“At the time, I would have sworn I didn’t. But when I look back on it, I remember moments when she would leave Gracie with me and disappear for a few hours. Or her behavior would be slightly off. She would get this glassy look in her eyes. Her reflexes were slow.” He shakes his head. “I was so wrapped up in my work at that time. I’d just sold my first script to a major studio. I’d finally made enough money to put a down payment on a house for my mom. I was able to send Gracie to a private elementary school. I just loved my life. I was proud of what I had built. And I loved the idea of Thea being healthy so much that I couldn’t see the reality through the fantasy.” Reid laughs mirthlessly. “I’ve done a lot that I regret, but I will neverforgive myself for letting my daughter grow up without her mom.” His jaw tenses. “It was my job to protect them both, and I failed at it, spectacularly.”
When he meets my gaze, the pain in his eyes is palpable. There’s a particular texture to the hurt—not the raw bleed of a fresh wound, but calcified, like a foreign object his body has hardened around. And I can see how the story he’s told himself of Thea’s death—the liability he’s assumed for it—has only pushed that object in deeper.
“Reid. You know you aren’t responsible for Thea’s death, right?”
“I would like to believe that’s true. I know Gracie doesn’t blame me for it.”
“IknewI liked Gracie.”
Reid laughs, and this time, there’s a crack in the shell, a whisper of light seeping through. “I try to talk to Gracie about Thea as much as I can, to try to keep her alive. But she doesn’t always want to engage. I think that’s one of the reasons she wants to move out here for college. She wants a fresh start.”
“I understand why you want to keep her close.”
“Gracie is vigilant about avoiding drugs and alcohol, and she’s been in therapy ever since her mom died. She’s solid. I have every reason to trust her.” Reid looks at me with such sincerity then, as if he’s casting about for a buoy. I reach out and take his hand, to try to be that anchor for him. “But I can’t help but worry... what if things take a turn for her, and I’m not there to see it?”
My heart breaks for them both. The unthinkable tragedy.
“You brought Gracie to New York. You let her see NYU and imagine what her life might be like here. You wouldn’t do that unless you believed she could do it.”
When he meets my eyes again, I can see the light there, the warmth, pushing against the edges of the darkness. “You’re right. And also—I was glad to have an excuse to come to the show.”
I sense that he had the same ridiculously far-fetched dream that I did: That magic would strike twice. Like the dream of an actual twenty-year-old.
We’re both quiet for a moment, letting the enormity of what he just admitted settle over us.
Then Reid pulls my hand up to meet his mouth, pressing a kiss there, and that current of electricity sparks back up again, jolting my entire system awake. I’m suddenly aware that I’ve leaned almost entirely across the kitchen island to be closer to him—to the scent that once left me dazed and sated, that I loved so much, I would press my face into his T-shirts when he left for work.
And it fully dawns on me that our time together is limited. Again. I don’t know if Reid wants anything more from me than this moment. I do know that embarking on anything more would require so much dexterity, so much grace. So much courage, on both our parts.
Maybe this is our curse: We come together, we fall apart. The last time I was with Reid, I made a pact with myself to be brave, to allow myself to be fully seen by him. I’m faced with the same choice yet again, but this time with a heart that’s been bruised—by James, yes. But by Reid too.
Now every self-preserving instinct is screaming at me to step away. To go back to the calm, predictable environment I’ve constructed that keeps me safe. To make sure I don’t break again.
And those same alarm bells are warning me not to risk mishandling Reid’s shattered heart either.
But when his hand moves to trace my jaw, all those fears suddenly dissipate, and desire floods in. I know we’re doomed, I know this is going nowhere, I know my heart will probably get stomped on again, but right now, I can’t help myself.
I always needed more of him. And I still do.
XII
I round the island and come to stand in front of Reid. With him on the stool, we’re about eye level. I cradle the sides of his face in both my hands. I feel my body sigh in relief, finally making contact with his skin. His eyes flutter closed as he tilts his head to rest in my palms.
“I like this.” I run my fingers through the silver in his hair. “I like the gray.”
“If you like the gray, I like the gray,” he murmurs.
“We should check on the girls,” I say, trusting that he understands the secret second meaning in my words—we need to know how much time we have right now.
“Gracie texted me on our way over here.” His hand glides across my hip, and I lean into his warmth. “They’re heading to Chinatown. Dim sum. I think.”
We consider each other for half a second, and in that window, it’s like we come to a silent, mutual agreement: Don’t waste the time we’ve been given.
And when his arms circle my waist, when our lips scramble to meet in an insistent, deepening kiss, when his hands grab at the hem of my top and pull it up over my head, I am right back to the way I was magnetized tohim in the basement of the bookstore so many years ago, how some unspoken law dictated we come together. I am stunned by the familiarity of the way he tastes and the feel of his mouth against mine—that my sense memory reaches back over so many decades feels like a drunken form of déjà vu.
He hooks an arm around my back, spreads his fingers wide, and comes to a stand, levering me off the ground on his way to his full height. I lean my chest into his and wrap my legs around his waist. My desire spirals, and I begin to move rhythmically against him, desperate for the friction of his belt buckle, the muscles straining beneath his shirt. I feel him hard underneath me and instinctively slide my hand to his crotch. Our mouths still locked together, tongues pushing greedily into each other, he backs us into the living room and lays me down on the couch.
He stands over me for a moment, his eyes glazed as he surveys me, like he’s gathering himself before he begins some methodical, satisfying work. There’s no trace of the heaviness I’d seen in him just a few minutes ago, and I take in, bask in, his reprieve.
