Page 60 of The Sun and Her Star

Graham sits down beside me. I can’t bring myself to look at him.

“Apollo. I’m trying to protect you,” he says as if that explains everything. I turn to look at him. My eyes are full of fire as I take in his tortured expression.

“Don’t tell me you’reprotectingme. I can take care of myself. You just want to continue whatever the hell you’re doing. You and that creepy woman who you clearly can’t stand but who you spend more time with than you do anyone else. Whoisshe really? Do you sleep with her?” I ask, and I watch him closely.

“She’s my agent. I’ve told you,” he says without looking at me.

“What kind ofagenttouches you like she owns your body?”

“Why are you doing this?” he growls and pushes off the bed.

“Doing what? Asking questions? Because we’refriends,remember?” My voice is heavy with sarcasm. “Well, wewere. Before you decided to destroy that.”

His face drains of blood. “I’mnotdestroying our friendship. I’m trying to save it,” he says in a whisper and then stands and starts pacing.

I get up, too. “Are you serious? You think we can go back to the way we were after the way you’ve behaved over the last nine months? You broke every promise you made. And after last night? Do you really think I could be yourfriendafter you let me walk into that restaurant and be blindsided by you and your girlfriend or whatever the fuck she is?” I shout at him, unable to hide my surprise. I walk over to the bathroom and pick up my discarded clothes.

“She’s not my girlfriend. She’s my agent. And everything I do with and for her is for money. But that doesn’t mean our friendship is over. It can’t be,” he says, and I stop and give him an assessing look. Helooksdifferent. Heisdifferent. My stomach churns, bile burns my gut and I swallow down the sour reflux of regret.

“Why do you even care? You have your mom. You have your famous friends and you Instagram harem. You have Nanette. You’re about to skyrocket into another stratosphere. I get it.” I say this with an unaffected voice.

“It’s not like that, I just need time …” he says feebly.

I gape at him. “Are youactuallyrepeating that line again? On what planet do you think I’d believe a word you said ever again? You want me towaitfor you? To sit on a shelf while you fuck your brains out? No way.” I spit.

I yank my dress over my head and scan the room for my shoes.

I need to get out of here.

He stalks over to me, stops a few steps away from me and looks down at me with his most severe frown. “You think I like what I do? That I’m happy about the path my life has taken?”

I cross my arms over my chest. “Of course, you like it. Who wouldn’t?” I can’t believe what he’s saying.

He throws his head back and growls in frustration, his fists are in balls at his side. “You don’t understand. And I can’t explain it …”

“I don’t need you toexplain.You have shown me everything. Your message is crystal clear. You don’t want to fuck me because—”

He stalks toward me and grabs me by the shoulders. He drops his head down so we’re eye level. “I don’tfuckpeople Ilike, andI don’tlikethe people I fuck.”

His eyes widen in horror the same time as mine do. He lets go of my shoulders and steps away.

My stomach sinks as I replay what he just said. I can’t make sense of it, or the dread they fill me with. “What does that mean?” I whisper. I stare at him, and I see something in his eyes that terrifies me and breaks my heart.

“Forget I said that.” He turns his back on me.

“Graham, what aren’t you telling me?” I grab his arm, and he doesn’t turn around. I walk to stand in front of him. He keeps his eyes firmly on the ground.

“Apollo, drop it,” he says quietly. A very cold tingle runs down my spine. Something is wrong.

“Graham, look at me.” I plead. He shakes his head no and the tingle spreads to my chest. “Please, you can trust me. You don’t have to deal with whatever it is alone.” I place a gentle hand on the center of his chest.

He steps back from my touch, turns his tormented eyes away from me and starts to pace the small studio apartment.

“I can’t. And I may never be able to. I’m sorry.” He stops pacing and faces me. His shoulders are slumped, his expression defeated.

I feel sadder than I can remember feeling in a very long time as I look at him. Close enough that I could reach out and touch him, yet we’ve never been farther apart.

“Why did you say all of those things in the cab?” I ask him quietly but let him hear the accusation in my voice. Yesterday he sent my hopes soaring, and now, he’s clipped their wings and sent them into a free fall.

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