37. Graham
GRAHAM
NOW
My Darling
Are you home yet? I’m ready to talk.
Me
I’m here.
I’ve been passing the time in Tatum’s home gym, waiting for Miguel. If I were at my house, alone, my overactive imagination would drive me bananas, and I’d gnaw my thumbs off.
Her gym setup is top of the line with free weights, a padded wrestling mat, a punching mannequin, and fancy cardio machines. I doubt she’s ever stepped foot in here, unlike the two muscular, sweaty men without shirts hovering on either side of me.
Marcus crosses his bulky arms over his pecs and jerks his chin toward Judge. “Let him body slam you.”
I slice a hand through the air. “No way. The last time I volunteered to be your training dummy, I got a bruise on my shin.”
“We told you to lose the shoes, but you wanted the takedown to be realistic. Kicked yourself in the leg.”
With thinned, disapproving lips and an exaggerated nod, Judge confirms the retelling of events.
Before they can convince me to sacrifice my limbs, I check the clock on my phone for the tenth time. “Miguel will be at my house soon.”
Judge pouts and returns to his weight bench. He’s competitive, and any challenge denied, like a chance to slam me to the ground, is a challenge lost.
Marcus sighs, watching Judge switch out the plates on a barbell. “He’ll be insufferable for the rest of the night.” Squatting, he picks up the dumbbells at his feet. “Thanks again for the assist in San Antonio.”
“I may ask you to return the favor one day since you took me away from Miguel.”
He faces the mirrored wall, admiring the veiny muscles flexing with each arm curl. “How’s that going?”
“Like you don’t already know.”
The corner of his mouth lifts into a smirk. Tatum fills him in on group gossip, whether he wants to hear it or not. And as an information hoarder, Marcus retains the smallest details, even when he pretends not to listen.
“I should go,” I say, trudging toward the door.
“Kingston.” Spinning toward Marcus, I raise my eyebrows. His expression turns solemn when he nods once and says, “Good luck.”
Judge offers a salute. I return it while backing out of the room.
Miguel’s car rounds the driveway as I slip through the gap in the fence. His headlights sweep the property but miss me, thanks to a tree. I slow my steps and stick to the shadows, observing.
He exits the car, hands balled into fists and head tipped back while staring at the house. Not even a ghost of a smile touches his lips, and the breath he heaves looks fortifying. I don’t like it.
When his foot lands on the first step, I move into the glow of the porch light. “Hey.”
“Stalker!” he screeches.
His hand whips through the air. Car keys hit my neck. I grab my throat, coughing and wheezing.
He gasps and rushes to my side. “Oh my god! I’m so sorry, baby. I was aiming for your face!”
Peeling my hands away, he prods at my Adam’s apple. The sweet scent of his hair gel fills my nose, and I’ll never complain about having him close. Fussing over me. Calling me baby outside of sex.
“You might have a bruise, but you’ll live. Why the hell were you creeping in the dark?”
My eyes water, and my voice is raspy despite clearing my throat several times. “I came from next door.”
“Should’ve put a bell around your neck instead of a pendant,” he mutters, snatching his keys off the ground. When he shoves them in his pea coat, the neutral color catches my notice. Beige means he’s lying low, blending in…guarded. “Can we talk out here?”
I lift a shoulder. “Sure.”
We sit on the front steps, and the sliver of space he leaves between us taunts me like a line I’m forbidden from crossing. He tightens the coat around his chest and hugs his knees, another blockade.
Clearing my throat again, I ask, “Are you—”
“I’m not—”
Our smiles are strained. I take one of his hands in mine because touching him is a primal need. “Is it okay if I go first?”
He avoids my eyes, nodding to his brown boots.
“Since the beginning, I knew it was selfish of me to keep us a secret. You deserve an honest man who puts you first in every way. And I’m sorry for making decisions without you.
My intentions were good, but my approach needed a lot of work.
From now on, I promise not to make any moves without your input and blessing, starting with this one. ”
Since I’m gripping his fingers for support, I unlock my phone one-handed.
The social media post I’ve drafted includes a photo of us—my favorite of all time.
I’m kissing his forehead, and he’s smiling, eyes closed, as we cling to each other like we always do.
The simple caption reads “Love of my life.” Enough said.
“What have you done?” he whispers, snatching the phone from me to have a closer look.
“Nothing yet. But this is what I should’ve done a long time ago. Tear open my chest and expose myself to the vultures, career be damned. I want everyone to know my heart belongs to Miguel Espinoza and no one else.”
Seconds tick by as he inspects the photo, unmoving. My antsy fingers find my necklace. Have I miscalculated? Or misread his intentions over the past several weeks? I’m assuming so when he sets the phone down and squeezes the bridge of his nose.
His bark of laughter startles me. “Jesus Christ, you’re doing it again.”
“Doing what?”
“Whatever pleases you.” He steals his hand from mine and turns to face me head-on. “We agreed to live in private, Graham, but you think going public should be your decision alone. For an actor, you suck at following the script.”
I gesture toward all of Hollywood. “I’m done with this script, Miguel. It’s outdated. Fuck hiding who I am and who I love to earn approval and a paycheck. It’s time to burn the script written by an overly ambitious teenager and write a better one for the man I’ve become because of you. I’m ready.”
“Well, I’m not ready, okay? Never have been.” He slaps a hand over his mouth, eyes going wide.
The shock on his face has nothing on mine. I’m not sure if I’m breathing anymore, too stunned to do anything but stare back in disbelief.
“Fuck,” he whispers.
Miguel pushes off the steps and flees to the fountain. I watch him go, unable to move and chase after him. The past I’ve known and the future I’ve planned for us lie in tatters at my feet, obliterated by a single, jarring confession.
My erratic heart can’t decide whether to sprint or stop beating altogether, but after a full minute, I force my body into motion. Crossing the twelve feet of distance proves to be a difficult feat. I’m off balance and dizzy, as though the world has tipped on its axis.
Solar lights around the fountain’s base cast a spotlight on his thinned lips and the deep crease between his eyebrows. He hugs himself, glaring into the shallow water. When I reach his side, I stuff my hands in my jeans pockets and try to control my heart rate.
“Do you remember the night of the fine arts gala I went to?” he asks.
“How could I forget? Seeing you in a tux for the first time is a core memory.” My attempt at levity fails when neither of us cracks a smile.
“That night, I realized I’d break your heart one day. While you danced with Tate, my anxiety was off the charts. You kept looking at me, smiling at me, and I worried you’d give us away. So many times over the years, you were careless and almost gave us away.”
Frowning, I turn toward him. “But we’ve made it to the end goal. Being found out doesn’t matter now.”
“To you. It doesn’t matter to you.” As he faces me, the glassy sheen in his tortured eyes catches the light. “And we haven’t reached the end goal. You may not be acting anymore, but you still have to sell movies, including your debut. Are you willing to jeopardize that?”
“I’m not na?ve, Miguel. I know the risks. I just don’t care anymore.”
“But I do.” He steps closer, looking both pained and frustrated as he pinches the front of my sweater.
“I’ve tried to be brave, but the truth is your fame terrifies me, so much that it’s crippling.
Our entire relationship, I was on edge, not knowing when you or someone else would force me out of my comfort zone without my consent. ”
Stop pressuring me!
The memory of Miguel screaming those words knocks me back a step, and he’s forced to let go of my sweater. For weeks, I mulled over their meaning, but never understood them until now.
“I’m sorry. I—” My hand twitches inside my pocket, wanting to reach for him. I curl my fingers into a fist. “If I’d known your reasons for keeping our secret went beyond protecting my career, I would’ve been more careful.”
“You have nothing to apologize for. I had years to speak up but didn’t. And in the end, I was trying to protect you too.”
I scrub a palm over my mouth and study his expression.
The remorse in his sad eyes. The guilt. Even worse, the silent acknowledgment of his hypocrisy.
For years, I shouldered the blame after making unilateral decisions, even small ones, that upset him.
I did so humbly and tried hard not to repeat my mistakes because he deserves a future with someone who puts his happiness first. Yet, he forgot to mention that a future with me was never a possibility.
My blood boils, heating to an unbearable degree.
I storm away but don’t get far before turning back with an accusing, shaky finger aimed at him.
“So your one rule for me—never to leave you in the dark—you were breaking all along. I’ve been killing myself, surviving on scraps of sleep, to right any wrongs I could’ve done to you.
And this whole time, you’ve had no intention of giving us another chance. ”
“I didn’t ask you to go back and forth.”
“You didn’t try stopping me either!”
“I know,” he says, hugging himself again. “Maybe we’re both selfish. I can’t give you up, but I’m not ready for a life in the headlines.”
“Why not? You still haven’t explained why you’re afraid.”
Miguel swipes at his wet cheek. “I care too much about what people will say. We’ll get torn apart online.
It’s happened before, when I was only a background figure in photos with you and Tate.
People judged me without knowing how we’re connected.
Imagine what they’ll say when they learn who I am to you. ”
The surprises keep coming, one after another. I had expected us to end the night with our introduction to the world. After hearing his big reveals and, more importantly, his fears, I’m floored. If he would’ve confided in me from the start, I could’ve helped him.
Raking a hand through my hair, I pace, my mind already spinning ideas for damage control. “We can manage the blowback on our end. I’ll hire a team to monitor comments. You won’t ever see them.”
“Graham.” He expels my name on a heavy sigh. “You could have god-mode access to the entire internet, and it wouldn’t make a difference. You. Can’t. Fix. This.” On the last word, he taps his temple. “And you can’t stop what’s coming for us. It’ll be brutal, especially for me.”
I lace my fingers on top of my head and stare at the merman statue in the center of the fountain.
The only reason water trickles from its mouth is because Miguel had the fountain cleaned up and repaired, brought back to life.
I’ve become complacent with it over the years, but looking at it now, I see the cracks in the stone facade. They’ve been there all along.
My arms fall to my sides. “If I can’t help you or change my situation, what can I do?”
He sits on the fountain ledge, hands tucked between his knees. “Give me a minute to figure this out, with no pressure from you.”
Stop pressuring me!
My scoff echoes. “Sorry my love is so overwhelming you can’t be around me while you think.”
“I deserve your anger.”
“I’m not angry!” His flinch says otherwise, and I groan. “Well, maybe I am. But mostly, I’m hurting.”
Dropping down next to him, I leave no gap between us, needing him close when I ask a crucial question. Regardless of how many convincing text messages he sent to Maisy, I need to hear the truth for myself.
“Are you still in love with me, Miguel?”
He cups my cheek and turns my head toward him, brushing our lips together. “Madly, irrevocably, infinitely. I’ll never forgive myself for making you doubt it. You’re my end goal, Graham. The second I find a way to ignore the haters, I’m busting through this fucking gate.”
The gate looms before us. For years, it protected our privacy and offered us sanctuary.
Now, the iron bars represent another obstacle standing between today and our future.
I don’t care what online trolls say about me, but it’s devastating to think anyone on the other side of that gate wouldn’t love Miguel as much as I do.
I’m powerless against their judgment…and miserable without him.
My sniffle gets buried in my sleeve as I wipe the tears away. “I want you to come home.”
“So do I, baby. More than anything.” When his soft lips graze my jaw, I close my eyes, dreading the goodbye to follow. “I promise I’m working on it. I just need a little more time.”
The question of how long he needs nudges my mind, but I shut it down and nod. As he stands, I rise with him, grasping his lapels. Our lips collide on a battlefield of shared anguish as he lets out a heart-wrenching sob.
He flings his arms around my neck and deepens the kiss. A history of happy memories fights to survive through our tongues, tainted with tears, anger, frustration, and the bitter taste of resentment. Fuck anyone responsible for keeping my darling from me, and that includes myself.