“I can’t believe we’re here.” Reena grabs my hand as our plane’s tires touch down.

“Me neither. I’m so nervous,” I confess and squeeze her hand back.

“I knoooooow. Apollo, can you believe it? We’re in New York. We have jobs and a flat waiting. And we’re unchaperoned.” Her eyes are wide with excitement, and I laugh.

“You’re unchaperoned,” I correct her. “I’m just as I always was, except now when I’m with you, I won’t have to worry about Karim making sure that we’re home by your curfew,” I tease.

“You’ll miss him. Who’s going to stand in line in the rain at our favorite kabob stand?” We dissolve into giggles that are partly due to mirth and partially due to nerves.

I’m as nervous as I’ve ever been. My life looks so different than what I’d thought it would.

“Lucas is meeting us, right?” Reena asks when the seat belt sign goes off and the plane suddenly comes alive. We’re in the back so we don’t bother standing up yet because it’ll be a while before we’re able to get off.

“Yeah, he insisted. I wish he hadn’t,” I confess with a pained look on my face.

“You’re crazy. He’s cute and smart. And he’s crazy about you. I mean, if you don’t want him, hand him over. I’d know just what to do with him.” This is her standard retort. I don’t tell her that some days I wish I could hand him over.

Lucas and I have been dating seriously for the last year and a half now, and when I told him I was going back to the States, he took a position in the New York City office of his bank and was here before me. He’s nice, I just wish … I felt more. I hope that being in New York City, both of us working and living adult lives will make things feel more ... special.

We step out of the Jetway and into the bustling, bright, loud terminal at JFK. I pull out my US phone and turn it on. It starts to buzz with notifications almost immediately. I check the voice mails and hold my breath until it updates. There are two new messages from Graham, on August second of this year and last.

“Come on, I need to pee.” Reena nudges me, and I slip my phone back into my pocket and follow her across the terminal to the bathroom.

“Hey, I see a bookstore. I’ll wait for you there.”

“Of course, bookworm. I’ll follow the sounds of rapture when I’m done,” she teases, and I laugh.

I’ve never met a bookstore I could resist. I’m smiling as I walk toward it.

And then, I see him. I stop dead in my tracks and mumble a distracted apology to the woman who yelped as she walked into me.

“Jerk,” she mutters without stopping.

I step out of the stream of people trying to get out of the airport and into the bookstore. I walk to the book and can only stare.

Fallen is scribbled in bright blue font across Graham’s bare, lickable chest. His eyes are defiant, his hair swept off his face, and long falls of silky gold hair hang over his shoulders.

“He’s yummy, right?”

I jump. “Ree! Shit, you scared me!”

“Clearly. I called your name twice.” She peers closely at the cover. “Oh my God, it’s that trainer on Instagram. What happened to him?”

My heart jumps, and I turn to look at her. “What do you mean? How would I know?”

“I mean, I don’t actually expect you to know,” she scoffs. “But, didn’t you follow him? His videos were so hot. Then they just disappeared.”

I’ve never spoken to her about Graham. I never knew how to explain who he was and how I felt about him. One day, I’d left it open on his feed when I went to the bathroom while we were studying. I came back to find her ogling him on my phone.

I told her I followed him for the workouts and she believed me. She started following him, too. When his IG feed disappeared early this year, I was relieved. It was my secret torment, lying awake at night watching his videos. I took his account disappearing as a sign.

This is the first picture I’ve seen of Graham since then.

She reaches around me and snags one of the books off the shelf. “I completely understand why. I’m buying it so I can look at that face whenever I want to.”

I blink at her.

“Do you even know what the book is about?” I ask her.

“Who cares?” She looks at me like I’m an idiot. “He’s hot. The book is fifteen bucks. I’m buying it.”

“I wouldn’t buy a book just for its cover.”

She stares at the cover and sighs.

“It’s not the same as watching him push his hair off his face when cooling down. Or how he bites that sexy bottom lip of his whenever he lifts something really heavy. When he does that, I want to take my panties off and fling them at the screen. But, it’ll do.” She chuckles and walks off toward the cash register.

Holding Graham in her hands, I almost call after her, tell her to give him back. I know how crazy that would look. Instead, I pull every single copy off the shelf. It takes three trips to the cash register, but I walk out of there with two shopping bags full of Graham’s bare chest. I don’t know what I’m going to do with them, but all I know is that I couldn’t leave them there.

“Uh, what’re you doing?”

“Oh, my aunt is in a book club. They love romance, so I thought I’d buy these and mail them.”

“That’s really nice. Big book club, huh?” She nods at the stack of books on the shelf.

“Yeah, huge,” I lie and pay for my books.

I don’t stop to think as I go through immigration, customs and then baggage claim. It’s not until I’m in the back of my cab, speeding down Grand Central Parkway to my new apartment on the Upper West Side that I let myself look at the copy of the book I snagged out of the bag before my driver threw them into the trunk.

And just like that. All my distance, all my hard work, all my healing was undone. I’d been lying to myself. I’m not over him. Not even close.

While Reena texts her mom and sisters, I open my phone’s browser to do something I’ve resisted doing for two years.

I Google Graham.

I swipe over pictures that chronicle nearly every move he’s made in the last two years.

He’s a real celebrity. Not just Instagram famous. I had no clue. They’re calling him one to watch, the next big television personality.

He’s still got his private personal training business, but now he’s got a workout app.

And he’s modeling.

He’d changed so much. I watch some of the videos on Gawker, and even the way he walks is different. And then, I see a picture of him eating with his “friend” Nanette Mannerman. There’s another picture of them walking out of an office building together. She looks like she’s only gotten younger. Her signature skin tight black dress does everything for her body.

I read some of the comments under the pictures. Most of them were about how gorgeous Graham was. But some were more insidious. Saying things like “Must be nice to have a golden cock.” Or “She’s his Sugar Mama. I wish I could afford a piece of ass that hot.”

Alarms sound in my head. Graham sleeps with Nanette because she has money? Would he do that?

I swipe through all of the pictures until I can’t stand it anymore. I hit the back button on my browser until I’m back at the original search.

The top hit is an article dated two days ago. The headline reads, “Graham Davis Talks Sex and Love”

I open it and hold my breath while it loads.

The article starts with a huge picture of Graham. He’s dressed in a navy blazer suit with a navy-blue button down that’s open at the throat. He’s laughing, leaning toward the camera, with his beautiful white teeth which look a lot straighter than they did last time I saw him. He’s always had a great smile, but his smile used to have character. Now, he looks … I search my brain for the word. It’s not unauthentic or contrived. It’s more like he looks like he’s been packaged.

As I read the article, I realize that’s exactly what he is—a product.

It opens by telling the reader all about his viral YouTube channel and his line of workout socks that are about to hit stores.

I press play.

Graham and a woman are sitting across from each other in those chairs movie directors sit in.

He’s dressed casually in jeans and a light blue sweater. The beautiful woman across from him, who the chyron identifies as Amber Roberts, is wearing a skin tight red dress that makes her beautiful nutmeg complexion glow. Her stunning face is blessed with the most beautiful lips I’ve ever seen on another human being. Her red lips are parted in a breathtaking smile as she listens to something Graham is saying while the intro music to the interview is playing.

I’m tempted to press the fifteen-second skip button, so I can hear the interview. But I don’t want to miss a second of looking at Graham. So, I suffer through watching her bat her eyelashes while he talks, his hands moving expressively, and his gaze on the face of the beautiful woman he’s talking to.

Jealousy surges back to life, and after almost three years of lying dormant, the green monster is very well marinated. I’m about to close it when they start talking.

I pull my finger off the screen and turn up the volume on my earbuds.

“So, Graham, what’s it going to take for you to give up your notorious bad boy ways and settle down? Asking for a friend.” She looks at the camera, winks and mouths, “Not” with a coy smile.

I want to barf.

Graham laughs like he actually found that lame-ass joke funny.

“Well, tell your friend I said it would take a miracle,” he deadpans, and she titters.

I am yet to understand what the hell is so funny.

“You are breaking hearts all over the world right now. Say it ain’t so. Do you still have that notorious PussyPhone?”

I gasp. What in the world?

He laughs and shakes his head as if it’s funny.

“Oh, yeah. Of course. At this point in my life, I’m having a good time.” He shrugs nonchalantly.

She looks down at a note card on her lap. I can’t believe she actually prepared these idiotic questions.

“Well, last week you were overheard telling someone that you only see a woman twice if you like her. Is that true?”

“Why the hell do you even care?” I mutter through gritted teeth.

Graham laughs. “Yeah, it’s true. If you see me on a third date, then you know that’s a girl I’m gonna marry.”

“Well, we’ll have to pay extra close attention to your dates, then.”

She looks at the camera again. “Celebrity Life citizen journalists, we expect you all to be extra alert when you catch Graham out with his dates.”

They both start laughing, and I close the browser. I can’t watch another second. I can’t believe that this is what Graham is doing with his life. My brilliant star who wanted to be a teacher.

Who loved to talk about astronomy, life and wanted to see the world is giving interviews about his sex life?

The ache in my chest is back. As much as I hated watching that, it’s just the reminder I needed.

This is what loving Graham feels like. I’m not going to let myself back on that ride. It’s taken me so long to get over him.

I don’t know that I actually am. But, the Graham I love is gone. The man I just watched on that interview isn’t him. And him, I could never love.

“We’re here, oh my God,” Reena says, and I pull my headphones out of my ears and throw my phone in my bag.

“I can’t believe I spent my first ride through New York City with my nose in my phone. James is so needy. This separation will be good for him, I think.” She leans forward and pokes her head up to ask the driver, “Did we pass the Statue of Liberty? I really hope I didn’t miss it.”

He chuckles as he gets out of the cab. “Don’t worry miss, we didn’t drive that way.”

We rented an apartment on the Upper West Side right on the edge of Harlem. Reena found it for us when she came for her interview, and we squealed like kids when she’d called me on FaceTime to show me around. I can’t believe we’re here.

We gather our bags and head into the building.

I drop the bags of books into the trash can outside the door.

No more Graham.

I miss him, but he’s clearly fine without me.

I’m going to do my best to be fine without him.

“Hey, where do you think you’re going?” Nanette shouts at me as I walk down her pretty tree lined street toward the corner where my Uber is waiting. I wonder if her neighbors know that their pretty little piece of upper-class suburbia is home to one of Los Angeles’s biggest pimps.

“Home,” I say without turning around.

“I’ve been calling you since this morning. You’ve got a client today!” she yells, and despite my promise to myself that I wouldn’t, I turn around. She looks like she’s been working out. Her blonde hair is pulled back into a high ponytail, and she’s wearing the barely there workout clothes that all of the women at Talisman wear. I cross my arms and face her.

“Sorry, I can’t meet a client today.”

She narrows her eyes and twists her mouth into a scowl. “What the fuck do you think this is, Graham?” She leans toward me and grits her teeth.

“You don’t decide when you see a client. I do.”

I shrug.

“Not anymore. I’m done. I quit. You’re fired.”

Her blue eyes widen and then she bursts out laughing.

“You can’t fire me. What? So, you’ve been on a book cover, and your stupid YouTube channel has a lot of followers. None of that will pay you what I do. And what about your mother? She’s not getting better. She’s just going to need more care.”

I shake my head in disgust. She’s played this card for far too long, and I can’t wait to never see her face again.

“Yes, she is. And I’m going to give it to her. My stupid YouTube Channel? Well turns out when you have as many followers as I do, and you’ve got a real agent, it does equal money. Lots of it. Enough that I don’t need your fucking job. So, I’m done.”

Her face goes slack.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, the check from the production company that didn’t think my YouTube channel was stupid cleared a couple of days ago. And it means that yesterday afternoon, I moved my mother and her nurse into the house I closed on yesterday morning. It means that I can get into that Uber and have it take me to a dealership and buy myself a car. It means I’m done being your whipping post. It means I get to live my fucking life.”

Nanette’s face contorts into a mask of rage. She leans toward me, her face red, her eyes wide and menacing. But I’m not scared. She’s done her worst already.

“You are so fucking disloyal,” she spits. “I made you.” She points at me. “Do you think you’d even have an agent if I hadn’t put you on the map? You owe me!” she growls.

I scoff in disgust, of course. She only cares about how she can benefit.

“You’ve gotten everything from me that I’ll ever give you. You’re lucky I haven’t turned your little prostitution ring into the police,” I tell her.

She pales, but her expression loses all of its expression. “You know what? You think you’re holding all the cards. Tell the police whatever you want. I’m just a matchmaker. I set up consenting adults. There’s nothing wrong with that. If you thought your sex was mandatory, Graham, I’m sorry. Did any of your clients have to force you to fuck them?” she asks, eyebrow arched.

“No, but you can’t pretend you didn’t know what you were setting us up for,” I tell her, shocked that she’s even attempting to.

“Of course, I can. And I will,” she says with an expression that is completely devoid of any emotion.

My blood runs cold. But she’s not done. She crosses her arms over her chest.

“Since you’re in the mood to play blackmail. Let’s see how your production company feels about the fact that you were selling your ass to pay for the lifestyle you flaunted on Instagram. How many sponsors will want to buy advertising on a show where the host is a whore?”

Her jab hits home. My chest aches because I can’t refute that.

She laughs cruelly. “Didn’t think of that, did you? Well, don’t forget it. I go down, you go down. I’m not losing my income. I’ll expect you to make me the same amount of money every month.”

My mouth grows dry.

“I’m done, Nanette.”

“So you said. I’ll miss the delicious body. And so will your clients. You’ve got a great cock, Graham. But I can find another.” She smiles coldly. “Just make sure you pay me what I paid you every month and you’ll be fine. You live your life, and I’ll live mine.”

“You’re the fucking devil,” I snarl at her.

“That’s right, Graham. And you’re stuck in hell with me.” She laughs, winks, and then turns around and jogs back up to her house.

I turn around and keep walking. She thinks she’s won. Let her. What Nanette paid me every month isn’t a lot of money to me now. And if it just means that I can have my life back, it’s the best value for money I’ve gotten in my life.

I get into my Uber and pull my phone out. I scroll through and dial a number I haven’t dialed in three years. I hold my breath and hope that she’ll answer this time.

“Hello?” The singsong voice on the other end of the phone makes me smile.

“Tante Isabel?” I ask quietly.

“This isn’t … Graham? Is it?” she asks, and I relax at the smile I hear in her voice.

“Wow. I didn’t expect to hear your voice again,” she says coolly.

“Yeah, we lost touch,” I say vaguely.

“Ah, is that what you call stomping all over a young girl’s heart?” she asks sweetly, almost absentmindedly.

I feel that like a kick to my gut.

But I can’t argue differently. I know I fucked up.

“I’m sorry. It was a difficult time.”

“Mm-hmm,” she says. “So, what can I do for you?”

“Uh, yes. I wondered … The number I had for her has been going to voice mail—”

“Well, I can help you with that,” she says brightly. “That girl’s so hard to pin down. She’s living in New York now, but she’s always off somewhere buying art,” she laughs fondly.

Apollo’s in New York.

She’s doing what she said she would.

That’s my girl.

“I can give you her number. To her apartment, anyway. That cell phone of hers is always dropping calls. I never call it anymore. Hold on.”

I pump my fist. I thought I was going to have to beg for Apollo’s information.

“I’m trying to find the paper with her number. One second. You should go look at her Instagram. She posts all of her fun pictures on there. Are you on there?” she asks and I can hear the rustling of paper.

“Yeah, I am,” I say, even though I hardly use it all anymore. Dean has put someone in charge of all my social media posting.

“Me, too. Follow me. Apollo’s at @Sunandherstar. It’s the name of her gallery, too.” I drop my phone.

Sun and her Star. That’s us. Hope springs to life in my chest.

I reach down to pick it up from the floor of my cab. I put her on speaker and open my note taking app. “Sorry, I dropped my phone. I’m ready for her number,” I say, anticipation bubbling in my gut. I can’t believe that in a few minutes, I’ll have Apollo’s number.

I can get to New York in a few hours. I grin up at the top of the car.

“Ah, here it is. She’s out of town until tomorrow. But if you call, Lucas will take the message.”

My smile falls. “Who’s Lucas?”

“Oh, he’s her boyfriend. Such a dear boy. He does something with banks or something. He’s always at Apollo’s place.” Her voice is cold and has lost all of its false civility.

My stomach drops, and my throat constricts.

“You see, Graham, when you cast aside a gift, someone else will pick it up. She would have walked over a pit of snakes for you. I see you, famous, driving a fancy car. I hope those things make you happy.”

Each word feels like the lash of my stepfather’s belt. Breaking something. Reordering my life. Casting a shadow so impenetrable over the small reservoir of hope that I’ve harbored, that I can’t feel it anymore.

“She’s happier than I’ve ever seen her. Settled, doing a job she loves. Don’t you dare ruin it. Do you hear me? She deserves to be happy. You need to let her have that!” she warns.

I hang up.

I open the Instagram app on my phone and search for Apollo’s handle. I scroll through the pictures and with each one, the sunlight that I’ve clung to recedes. Apollo looks beautiful. Nearly every picture is of her holding a piece of art. And then there’s one of her and a man. He’s standing behind her, grinning smugly at the camera. She’s looking at the ground, her hair hiding her face. But I can imagine she’s smiling, too.

I turn my phone off.

Isabel is right.

I threw Apollo away, and now she’s moved on.

It’s time for me to do the same. Everyone looks at me and thinks I have a great life.

I finally have a chance to make that as true on the outside as it appears.

My mother is in remission and is back home.

I’m finally free of Nanette.

I have money and I’m about to start filming my television show.

So what if I don’t have Apollo? I didn’t need her to be happy.

I’ve busted my ass. I’ve sacrificed.

I’m going to enjoy it.