Page 60 of Taste of Addiction

“Good.”

“You know I was only doing that to protect you, right?”

“Yes. But I’m still in danger.”

“You are,” he agrees, with an angry edge to his voice. “And Nic is working with the FBI to ramp up internal protection while he remains an informant. But these things take time. This is not a black-and-white situation. So many variables make for a lot of gray areas.”

“I’m going to either fail this semester again or have to graduate with a degree I don’t want.”

“I need you to trust yourself.”

I glance over to him. The lights from the oncoming cars make my head pulse with the growing pain that radiates from behind my eyes. “What do you mean?”

“So whatif you fail.So whatif you have a different degree. You’ll figure out how to push forward, and maybe the dream you thought you’ve been working toward was always a consolation prize or a default or an I-need-to-pick-a-major decision.”

I open and close my mouth at his words. I think back to my short time at the community college, where I was taking general education courses. I really didn’t know what I wanted to do with my life. Then James died, and I lost hope in living. I then became engrossed with trying to find out what happened to him. That was how my compulsion to be an investigative journalist began. I was tired of all of the stories in the press about the accident only skimming the surface. I wanted to know what happened to James.

But would I have still wanted to go that route if it wasn’t for the lack of closure on the case? What would have happened if James did not die? Would I have been happy studying general education at BCCC?

I am a senior. I cannot be this undecided. And yet, here I am without a clear path to travel down. Have I allowed situations to dictate my journey instead of really looking inward at myself and discovering my own passions?

After Momma died, I very much hung out in the shadow of James. It was one hundred percent by choice, and I would have stayed there longer because it was comfortable. He would try to bring me out of my shell and on several occasions did, but I was timid and lacked confidence. Then when James died, I struggled to find a new identity. Perhaps all this time I never really discovered anything.

Graham pulls into the parking garage, cuts the engine, and turns his attention to me. He fixes a piece of my hair behind my ear. “I wish you would have the confidence in yourself that I have in you.”

“Why do you even have confidence? It’s not like I have done anything wonderful that proves myself.”

“I’ve seen enough in the past few months of knowing you to say that you are one of the most insightful people I have encountered. You see the world differently and not necessarily in a bad way, Angie. Just different. When you visited HH for the day, you were able to completely command teams with your understated intelligence. You are not flashy and cocky. Instead you are creative and articulate. And that quiet confidence is powerful. If you could just trust in it, you can do amazing things.”

“Thanks.” When he talks like this, with compliments, I sometimes think he is referring to someone else.

“The fact that you have zero clue how impactful you are makes you relatable to others. And that is a gift you cannot learn or teach to someone.”

“I must get it from my momma,” I say softly. She exemplified elegance and grace with how she spoke to others. Everyone liked her. She had the charisma that people gravitated toward.

“I really wish I could have met her.”

“She would have liked you,” I say thoughtfully. “Would have told me you were the type of man women should wait a lifetime for.”

Graham’s huge smile is genuine and makes me sprout one of my own. I don’t even think I have really smiled today.

“Let’s get inside,” he says, exiting the driver’s side and opening the door to my side. “It is going to feel amazing to have you back in my bed.”

I link my arm in his and we walk toward the elevator. “Feels good to be home.”

Graham stops midstride, turns toward me, and cups my face. His kiss is so powerful that my spine dips backward. His arms brace me, while he leans over to maintain contact. “You”—kiss—“are”—kiss—“my”—kiss—“home."

13

We are barely inside the foyer when Sophia comes bursting through the door to greet us—no, correction,justGraham. She is wearing satin pajama shorts and a fitted white spaghetti-strap top. No bra. And she clearly needs one. It is like my nightmare has come to life in full technicolor.

I narrow my eyes at her, but she doesn’t even address me with a glance to notice my expression. For December, her outfit seems very impractical. Pretty sure if I move closer, I may get sliced by one of her nipples.

“I’m so glad you’re back.” She is breathless. “Here, look,” she says, thrusting her cell phone at Graham. “See? This is what scares me.”

He tenses at my side and reads the texts she has received—from her stalker I am assuming.

“He’s getting sloppy, and it’s only a matter of time until an arrest is made. I have my men acquiring the street view cameras. Between those and the cafe’s security footage, I bet we’ll know soon who keeps trying to terrorize you.”

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