Page 37 of Falling for Grace

“He’s rubbing his wrist,” she states.

“No, he’s rubbing his bracelets. That one there.” I stand up and walk to the screen pointing at the thick black leather strap that wraps around his wrist a few times.

“That’s our friendship bracelet. That’s what the three of us used to wear. We got them when we were 13 and said we would never take them off. I can’t believe he’s still wearing it.”

He walks off the set moments after that, and then the newsreader reappears.

“We have learned since this footage that his brother, Danny Holder, who was 27, took his life in the early hours of yesterday morning. We have received a statement from his agent, which we will read to you shortly, but we are now going to cut live to our correspondent, who is expecting Brandon to be leaving his hotel very shortly.”

“Are they serious?” I say, standing up, the anger overwhelming. “Why can’t they just leave him the fuck alone? They are going to try and interview him after he’s just lost his brother. This is sick.”

“It comes with the territory.”

“Territory, my ass. There is being famous and having to live in the public eye, and then there’s this—this is just perverse.” I swing around to the TV again as soon as I hear his voice. He has stopped. He has actually stopped to talk to them.

“I’m in shock and I please ask that everyone give me and my family time to come to terms with this news. We ask that you give us space, and you are respectful.”

“How are you feeling, Brandon?”

I roll my eyes. Did a reporter actually just ask that question? I want to punch something.

“How am I feeling?” He laughs a humorless laugh. He’s holding it together but I can see the flare in his eyes. He’s getting pissed. “There is only one person who knows how I’m feeling at the moment.”

“Who’s that, Brandon?” someone else asks. He doesn’t answer, he just looks directly at the camera and says, “I need you.”

I stand stock-still. Did that just happen? He just addressed me directly, on national television. He could have called me…but of course I wouldn’t have answered.

“Who are you talking about, Brandon?” someone presses. I just stare as he walks away from the reporters and is ushered into a waiting black SUV.

“I’ve got to go,” I say, heading out of the living room.

“Wait, what?” Theresa says in confusion as she follows me into my room.

I rummage under the bed and pull out my suitcase. I go to my wardrobe and start grabbing at clothes, throwing them haphazardly into the empty case.

“I’ve got to go to London.” I say it like it’s most obvious thing in the world.

“Okay, I think you just need to stop for a second,” Theresa says holding my hand and leading me to the bed. “Why do you have to go to London?”

“Because he needs me.” Again I say it like she should know, that she should understand what has just happened, what the importance of him rubbing that bracelet was, that he had just said that he needs me. Because he was talking to me, he was addressing me.

“Grace, how well do you know him? I mean, are we talking about old school acquaintances here?” She thinks I’ve lost it, that I’ve turned into a crazy stalker person who thinks this is maybe my time to get back into the life of Brandon Holder.

Of course she does—she doesn’t know about my past, she doesn’t know the truth. No one does.

“He was addressing me,” I say, grabbing the memory box tucked at the back of my wardrobe. I say memory box, but it’s basically a shoebox full of pictures and notes and all sorts of random stuff from my childhood including my diary, the silver book calling to me open.

“OK, I’m confused.”

“Here,” I say, pushing a photo to Theresa. “Here’s another one”. I thrust photo after photo of my childhood with Brandon Holder at her.

The picture of us on roller skates, the photos of me, Danny and Brandon dressed up as idiots. Then the images start changing, capturing stolen glances of me and Brandon. Me looking at him, thinking no one is looking, him doing it to me. Us holding hands, us kissing, the real story.

I watch on as she just stares at a picture of Brandon and me, me sitting on his lap, him pressing a kiss onto my forehead. The moment captured perfectly. I kind of wish I could capture this moment. I don’t think I’ve ever seen T quite so gobsmacked.

Her mouth falls open.

“He was talking to me. His brother, Danny, was my oldest and best friend who took his own life yesterday. The friend who I tried to reach out to that Friday morning, but it was already too late… I was too late.” My voice breaks and I shake my head. “Fuck, Theresa, I pushed him away,” I admit. “I pushed him away all those years ago and now it’s too late.”

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