When Our Worlds Stand Still (Our Worlds #3)(19)

Griffin steps forward. “We didn’t know, man. You’re not exactly an open book. You can’t blame us for trying to push you when you never told us to stop. We would’ve understood.”

“You’re a do-gooder then, or something?” Rick’s eyes shift between Graham and me.

“I’m not a do-gooder. I want to be better … for her.” Graham stalks out of the room.

I freeze, knowing every eye in the room is focused on me. A sharp elbow hits my side, and I peek through my eyelashes, too afraid to face what awaits me.

Violet nods at the door Graham disappeared through. “I think maybe now would be the time to let up on the punishment, and be the girl for him you were in high school.”

A lot has changed. I’ve changed. Even more than Senior year. “I don’t know that girl anymore,” I whisper. My biggest fear wrapped in a small, simple statement.

Violet taps her finger on my chest a few times. “A few scrapes and bruises don’t damage the heart. Not a heart like yours, anyway.”

I drag out of the room without looking back. As if the biggest emotional bomb hasn’t been dropped about one of their own, their conversation and laughter ensue.

With slow precision, I take the stairs until I find myself wandering up and down the hallway. I’ve passed the sign on his door several times but haven’t built up the courage to knock. As I go by each room, I read one of his roommates’ names. Mark is directly next to Graham while Griffin and Rick are across the hall. There’s a blank door at the end, and for a split second, I tell myself it’s okay to snoop, but reluctantly pull back from the doorknob before I swing it open.

A mental pep talk has me rapping my knuckles against Graham’s sturdy door. His feet stomp across the wood floor. The door swings open and there he stands, one hand resting high on the door, and the other rubbing his shoulder.

I storm past him into his bedroom. When I whip around, I shake my head out of confusion, and maybe out of contentment. “What have you been doing here all this time? Because clearly you haven’t been doing what I assumed you’d be doing.”

“Running wild? Is that what you think I’ve been up to?” he barks, offended by my accusations. I nod in answer. The way he looks at me now makes me feel two feet tall.

He shuts the door behind us and sits on the edge of his bed. After standing in front of him for what may be a century, I glance around the room. Two large windows span the backside. A few steps give me a vast view of the immaculate backyard. With my hands resting on the dresser beneath the windows, I bow my head, close my eyes, and take a long deep breath to get a bit of control. When my eyes spring open, a beautiful picture frame sits before me, tucked in the back corner of the dresser.

I run the pad of my thumb over the glass. Two faces I barely recognize. “Where did you get this?” I turn to find Graham close behind me.

A reluctant smile forms over his face. “The best and the worst day of my life.”

“How did you get this, though? I don’t even have one.” My eyes narrow, confused.

Graham takes the picture from my shaky hands. “You looked so beautiful, even with the torn dress and messy hair.”

That day seems so far away, and at the same time, like yesterday. As always, I’m not sure how we’ve gotten to where we are today. How is it possible so much time has passed from that moment to this one?

Anger boils beneath my skin, remembering what happened before the picture. “Sometimes I still hear the ringing of the gunshot.”

“I remember the exact moment I thought he’d shot you. I feel trapped under his thumb all over again, like the hopeless kid he was used to seeing in me.”

“You were never trapped under his thumb. He believed you were.”

Graham rummages through his dresser drawer. The way his back tightens proves I’ve hit a small nerve. “Do you need something to wear?” He pulls out gray sweatpants. It’s Graham’s subtle way of asking me to stay the night without asking the hard question.

In the bathroom, I change out of my jeans and slip the soft cotton fabric up my legs. When I open the door, Graham’s on the edge of his bed, his hands flailing back and forth as if he’s having a conversation with himself.

I lean against the doorframe, observing him. “You have anything good to say?” Graham peeks up at me. “You look like you have a lot to say. Maybe you should say it to me instead.”

“You being here, in front of me, is surreal. I moved to Connecticut in hopes I’d witness that smile again, but God, Kennedy, I’d be lying if I didn’t feel my hope running out.”

“Can we pretend you are you and I am me for the night? None of our history matters, because, Graham, I’d really like a good night’s sleep.” My eyes begin to droop. All the sleepless nights in the past year are finally catching up to me.

Graham stands and takes my hand. The warmth from his skin erases the tension in my shoulders, and I relax into him. My cheek rests against his arm as he guides me to the bed. When he pulls back the covers, he inspects my reaction. I’m more than happy to slide between his sheets if it means I can be close to him.

Graham climbs in after me, holding his arm out, inviting me to lay against him. My head rests perfectly on his chest, and I skim my hand up and down the hard planes. Only our breathing sits between us, and it seems neither of us knows what to say or do.