Page 134 of The Liar's Reckoning

He told me he needed me. I’m hanging onto those words so tight as the bomb in the corner ticks away.

What was it I told him so long ago? That if we were over, I’d see it coming? Like I’m incapable of being blindsided. But even now, it doesn’tfeelover. I can’t picture either of us leaving this place. But even if I could, the idea of not being with him is impossible to imagine. He’s part of me. We’re part of each other. Ben was my boyfriend, and we were together longer than this, but that relationship took so much more effort. Graham and I fit in a way I never did with Ben. We’resupposedto be together. The universedemandedit. And when we finally started listening, there’s been nothing we couldn’t get through when we did it hand in hand.

This won’t be different. It can’t be. He doesn’t need me any less today than he did two nights ago, not if the circumstances haven’t changed. He came out to his dad for Christ’s sake. That’s huge. That means something. It has to mean he’s not willing to lose me.

If we have to separate for a time—live elsewhere—whatever. We can figure that out.

Unable to wait for him any longer, I barge into the bathroom only to hear him crying in the shower. Through the fogged glass, I see him with his hands on the wall and his head hung between his shoulders. His body shakes with each wrenching sob.

Kicking off my shoes, and unable to stand seeing him like thisa second longer, I get in with him. The moment I touch his back, he turns, wraps his arms around me, and weeps against my neck.

I grip his wet, naked body and press kisses to the side of his head. Eventually he speaks—two words like a chant. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

It reminds me of the day in the hospital room at Lenox Hill. This was how broken he was. When he’d lost something precious and dear.

I squeeze my eyes shut, fighting back my own tears. I won’t lose him. I won’t. I can’t.

If he can’t fight, I will.

He’s not goinganywhere.

When his crying settles, I try to kiss him, but he turns his head.

Trying not to let that get to me, I reach around him, turn off the water, and tell him to get out.

He dries off, and I strip off my wet clothes, not letting him leave my sight this time. I grab another towel and wrap it around my waist, leading him with a hand on his lower back into the bedroom to the dresser. I hand him underwear, joggers, and a t-shirt. I dress similarly.

I catch him watching me as I pull my underwear up, and I notice the way his hands are balled into fists, like he’s dying to touch me but won’t let himself. I swallow hard and continue putting on my clothes, eyeing him warily.

“I need to talk to you,” he finally says.

No shit.

41

GRAHAM

As I lead the way back into the living room, I see the small card on the dining table. I freeze in place. My fingertips settle on the piece of glossy card stock. “My father was here?”

“Yeah,” Silas says, right behind me.

“What did he say?”

“I’m more interested in what you have to say.”

“Tell me, Silas.”

“He said we’re being watched.”

The blinds are closed and the apartment feels dead with the lack of summer sun. I feel dead, too. “I told him a lot,” I admit. “But I didn’t tell him everything.”

“Let’s talk then,” Silas says.

I continue to the couch and plop onto the cushion, grateful I don’t have to hold myself up anymore. This is going to fucking kill me. I’d rather be on a plank in open, shark-infested waters.

Silas gives me some space, which I don’t want but appreciate as he sits down, too.

I start with the biggest problem. “Gibson and Marianne have—proof—of our relationship. He said he wouldn’t make it public if I meet certain demands.”

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