Back to me, p.1
Back to Me, page 1
Contents
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Epilogue
Graham's Playlist
Acknowledgements
Other Books by Brittany
For Katie and Stef
My best friends, my soulmates. This one is for you.
Thank you for everything.
CHAPTER ONE
SARA
Sprinting down the sidewalk on Sylvan Avenue, I wince in pain as my toes continue to squeeze toward the narrow tip of my black stiletto heels.
“Shit,” I mutter to myself.
Since I had to park almost a mile back, just off the exit to Interstate 30, I’ve been hauling ass trying to make it to The Fabrication Yard in time to meet up with Graham. Tonight is the first night he has been able to bring himself to display his art on the giant brick wall located in Dallas’ most popular graffiti park. For months I’ve begged and pleaded for him to gather up the courage and show off his art.
Of course, as with most things in my life, I’m late. Even if it wasn’t particularly in my control, I feel terrible for missing one of the biggest nights of Graham’s life. Clutching my phone in my hand, I glance down to check the time. “Fuck,” I breathe out. I’m twenty minutes late. Running past the sea of cars parked along the street, listening to the clicking of my heels meeting pavement, I find several unanswered texts from Graham.
Graham: Just got here. I’m so nervous.
Graham: I feel like my stomach is dissolving from its own contents, and I’m going to vomit all over the park.
Graham: Are you almost here? I don’t see you.
Graham: Sara, where the hell are you? I need you here.
I feel those last four words stab straight into my heart. He needs me. In the six years I’ve known Graham, I can only think of a handful of times where he said he needed me. One of those times was when he asked me to move to Dallas from our hometown, two hours away. I didn’t even hesitate when I told him I would. And ever since, we’ve lived together, shared the same apartment, yet never allowed ourselves to be anything more than roommates and best friends.
I have been in love with Graham since the moment I met him, all those years ago. But in that time, I’ve come to realize he may never love me the way I love him. It’s moments like these where I’m sprinting down a busy sidewalk, in five-inch heels and a dress that barely covers my ass to meet the one man I can’t seem to get over. Because truth be told, I would do anything for Graham Ward. Including risking a rip in my dress or a quick snap of my heel breaking off into one of the many cracks in the sidewalk.
Looking down at my phone, I stare at those four words, convincing myself they don’t hold nearly as much meaning as I think they do when I run into a wall. Well, it’s not so much a wall as it is a man, dressed in a perfectly tailored black suit.
He grips my arms, steadying my body, preventing me from falling face first onto the concrete. I glance up at the man who saved me, catching myself staring into his bright green eyes. The sky is pitch black, not a single star shining, but the streetlamp beaming down on us illuminates every shadow and line of his body.
“Are you alright?” he asks. Concern spreads across his face as three lines crease the smooth skin of his forehead.
“I’m fine. Thank you.” I struggle to catch my breath, pulling myself away from this well-dressed stranger.
Adjusting my dress, I take a step around him, seeing the entrance to the graffiti park ahead of me on the right.
Barely making it a few steps, I feel a hand wrap around my arm, stopping me.
“Wait. Why are you in such a hurry?” he asks, curiously.
“It’s not really your business, is it?” I gently pull my arm away, breaking his hold on me.
“You’re right, it’s not.” His mouth curls up into a small smirk, his blonde hair dancing across his forehead in the wind. “But considering you’re running in those heels and that dress, I have to assume it’s for something important.” His eyes dance across my body as he examines every inch of me. “A woman as beautiful as you dressed like that causes me to wonder why you’re even here at all.” Already feeling self-conscious for wearing a cocktail dress in the most casual part of Dallas, I wrap my arms around myself. As I stare back into his green eyes, I can’t help noticing how out of place he looks as well.
Mirroring him, I look up him and down, darting my eyes from his polished black shoes to the deep blue tie wrapped around his neck, resting against his crisp, white collared shirt.
“I could ask you the same thing. You don’t look like you belong here either.”
He laughs, shoving his hands into the stiff pockets of his pants. “I came to check out a few artists. I like to come down here occasionally.”
“Okay.” I lift my hand over my shoulder, pointing toward the Fabrication Yard. “I really do have to go.”
Backing away, he pulls one hand from his pocket, holding it out to me. “Wait, can I at least buy you a drink? Maybe take you out?”
Thinking of Graham and wondering how I’ll come up with a way to explain to him why I was so late, I slowly shake my head.
I don’t say another word as he returns his hand to his pocket, disappointment washing over his face. He doesn’t break his eyes away from me until I turn back around and run into the front entrance of the yard, leaving him standing on the sidewalk under the bright, yellow street light.
When I’ve finally reached the far end of the park, I find Graham bent over in the corner, angrily shoving cans of spray paint into his duffle bag. A crowd of people surrounding the wall begins to disperse. Several people are still standing in front of it, holding their phones up, taking pictures of Graham’s piece. Without stopping to even look at the wall, I walk up to Graham and nervously cross my arms, knowing how upset he is with me.
“Hey.” I stand a few feet from him, waiting as he keeps his back to me and watch him pack the rest of his supplies with his paint-stained hands. The fabric of his grey hoodie stretches across his sculpted back as he shoves the last can into his bag and drags the zipper across. Bent down on one knee, he rests his arm against his leg and hangs his head low, refusing to turn around and face me.
“Glad you finally made it,” he says, sarcastically.
“Graham, I’m so sorry. I—"
“You know what?” he asks, cutting me off. “Forget it. It doesn’t matter.”
I take a step toward him. Standing up, he lifts the strap of his duffle bag over his shoulder and finally turns around. His eyes don’t stay on me for long before they dart past me, over my shoulder.
“Of course, it matters,” I say, my voice soft and pleading as tears build behind my eyes. “My boss kept me late, then I got stuck in traffic. You know how bad I-30 can be.”
He sniffs, adjusting the strap of his bag on his shoulder, shoving his free hand into the front pocket of his paint-stained hoodie. “Right. I’ll see you at home.”
Walking past me, he makes his way across the large open field, headed for the entrance.
“Graham, wait. Please. I can’t tell you how sorry I am. You know I wanted to be here.”
He stops, spinning around on his heel. I lean back in surprise as his blue eyes glare at me.
“Exactly, Sara,” he says, raising his voice. “You wanted to be here. You were the one who wanted me to do this in the first place. And you didn’t even fucking show up.” My stomach twists with each of his words, his chest rapidly rising and falling with every breath he takes.
I close my mouth and swallow, tears now streaming down my cheeks.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper.
“Yeah, well.” Sighing, he looks into my eyes. “You’ll be happy to know your little plan worked. A ton of people showed up, and I even got an offer to do an exhibit from a curator at the Dallas Museum of Art.”
My mouth falls open, feeling nothing but happiness for Graham. I always knew he was amazing, he just needed that one person to find him. I clear my throat and say, “Graham, that’s incredible. I’m so happy for you.”
He shrugs. “Yeah, well, you would have known that if you had been here.” Staring at me one final time, he turns back around and begins walking away from me. “I’ll see you at home,” he mumbles.
Defeated, my shoulders slump as I watch Graham continue to walk away from me, the image of his back growing smaller with every passing second.
Wiping the tears from my cheeks, I wait until he disappears around the corner into the dark night before I turn around and look up at the wall. A few feet from where I found Graham packing up his supplies, high up on the wall, I find the piece he had finished creating only moments before. The few people who were left taking pictures with their phones have now gone, and I’m left standing alone.
Wiping the still wet tears from my cheeks, I look up to an image of a teenage boy, wearing a grey hoodie and dark blue jeans, the paint only just now beginning to dry. Staring into this boy’s eyes, I feel my chest cave in, and the oxygen leaves my lungs. The vision of him standing before me, holding out a bouquet of flowers blurs into a wavy mixture of color.
When the tears have dried on my cheeks and I can finally breathe at a steady pace, I leave the graffiti park and turn my back on Graham’s painting.
After staring at his impeccable work, it took several minutes for my breathing to return to normal and the sadness to leave my body. Six years ago, before moving to Dallas had been an option for both Graham and me, I had drawn a similar picture. In my old leather-bound journal, I had sketched a girl holding out a bouquet of flowers. She was much younger than the young man in Graham’s painting, but it was the first completed piece I had ever sketched using a small piece of charcoal.
One day, several weeks later, I had left my journal on the coffee table in the living room I shared with his sister and my best friend, Em. Graham had walked by, spotting the journal and picked it up. My drawing of the little girl was the first page he had turned to and looking up from the page, he had stared into my eyes, asking if I was the one who had drawn it. I was terrified and contemplated denying it because no one had ever seen any of my artwork and compared to Graham’s, mine didn’t hold a candle. But his blue eyes had filled with amazement before he looked back down at the paper as he shook his head.
“Sara, this is amazing. I didn’t even know you could draw like this.”
I shrugged. “It’s nothing, really. I was just playing around.”
He looked back up from the journal and smiled. “It’s beautiful.”
Sometimes, I’ve contemplated when the exact moment it was I had fallen in love with Graham. Now when I think back on it, I think it was then.
But none of it matters anymore because I’ve managed to disappoint him once again. Pushing my love for him aside, I had been a shitty friend tonight. I had abandoned him when he needed me the most.
When I step through the front gates of the graffiti park, I begin the long journey back to my car. My toes burn, and my calves ache with each step, but I ignore it and push through the pain, thinking how I deserve every bit of it.
I’m halfway down Sylvan Avenue when the strange man from earlier runs up beside me, matching his steps with mine.
“We meet again.”
“Please go away. It’s been a very, very bad night, and I just want to go home.”
He glances up from his feet and darts his eyes across the street. “You shouldn’t be walking out here by yourself. It’s not safe.”
Turning my head, I look up at him. “I can take care of myself. How do I know you aren’t dangerous?”
He shrugs. “You don’t.” Keeping our pace, he reaches his arm across his body, holding his hand out to me. “I’m Julian.”
I stop walking and stare up at him in disbelief. “Telling me your name doesn’t change the fact you’re a stranger. I have no idea who you are.”
Withdrawing his hand, he sticks it back into his pocket. “Give me a chance to get to know you. Come on, one drink.”
“No.” I continue walking to where my car is parked along the street, not caring whether he’s following me or not.
“I’m thirty-one years old, originally from Baton Rouge, and I hate cats.”
Stopping, I turn around on my heel, holding back the burning pain growing on the bottom of my foot. “What?”
He smirks. “I’m telling you a bit about myself.” Pulling his hand out of his pocket, he begins listing things on his fingers. “I’m an only child. I’m competitive with everything in life. I hate losing.”
I take a few steps forward, closing the gap between us a little more so we aren’t standing so far apart. Dropping my gaze, I ask, “Do you feel like you’re losing right now with me?”
“Yes,” he laughs under his breath. “And it’s driving me crazy.”
Staring into his green eyes, I think about Graham, how I know I’ll never be his, and this is what always happens.
I run into a man who I think can give me all the things I want out of life, only to find myself naked in his bed later, disappointed once again.
Julian grins, displaying his perfectly pristine, straight teeth. “It may be driving me crazy, but I don’t give up easily.”
A small giggle erupts from my chest. “I see that.”
“I promise, one drink, then we can go our separate ways. Nothing more.”
I consider him once more, knowing I’ve heard that same line one too many times. It’s never one drink, and we never part ways—at least, not until the next day.
Holding out my hand, I look up at Julian. “Sara Andrews, I’m twenty-seven years old, I’m an artist who works for a much more successful artist, and I love cats.”
He cocks one eyebrow. “You love cats, huh?”
Keeping my hand stretched out between us, he firmly grabs it and slowly shakes it.
“Yep,” I say. “Take it or leave it.”
With a smirk, he says, “Oh, I’ll take it.”
Feeling nervous, I realize we’re standing in front of my car. Somehow, the walk didn’t feel as long on the way back as it did when I was running to make it to Graham.
“Where did you want to grab a drink?” I ask, unlocking my car and opening the door.
Julian remains standing on the sidewalk on the other side of my car. “There’s actually a great bar around the corner. We can walk there from here.”
I narrow my eyes. “Didn’t you say it wasn’t safe to be walking out here?”
“Alone. It isn’t safe to walk alone. Come on.” He jerks back his shoulder, urging me to join him on the sidewalk. “It really isn’t far.”
***
Julian places a freshly made mojito in front of me. Leaning forward, I wrap my lips around the black straw and take one long sip. With nearly a quarter of it already gone, I relax against my barstool and sigh.
“After the night I’ve had, I really needed this.”
Resting his elbow against the bar counter, Julian turns his body toward me, twisting his whiskey glass back and forth with his fingertips. His fingers are strong and lean, and I stare at them longer than necessary. Straightening my back, I take another long sip of the cool, minty drink.
“So, why were you in such a hurry earlier?” he asks.
Swirling what’s left of my drink with the straw, a tightness builds beneath my chest.
“I was supposed to meet a friend. My roommate, actually.” I sigh. “It’s a long story, but I missed it. By the time I finally made it to him, he was already packing up his paints.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” Despite his apology, his eyes show no sign of feeling sorry for me or me missing Graham’s night. Instead, his green eyes fill with desire and intensity so strong, I can’t help but feel something darker hidden behind his emerald eyes.
Pressing my lips into a thin line, I run my hand through my long hair, brushing it to the side, over my shoulder. I don’t know what to say to this strange man I’ve only known for a few hours. I try not to let the awkwardness settle between us, and as far as I can tell, Julian doesn’t even notice how uneasy I’m beginning to feel.
Feeling the effects of my second mojito finally settling in the pit of my stomach, I can’t help thinking about Graham. Even as this very attractive man sits next to me, giving me his undivided attention, my mind still wanders. The way Graham’s eyes filled with disappointment as he looked at me and knowing I was probably the last person he wanted to see at that moment. The way his shoulders slumped over in defeat, not wanting to argue with me for another second. And the vision of him walking away from me.
I sigh again with my straw still pinched between my fingers. The sound of ice dancing inside my empty glass brings me from my thoughts. Julian reaches out and slides his hand along my bare thigh, stopping at the hem of my dress.
He gives me the same grin as when we first met. The kind where he displays his perfect teeth, and the corners of his eyes crease, allowing his green eyes to brighten just enough beneath the golden lights of the bar.
Pushing aside any lingering thoughts of Graham, I rest my hand over Julian’s, sliding his fingertips just below the red, silk fabric resting above my thigh.
“So, Julian. Where do you work?”
“Let’s not talk about that right now.” He slowly shakes his head and leans toward me. Brushing my hair aside with his fingertips, I close my mouth and swallow the nerves settling in the pit of my stomach. It feels wrong, all of it.
