Page 122 of Dear Mr. Brody

“Van…”

I closed the distance he’d put between us and set my hand on the curve of his neck. He closed his eyes as my thumb trailed along the length of his jaw.

“There will always be another job. As much as my pride hates the idea, I could probably work at Emory if I asked my dad to pull some strings. But I wantyou, Parker.” I leaned down and rested my forehead against his. “I love teaching, but I love you more.”

He tipped his head back, his mouth meeting mine in a soft surrender.

“I love you…” he whispered, his hands in my hair, the tips of our noses brushing together. “And Anne… so much.”

“I shouldn’t have let you walk away. We should have had this conversation nine days ago.”

“I can agree with that.” He framed my face with his hands. “But I shouldn’t have walked away in the first place.”

“Maybe.” I leaned into the rough skin of his palm, and I was home. “It was our first fight… we were bound to fuck it up.”

“Can it be our last fight, because these last nine days were a nightmare. And I’m pretty sure Marcos is done with my mopey ass. He might actually throw me out.”

I laughed and wrapped my arms around his neck. “I have a spare bedroom.”

“Don’t tempt me,” he said, but his smile dimmed. “I don’t want you to resent me.”

“I want to hold your hand in public without worrying who might see. I want to kiss you and meet you for lunch. If I worked here, that couldn’t ever happen. This is about me as much as it’s about you. I choose this.” I placed my hand in the center of his chest. “I want more than three months, Parker. I want as much time as I can have with you.”

“I’m here for whatever you want,” he said, and I remembered. “This is all for you.”

He’d sent those words to me, what felt like ages ago, but even though the meaning had changed, my heart responded with those same quick and clumsy beats. I kissed him, letting the heat of his breath fully heal the crack in my chest. My hands dropped to his waist, my fingers gripping his shirt, holding him close, and I didn’t worry about anyone catching us. All I wanted was to show him I was here, too, and it didn’t matter if it was three months or three years, I’d choose this. I’d choose us every time.

Parker

Frantic was the only way I could describe it. Backstage, the kids from Pride House rushed around, getting dressed in their costumes and moving props. Marcos was frazzled, too, and I heard him trying his best to be polite to one of our younger cast members who wouldn’t sit still long enough for him to glue on her fake lashes. Even Chance, our cool and collected director seemed nervous. He asked me about a thousand times if I needed anything and if everything was ready. I got the impression he didn’t like it when he had nothing to contribute. Me, on the other hand, I was one-hundred-percent freaked the fuck out. I peeked out from behind the curtain again and started to sweat. The place was almost full. The crowd was at least double the size from last year. But last year I hadn’t written the play, and the responsibility of everything made me nauseous.

“We have a problem,” Rachel said in her too-calm-shit-is-about-to-hit-the-fan tone. “Denny… is… Parker, he’s having a full-blown panic attack in the bathroom and just threw up all over himself.”

“What?” The room started to spin. “He’s Silas.”

“I know.”

“We start in like twenty minutes.”

“I’m aware of that little tidbit as well.”

“Rach…” Jesus Christ. “I mean, we can figure out the costume, but he’s going on, right?”

She pressed her lips together and winced. “No… he said he can’t do it.”

“Shit.” A tiny part of me wanted to march over to the bathroom and tell him to suck it the fuck up. That he wasn’t a quitter. That he could do this. That we were depending on him, but he didn’t deserve the guilt trip. He worked hard, and I know he was scared from the beginning, but like the rest of these kids, they’d been forced in roles they never wanted their whole lives, and I wasn’t about to add to that trauma over a stupid play. “What are we supposed to do?”

“I heard Denny isn’t going on?” Chance asked, and Rachel and I both deflated.

“He’s going to fire us,” she said under her breath.

“Will you quit it with that.”

Chance stared at us both. “What’s the back-up plan?”

I didn’t have one. “Let me think.”

I paced back and forth a few times and Marcos noticed. “What’s going on?”

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