I didn’t get up.
By dawn, I’d moved to the kitchen, waiting for the hollow feeling behind my ribs to turn into something I could use.
Anger would be good. Anger I could work with.
But all I had was the dull, heavy ache of someone who’d unlocked a door she’d spent years nailing shut, only to find out the person on the other side had been performing the whole time.
Hadhe been performing?
I shoved that thought down before it could take root.
The knock came at seven-twelve. I know the time because I was staring at the microwave clock, willing the numbers to mean something other than another minute of this.
It wasn’t a polite knock.
I crossed the room. Opened the door without checking the window first, because some part of me already knew, and a different part of me wanted to see his face when he tried to explain.
Graham stood on my porch.
He looked wrecked. Dark circles, tight jaw, hair still damp from a shower that clearly hadn’t done a damn thing for him. He had the posture of a man bracing for impact. Feet planted, shoulders set, hands nowhere near his pockets.
Good.
“Rose.” His voice was rough. Careful. The voice of someone approaching a horse that might kick.
Smart man.
“Come in,” I said.
He blinked. He’d been ready for the door in his face. I could see the whole speech dissolving behind his eyes. The invitation threw him, which was exactly where I wanted him. Off balance. On my turf. In my space.
I stepped back. He stepped in.
I let the silence do its work. Watched him stand in the middle of my living room trying to figure out what to do with his hands while the morning light cut across the floor between us.
“Fraser Kincaid,” I said.
Not a question. A verdict.
“Aye,” he managed.
“Fifty million subscribers.”
“Aye... but my nameisGraham.” I could hear him reaching for it like a lifeline. “Graham Fraser Kincaid. Fraser’s my middle name, it was my mum’s maiden name. Kincaid from my father. I didn’t make Graham up. I just didn’t give you the rest.”
I let that sit for exactly two seconds.
“You didn’t give me the rest,” I repeated. “That’s what you’re going with. You left out the part where you’re one of the most famous people on the internet, and you want credit for getting your first name right?”
He had the decency to look like he wished the floor would swallow him.
“You booked my ranch under a fake company name. Walked into my cabin. Let your entire team lie to my face about who you were and why you were here.” I held up a hand before he could open his mouth. “And don’t. Whatever you’re about to say, don’t. I’ve been awake all night and I promise you I’ve already imagined every version of your excuse and found them all pathetic.”
His jaw worked. But he didn’t speak.
At least he could follow instructions.
“You stood in that barn while I told you how my parents died.” My voice was steady. The kind of calm that costs more than screaming. “While I told you what it’s like to grow up with photographs instead of memories. While I handed you pieces of myself I don’t handanyone.”
