Letting Go by Molly McAdams Page B

finally heard the double meaning in them. “I’m always moving, Grey. I’m just waiting on you to move with me.”
    Jagger’s hands went out in front of him—as if he was reaching for me—and his face turned pleading, but I turned and sprinted toward the front of the building. Grabbing my purse and keys off the counter, I ran outside and got into my car. It wasn’t until I was pulling away that I realized he could have easily caught up with me—and the fact that he hadn’t meant he hadn’t tried to stop me from leaving. And that made the whole situation worse than it already was.
    Not because I wanted him to stop me. But because I knew I’d just hurt him bad enough for him to not even try, and that was killing me almost as much as his confession had just shocked me.
    I pulled into the driveway at my parents’ house and was out of my car and running toward the door within seconds of putting my car in park. Graham was standing on the stairs, like he’d been coming down them.
    “There you—Grey? What happened?” he asked, his voice rising in alarm.
    “I just . . . he just . . .”
    “Grey, talk to me,” he demanded as he met me in the entryway. “What happened?”
    “Oh my God, what’s wrong?” my mom asked, her steps heavy against the hardwood floor as she quickly approached us.
    “Nothing,” I gritted out. “Nothing, and everything.”
    “What—” Graham began, but I spoke over him.
    “I went to Jagger’s place, and h-he has pictures—drawings of me. He draws me!” I said in exasperation, pointing behind me like Jagger or the drawings would be there. “And he doesn’t draw people, he doesn’t . There were only ones of me.”
    “You’re upset because Jagger draws you?” Mom asked awkwardly, like she was worrying she would need to have me see a therapist, and Graham snorted.
    “Mom, you didn’t see them! They—”
    “Were they dirty?”
    “What? No! But you don’t understand. It—it looked like—you just couldn’t understand if you didn’t see them. And he . . .” I trailed off, I couldn’t force out the words Jagger had told me. A huge part of me was still in denial. Telling someone else would just make this real.
    “No, I think I understand,” Mom said softly, her face falling into the look of sympathy I’d seen so many times from her over the past two years, but this time there was a gentle smile as well.
    When I caught Graham’s expectant expression that was aimed at me, and looked back to my mom, I realized they both understood. “How . . .” I trailed off, and looked to Graham again. “How could you possibly . . .”
    “It’s not a secret, honey.” Mom shrugged and reached out to brush away some hair from my face. “That boy has—”
    “No. No, he can’t.” Oh God. They knew and they looked like they thought it was a good thing!
    “Kid,” Graham said on a sigh. “Come on, think about—”
    “He’s my friend!”
    “Grey,” my mom started again.
    “He was Ben’s best friend!” I yelled. “He can’t—I can’t . . . this isn’t okay!” Hard sobs tore through my chest, but no tears came. “He’s supposed to be my friend, he’s not—he’s not . . . how can he do this? I was going to marry his best friend .” I wasn’t sure I was making sense anymore, but I couldn’t seem to get a grip on what was happening. “I saw the drawings and he got nervous, and he told me he’s always been in love with me! Why would he do that? Why—he can’t do this to us!”
    “When has Jagger ever pushed his feelings on you?” Mom asked. “You had no idea until today, and I would say you still wouldn’t know if you hadn’t seen the drawings. But the rest of us have known since you became friends. It wasn’t hard to see the way he looked at you, or how he still looks at you.”
    “How can you be so okay with this?” I screamed at her. “I was days away from marrying Ben when he died. How can you be okay with someone else wanting to be