by Karen Booth
"I don't want you to worry too much. I know you have work to do. How's it going?”
“Well enough. It’s not easy being around Graham.”
“Graham is there?”
I shook my head. Her forgetfulness was becoming a big concern. “Yes, Mom. That’s the whole reason I’m here. Remember? To photograph his band?”
She was quiet on the other end of the line for a moment. “Oh. Well, is he behaving himself? Because if he isn't, I've got a right mind to set him straight."
She was always so funny when she got ornery, and I loved her protective inclination. "He's behaved, but it's been really hard to be around him. He's just so bloody charming."
"Just like your father. I swear, I had no defense for the man. I couldn't have stayed away from him if I'd wanted to. Not that I'm comparing Graham to your father.”
“I know, Mom.”
“Just don't let him take advantage."
I wasn't sure what sort of advantage she was worried he might take, but I didn't care to discuss it any further. At this point, my biggest worry was the advantages I might be willing to hand to him on a silver platter. "I'll be fine. Don't worry about me. I'd better go though. I'm due to go with the band over to the festival grounds. We have to be there quite early."
"Oh, okay. Well, you take care. Love you, darling."
"Love you, too."
After a quick trip to the loo and a fresh coat of mascara, I met the guys back behind the hotel, where they had a motor pool of golf carts to take the talent down the street to the Music Revolution festival. Organizers had been clear with Reggie that the band needed to be on site hours before their set. We rode in a caravan of motorized buggies, bouncing along through a maze of fenced-off pathways of trampled grass, which led to the backstage area. The sun peeked between clouds, the humidity made a frizzy mess of my hair. The smell of carnival food and beer hung in the air.
I was in the second cart, sitting next to Graham, at his invitation. I suppose I could've said no, but I didn't want to make a big deal of it. And the truth was that whatever shift there had been last night when we talked and again today in the radio studio, we would always be friends. Graham and I were not the sort of people who'd ever be able to completely walk away from each other. There were ties there that could not be broken, no matter what either of us ever did to hurt the other.
Back behind the four main festival stages, trailers were corralled in a horseshoe shape around a large, central space, almost like a picnic area. Each band, or at least the major acts, had their own trailer. There were twelve bands playing on the main stage today. Right now, at mid-afternoon, a-Ha was on stage, with Cyndi Lauper to follow. Banks didn't go on until eight.
Reggie spoke to a woman with a walkie-talkie about locating the Banks Forest trailer. I took a few pictures of him—the light was so perfect. He wasn't a classically handsome guy, but he looked smart and in control, taking care of four guys who meant an awful lot to him and to me. I doubted the magazine would print the photos of Reggie, but it was part of the behind-the-scenes life of Banks Forest and that was what I'd been asked to deliver.
Everyone climbed out when we arrived at our trailer. I sneaked up to the towering fence separating us from the masses. Through a break between the boards, I took a few pictures of the crowd. It was a nearly incomprehensible sea of people stretching off to the horizon, watching the band, talking, and dancing. There were more Banks Forest T-shirts out there than I could count, mostly worn by girls. The fans—their adoring, female fans.
Graham pulled me aside. "Come on, love. Let's go for a walk. Nobody will bother us if we stay back here."
My brain got stuck on "love". He hadn't called me that in ages and it really tripped me up, especially when I noticed that it had made my chest flutter with excitement. "But the guys. I'm supposed to take more pictures." It sounded like a lame excuse, but it was the first thing that came to mind when I wasn't prepared for another heart-to-heart. I had the growing suspicion that Graham was seeking me out because he had some need for me to finally, once and for all, absolve him of his transgression.
He blew out an exasperated breath. "I promise you'll get your chance at more pictures. We'll be spending more than enough time backstage. There's nearly five hours until we go on. And don't forget we have New York ahead of us."
I still wasn't sold and my dad was there in the back of my head, telling me to focus on the job and don’t get involved.
But it was a little late for that. Graham and I had passed the point of “involved” a long time ago. I couldn’t brush him off—not when he seemed so dead-set on talking. What if he needed my help? I might be making a lot of stupid assumptions. "Okay. But I'm bringing my camera. If you do anything noteworthy, I'm taking pictures."
Graham then did the one thing I truly wasn't prepared for, especially not after he'd ambushed me with "love".
He took my hand.
I stood with my feet frozen to the ground, looking down at our fingers clasped as Graham tried to tug me away. I couldn't ignore how conflicted I was. No matter what he and I were about to discuss, I couldn't imagine skipping away from it like a giddy schoolgirl.
We walked away from the trailers back to a fenced-off staging area for equipment. A few security guards were on hand, presumably to keep amps and drum cases from being nicked. No fans to worry about, as close to privacy as we were going to get. We found a shady spot under a tree and we sat, both of us leaning against the fat, gnarled trunk. It was much like a scene from the summer we started dating, when we used to hang out in a park in Stourbridge. I was still living with my parents, and Graham was living in an unkempt bachelor flat with Nigel and Terence and those two were always home. The park gave us the only alone time we could get some days.
We'd sometimes bring a picnic or otherwise sit and talk, always between kisses, lots of kisses. One of the things I most adored about Graham early on was that he hadn't pressured me for sex. We'd taken our time getting there—nearly three weeks. I'd only done it with two other guys before him, and the second one, Bradley, left deep emotional scars and came close to leaving a few real ones. I'd tried to break up with him many times, and it never worked—he'd fly into a rage and throw things, tell me he couldn't live without me. When I'd finally had enough, he got so angry that he'd grabbed me, nearly shaking the life out of me and pushing me to the ground. I forced myself to stay away after that, but I was frightened for a long time afterward, terrified I'd run into him or he'd come after me.
I told Graham that story about a week after we'd starting dating, when he'd asked about my past relationships. At the time, only one close girlfriend knew about Bad Brad, as I'd dubbed him, not even my parents. Graham didn't say a word as I told him the story, and I distinctly remembered worrying that I'd told him far more than any guy would ever want to know. When it was over, he took my hand and wasn't about to let go, speaking softly after a few silent moments. No one should ever hurt a girl, but especially not a girl like you. It kills me to know that happened. I can't imagine anyone ever wanting to hurt you.
After that, he took things very slowly, almost too slowly, all because he wanted to follow my lead. No matter what happened between Graham and me, he would always get bonus points from me for that. He'd listened. He'd cared. A lot.
"What did you want to talk about?" I asked.
He knocked his head back against the tree and ran his hands through his thick mop of hair. I loved the way it would never completely lie flat. It was always sticking up somewhere. "I didn't get to fully apologize to you last night."
I stopped him before he could go any further. "It's okay, Graham. Really. It is. Stop torturing yourself."
He turned to me, brushing my cheek with the back of his hand. "You’re so beautiful, Ang. Inside and out. I could spend a lifetime looking for a girl like you and never find anyone who'd could come close to matching how incredible you are."
I swallowed, hard. His words were pulling me out of the safe place in my head an
d heart, the universe of my own creation where I was over him. And I could feel myself willingly going.
Chapter Seven
Graham
I took a deep breath, desperate to get every word of this right. Being honest with Angie wasn’t scary. It was knowing that I could lay everything out on the table and she still might not want to be with me. Just come out with it already. "The thing is, the last ten months have been the best of my life, but they've also been the worst. The band has achieved things I never thought we could. So few bands get to do what we've done. I still can't really fathom it. And as much as I've grown even closer to the guys, I've realized just how empty I feel. Something has been missing. You."
Angie looked up at me, wide-eyed and a bit sad. "I'm not really sure what to say. I've been through a lot, too. And I'm not going to apologize for breaking up with you. It was the right thing for me to do. So I'm sorry if it made you unhappy, but everything changed that night."
I nodded, accepting each word I deserved. "It was my fault. It was all my fault. I know that. And I'll tell you I'm sorry for a lifetime if I have to." My voice faltered, raw emotion bubbling up out of me. Bloody hell. Keep it together. Good God, it was hard to get past the lump in my throat, knowing that I'd hurt her so much, that if I lost the thing in my life that meant the most, it would be my own doing. "I want you, Angie. I don't want anyone else. It took me ten months to sort that out, but I knew it all along. At least in here I did." I thumped my fist against my chest, right where my heart was threatening to hammer its way out. "If I can have you back, I won’t make the same mistakes again. I’ll never let you walk away."
She closed her eyes and shook her head as if she was rattling my words from her mind. "I don't think you realize what you're saying. It’s not that simple. Or easy."
“But it is that simple. We belong together.” The fact that she couldn’t see that made my stomach bind up in knots, but I had to make my case and I didn’t want to make it complicated. Everything else was complicated. Angie and I didn’t need to be.
She became impossibly still, taking in a deep breath then opening her eyes. “I just spent the last ten months convinced that we don’t belong together. That’s why I’m saying it’s not that simple.”
"It's fate that you got this job taking pictures of the band. I know it is. And just so you know, I had plans to show up on your doorstep the instant I got back to England. You just put me out of my misery a week earlier than I'd planned. I think we belong together, we should be together." I scanned her face and my mind kept going, adding up what I'd said. We belong together. Forever. I hadn't quite made it this far in my thinking before. The thoughts that had been running round in my head for the last months sounded so different when said out loud. I didn't want to let her go. Ever. "Every couple has their test and this was ours and now it's over. I think we should pick out a ring. I think we should talk about a future."
She blinked so many times I wondered if she had something in her eye. "A ring? Are you suggesting marriage? Were you planning this all along?" Complete disbelief crossed her face.
I might've made too big a leap there, but it felt right. The future had seemed a mystery without her. Now that I’d finally woken up to the possibilities, I could see it. Us. Together. A big beautiful flat in the thick of it in London. Coming home to the most incredible girl I’d ever met after being on the road. Better yet, that incredible girl to come with me. "Well, no, I didn't plan it, but it makes sense. You can't deny that."
"So we're just worried about logic now? That's it? Nothing else?"
I took her hand, afraid she might run off. There was something wonky in her voice, something that said she was panicked. Just talk her through it. She’ll see. "If you think about it, this probably would've been happening by now anyway. We'd been together for two years when we broke up. And you know that we were great together. I just needed to get my head straight."
She blew out a breath. "Uh, yeah. I had to do the same thing, and I was trying to help my mum deal with my dad's stroke for half of that time. I know what you mean about getting your head straight, but you and I arrived at completely different conclusions."
I loosened my grip on her, unable to understand why I couldn’t get through to her. She was normally such a logical person, measured and predictable, even. That was part of what I loved about her—she helped me stay on solid ground. Why wasn’t reason working? "Do you really not love me anymore? Because I love you, Ang. More than I've ever loved a soul on this earth."
"It's not a matter of love. I will always love you. I don't know that I could ever stop loving you. But our lives are completely incompatible now. And don't forget that they're that way largely because you followed your dreams with reckless abandon."
"Isn't that part of what you love about me? Didn’t you always say that you loved the way I go for it? Damn the torpedoes and all of that?"
She laughed quietly, but there was an unmistakable edge of exasperation. "It is definitely what I love about you. It's all of the other stuff that's a disaster."
"Like what?"
"Take your pick. The endless touring. The inability to go anywhere without being mobbed. And let's not forget the girls."
"I can't do anything about the first two, but the last one won't be an issue. I've gotten it out of my system. Completely."
Her vision narrowed on my face. "What did it take to get it out of your system, Graham? How many girls are we talking about?"
Bugger. I'd walked right into that one. "You don't really want to know the answer to that, do you? And I didn't exactly keep track."
She sat back and folded her arms across her stomach. "I guess I don't really want to know."
"The important thing is that you were always on my mind. Always. You can ask Chris if you want. He'll tell you I was talking about you all the time."
An unflattering snort popped out of her, oddly adorable coming from Angie. "You don't really expect me to believe that, do you? It's not like you called me. It's not like you wrote me any letters. I show up in Philadelphia for my job and suddenly we're talking about fate bringing us back together? Let's be honest, if you'd really wanted me back, you would’ve done something about it. You just said it yourself. You're a damn the torpedoes kind of guy. You didn't damn a single torpedo for me."
Now I could see why logic and reason wasn’t working. There was still part of her that was right pissed with me, and it had nothing to do with other girls. She’s mad I didn’t go after her. "Ang, think about what you’re saying. Would you have actually read a letter from me? Would you have stayed on the phone with me? Because I didn't think you’d do either of those things."
A frown fell across her lips. "No. I guess not."
"See? I had to do this in person. You know, where you wouldn't be able to avoid my sparkling personality." I probably shouldn't have said that last bit, nor should I have bounced my eyebrows at her like I did, but it prompted a smile out of her. At least the mood was lightened.
She glanced at her Swatch. "Graham, I love you, but this is crazy. Let's just get back to the band's trailer so I can get back to work."
"Hold on. Can I have one thing? For spilling my guts only to be told that I'm a nutter?"
"What?" She cast a distrustful look at me, knocking her head to the side.
A soft breeze blew through, ruffling the canopy of leaves above us. "One kiss. That's all I want. You can tell me to sod off forever, but I'll feel a lot better about it if I can have one kiss."
She sucked in a deep breath—a sure sign that she was thinking. There’d been a time when she wouldn’t have turned down a kiss from me if her life depended on it. Now she had to think. "One kiss. And if I kiss you, you have to stop being a wanker about my job. I'm not only being paid to take pictures, it's my career. Your job is important to you, mine is important to me." The fire was back in her eyes, the one thing I had no defense for. She didn’t often allow that to so noticeably rise above her even nature.
"I promise
." I leaned in and kissed her. At first, her mouth was merely a place for mine to land, but it only took an instant before she was kissing me back. Her lips were even more plump and giving than I'd remembered, the flicks of her tongue so delicate as I parted my lips, her smell even sweeter this close. Sweet memories of kissing Angie swirled with the hot reality of the present. It engulfed me with anticipation and longing. That was familiar response. It also left me with the undeniable conclusion that I was home when I kissed Angie. God I missed this. I missed her.
I cupped the side of her face with my hand, sweeping my thumb across her velvety cheek, desperately wanting her to press into me. She gripped my arm, pulling herself closer. The lower half of my body tightened in response, blood racing, reminding me exactly what she did to me. Another few seconds and I’d really lose all sense of time and place. Being wound up before a show was a good thing, but that was going to make it impossible to think, let alone perform. I had no choice, but to slow things down.
I wrenched my lips from hers. It hurt like absolute hell to do it.
Angie looked down at the ground and smoothed her hair, collecting herself. "Right then. There's your kiss."
Did she not feel the earth move, too? I rarely had a bruised ego, but I’d hoped for more positive feedback. Maybe a conversation about wonderful it had been. I would’ve been much happier with, “Oh, Graham, that was lovely. I’ve missed you so much.”
"Did you like it?” I asked. “It seemed like you did."
"It was nice, all right? Kissing you is always nice. Now let's go find Reggie so I can ask him where he thinks I should watch your set. You can get to your rock star duties, whatever those might be." She stood and brushed dirt and grass from the back of her short red dress. The way the sun filtered through her hair was like light through a prism. Why did every last thing about her have to be so beautiful? How could she make the world stop spinning with a single kiss?
