46. The Black Dog
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
the black dog
ABI
REYNOLDS VINEYARD
PRESENT DAY
Brendan hasn’t said a word to me in two minutes.
When I walked up to him, he just stood there .
It was oddly anticlimactic.
I should have come out swinging, maybe chased him through the vineyard calling him a cheater, anything to get a rise out of him. Instead, we’re both just sort of standing here as he slides his hands into his pockets, rocking back and forth on his heels.
His apathy only makes my rage swell.
“You actually made it... With your, uh, boyfriend?”
“Fiancé,” I correct him, through a clenched jaw.
“Right.”
He was so brave on Facebook, so callous, and now he can barely look at me.
“You’re such a fucking coward,” I growl.
“What?”
We stare at each other, and I take in those boyish features I used to fawn over as a teenager: his perfectly coiffed dark hair and those intense brown eyes that used to make him look like he was untouchable.
I remember watching him on the football field, shirtless, running plays over and over again with his teammates. He was perfect, and we were so in love; I really convinced myself that we’d be together forever.
What an idiot.
“You told me you loved me, you proposed to me, and then you walked away and never even looked back.” I let out a pained laugh. “Brendan, you blocked me on everything and wouldn’t even take my fucking calls. I had to go through three degrees of separation or talk to your mom to get even a half-straight answer about where you were or why you left, and even then it was just vague bullshit. Three goddamn years without an explanation, and then all of a sudden you invite me to this reunion? Why? So you can throw your brand new life in my face?”
“Jesus, Abi, you’re fuckin’ drunk. You don’t want to make a scene.”
No. He doesn’t get to do this to me. I’m not crazy. I know what he did.
“What I am, is angry. You got away scott free, had a baby with Carly, and you left me to pick up after your fucking mess. Oh hey, speaking of that, how old is your son by the way? Looks like he’d be about?—”
“Abi, I’m warning you,” he snarls.
It’s too late. I’ve got my mother’s rage inside me, and right now, I’m fashioning it into a fucking shiv.
“Warning me? Brendan, all I’ve been asking for is an answer to the most simple fucking question on the planet, an answer that anyone but a limp-dick coward would have given me day-one.”
Brendan’s eyes are cold and steely, his fists clenched at his sides.
“That’s it? You’ll stop making a scene if I tell you why I left?”
“Yes!” I shout. “Finally, we’re fucking getting somewhere!”
Brendan’s scowl deepens, and he lowers his voice.
“Because every time I looked at you, every time we touched, I felt nothing .”
The words hit like a ton of bricks.
Everything I was afraid of back then.
It was me, I was the problem.
He didn’t love me.
Could I have tried harder?
I feel my head spinning, and I swear my legs are about to give out.
He didn’t love me, all the times he said he did.
He told me over and over that I was doing things wrong.
He never even tried.
And there it is, that moment of clarity.
It’s like I’m floating above my body, watching myself as I smile,
Shake my head,
And toss my wine right into Brendan Howard’s face.