Page 55 of You & I, Rewritten

“Oh, I’m sorry…there seems to be some sort of mistake.” Pure relief floods every ounce of my body. “I don’t have a relationship with that man. I haven’t in years.”

“But sir, you don’t understand. You need to deci—” I hang up, setting my phone back on the nightstand.

“Will, what’s going on?” Graham’s voice is full of concern. I crawl back into bed, claiming my spot against him. I can feel him looking at me, his body tense and rigid.

“Everything’s fine.” I start kissing his exposed chest, running my hand slowly over his hip.

He stops my hand, taking it in his. “But is everything okay with your family? That sounded really serious.”

“Graham, everything isfine…it was a miscommunication, that’s all.” Confusion and compassion are all over his face.Ugh.He’s clearly not going to drop it. “My mom and dad are fine, but I guess my biological father landed himself in the hospital and he had me listed as his next of kin or something…” I hear the indifference in my tone.Graham must think I’m a monster.

“Oh handsome, I’m sorry.” He’s hugging me.Why is he sorry?“Is there anything I can do?” he adds, rubbing my back.

“Like I said, everything is fine!” I’m getting frustrated. Why isn’t he understanding this?

“Okay so should we get ready?” Graham says as he gets up, leaving the comfort of the bed. “Do we need to get going?”

He’s in full-blown hero mode, swooping in and standing by, ready to reconnect me with my sick, long-lost father. I didn’t ask for this, and Idefinitelydon’t want this.

I get up, meeting him at the foot of the bed, our eyes locking as my body squares in front of his. “I don’t know what all ofthisis…” I say waving my hands in his general direction.Unnecessary.“But I’m confused as to how or why you think I’d go rushing off to see someone who I feel nothing for.”

“I just—”

“Graham, I’m not going. End of conversation,” I cut him off before he can get another word in. As I walk to the bathroom again, closing the door behind me, I know just how big of a dick I’m being.He doesn’t understand…how could he with his perfect family?I know that thought couldn’t be farther from the truth, but I don’t care. I’m livid.

The pain this man has inflicted on not just me but my entire family, on Klair, even. It’s not something that just goes away with time. It’s a wound that is just as raw today as it was back when I was younger. Back when I first realized how cruel and pitiful my father is, when I realized he’s never cared.

I yank open the shower door, turning on the water as hot as it’ll go. I need to think, and I need to do it away from Graham and his compassionate gaze and comforting touches. I don’t want to be comforted; I want to be angry. Iamangry.Whenever I think about my father, which, to be fair, isn’t often, I am ripped right back to that very last time I saw him, the dull throb of where he hit me still so present like it happened just moments ago. I’ve never understood, and honestly never will, how after all these years, he couldn’t just choose his family over his need to drink. People do it every single day…they overcome their addictions, face their demons, and move on with their lives. Why the hell couldn’t he be one of them?Why didn’t he want to be?

Leaning against the shower wall, I let the sting of the water envelope me. Almost instantly, my body is fatigued, vibrating through a wide range of emotional distress I’m not even sure I have a name for. Rage? Confusion?

And sadness. I can no longer deny the devastating sadness I feel. As soon as the admission fills my head, a sob I didn’t know was building in my chest erupts, doubling me over in a pain I’ve been running from for years.

My father, one of the few people on this earth who is genetically programmed to love me, could not or would not choose me. An act that has left a scar on my heart so deep, so profoundly mangled, and unfixable, that I’ve convinced myself I’m unworthy of love from anyone, unless I’m this perfect version of who they want me to be. Love has always felt conditional.

Until now.

Graham has shown me just how off my thinking has been. That Iamworthy of love. His love—his unwavering and overwhelming love—is unlike anything I’ve ever experienced, and time and time again, I make a mockery of it by retreating to these toxic habits.

Like father, like son?The thought sickens me.

He doesn’t deserve this.More like I don’t deserve him.

Turning off the water, I wrap myself in a towel, not even bothering to dry myself off. When I open the bathroom door, I see that Graham is standing in the same spot he was when I stormed off. He looks up at me, his eyes wide and tired, and when he opens his mouth to say something, I launch myself at him. Wrapping my arms around him, pressing my dripping body to his, I hold on to him for dear life.

He exhales, squeezing me tighter in the process. “I’m so sorry for assuming,” he says, placing a kiss on my soaking wet hair. “I truly only wanted to help.” His voice is soft, filled with uncertainty, and it kills me to know that my actions, my behavior has made him feel this way.

“I’m the one who needs to be sorry,” I cry, the shower no longer concealing my tears. “I’m so sorry, babe. I should never have snapped at you like that.”

“Shh, I know,” he says, causing the tears to flow even harder. “Come on, let’s get you dried off.”

* * *

Graham pours me another cup of coffee then proceeds to sit directly next to me at the kitchen island. I take a deep sip, savoring its richness and warmth, the sharpness of the caffeine comforting me. I know he wants to talk, I can all but hear his inner monologue going crazy right now. Turning to look at him, I put my mug down and put my hand on his thigh.

“I can feel you biting your tongue,” I say, my tone much softer than it was earlier.

“I am not.” He takes my hand in his, gliding his thumb over my knuckles.Liar.

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