Page 43 of Make Me Fall (Water, Air, Earth, Fire 2)

Sliding open the flaps, I dig out a couple of small, blue vases wrapped in newspaper. Underneath sits a leather-bound album with “Switzerland, 2010” written neatly on the spine. When I fold the cover open on my knees, I burst out laughing. The photo on the first page shows a beardless Professor Avery sporting a baby face and the ugliest glasses known to man. On the next page, he’s beaming with his thumbs up in front of an epic mountain view with a younger Gray standing solemnly next to him. They both have backpacks and hiking poles.

Fuck, Gray was handsome back then, with shorter hair and bigger, thick-framed glasses. He’s wearing proper hiking clothes, a t-shirt and shorts, and I hold the book an inch from my face to study every detail. But I prefer him now, the elegance of a man who has grown into his body, his arrogance tempered into something quieter.

When I shut the book, a loose photo falls out on the carpet. I pick it up and my stomach flips violently, the best and worst feeling in the world all at once. Gray is smiling, not just a quirk of the lips but a full, beaming grin that fills his eyes. It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

He’s cuddling another man in his lap, arms wrapped tight around him, resting his chin on the guy’s head. They both look in their early twenties, but I instantly recognize the dark hair and eyes, the angular face. I zone out for probably five minutes, trying to figure out a way I could be wrong, that this couldn’t be the attorney from the article this morning. I can’t, because there isn’t one.

I shake the album, just in case, and one last picture drifts to the floor. Same people, same clothes, same location. They’re kissing in this one, Gray’s head tilted to find the perfect angle, the other guy’s fingers wrapped in his hair.

The guy’s wearing a wedding ring.

I check the first photo and find the barest glint of metal on Gray’s hand, tucked under his partner’s arm. All I can think of is one of those cheap romance novels Sophie reads sometimes when she’s stressed out, with titles likeRavished by the Cattle WranglerorStolen Away by the Handsome President of a Small South American Country.

Married to the Defense Attorney. The cover would be pink and have a shirtless Gray laying this asshole out over a desk.

He never told me he was divorced. That his ex just got appointed to his civil trial. Of course not. Why would he?

I think of the way he looked this morning, watching the coffee pool on his desk. Completely frozen, like an animal trapped on the highway.

Fuck.

Putting everything except the not-kissing photo back in the box, I flop on my face on the bed. I lay the picture on the sheets and use my palm to cover up the other guy, block him out so I can lose myself in that smile. He’s still serious, but so light, nothing at all holding him down.

And then maybe I fold it so the other dude is on the back and put it in my wallet, like an absolute fucking freak.

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