today’s text message weighs me down for a second and makes me wonder if I should meet Rhyson after all, though I don’t have much choice. He really might make a scene if I don’t follow through on my promise. But like he has so many times before, San distracts me with his warped humor.
He takes a sip of his champagne and gives me a lazy grin. “And don’t stain that dress.”
“I . . . you . . . ugh.” I turn to walk away, tossing my last words over one shoulder. “I’ll be back.”
San’s laugh chases me all the way to the edge of the yard. Step by tiny, discreet step, I inch my way toward a small opening in the thicket. I pick through the orchard, which is so thick with apple and pear trees that sunlight barely peers through. At one point, the path forks, and I’m not sure which way to turn. I just stand in the cool orchard shade, looking from left to right.
A wall of muscle warm at my back steals my breath.
“Are you lost?” Rhyson whispers into my ear, linking our hands.