Chapter 16
SIXTEEN
Dean
I walk until my feet hurt, until the resort becomes a small white speck in the distance and the beach stretches empty before me. The morning sun climbs higher, beating down on my shoulders, but I barely notice the heat. My mind is too full of Brooke—her face when she suggested we be "just friends," the tears in her eyes that I pretended not to see, the way my heart felt like it was being ripped from my chest all over again. I've been here before, standing on the edge of heartbreak while Brooke Callahan chooses safety over us. You'd think it would hurt less the second time. It doesn't.
Sand crunches beneath my feet as I turn back toward the resort, my decision crystallizing with each step. There's no point in prolonging this. The wedding is over, the charade complete. Staying any longer would just be self-torture, watching Brooke retreat further into her shell of practicality and fear, measuring the distance growing between us with each careful word and averted glance.
I thought this time might be different. After our night together, after her admission that she still loves me, I allowed myself to hope. Stupid. Loving someone isn't enough if they don't have the courage to act on that love, to take risks for it, to prioritize it above their carefully constructed plans.
My phone vibrates in my pocket—a text from Robert asking if I'm joining them for the farewell brunch. I send a quick reply confirming I'll be there, adding that I'm changing my flight to head back early. His response is immediate: "Everything okay with you and Brooke?"
I stare at the screen, trying to decide how to answer. The truth—that his daughter and I have been pretending this whole time, that we're no more a couple now than we were when we arrived—would only cause unnecessary pain. The wedding is over, Taylor is happy, and that was the whole point of this charade.
All good. Just ranch business that needs attention.
The lie leaves a bitter taste, but it's kinder than the truth.
By the time I reach the resort, I've mapped out my exit strategy: attend the brunch, make my goodbyes, change my flight, and be on my way back to Colorado before dinner. Clean break. No messy scenes, no extended goodbyes, no more nights lying next to Brooke pretending we have any kind of future together.
I find her in our suite, sitting on the edge of the bed, still in her robe from earlier. Her eyes are red-rimmed, hair pulled back in a messy ponytail—a far cry from her usual put-together appearance. Something in my chest twists at the sight, but I steel myself against it. Her tears don't change anything. They didn't two years ago, and they don't now.
"You're back," she says, standing quickly. "I was getting worried."
"Just needed to clear my head." I move past her to my suitcase, pulling out clean clothes for the brunch. "I'm going to shower."
"Dean, can we talk? About earlier?" Her voice is small, uncertain.
"Nothing left to say." I keep my tone neutral as I gather my toiletries. "You made your position clear."
"That's not fair." She steps in front of me, forcing me to look at her. "I'm trying to find a middle ground here."
"There is no middle ground, Brooke. Not with us." I meet her gaze steadily, letting her see the resolve in mine. "We've never been capable of half measures. I guess it is all or nothing, and you've made your choice."
"By suggesting we take things slow? That we figure out the logistics before jumping in?" She runs a hand through her hair, frustration evident in the gesture. "That's not a rejection, Dean. That's trying to be practical."
"Practical," I repeat, the word souring on my tongue. "That's always been your go-to, hasn't it? The practical choice over the right one."
Her eyes flash with anger. "That's not fair."
"Maybe not," I concede, too tired to argue. "But it's how I feel. And I can't do this anymore—the back and forth, the hope followed by disappointment. I'm changing my flight, heading back to Colorado after the brunch."
She goes still, the color draining from her face. "You're leaving? Today?"
"The wedding's over. Mission accomplished." I shrug, aiming for casualness despite the ache in my chest. "No reason to stay."
"No reason—" She cuts herself off, blinking rapidly against what might be tears. "What about us? What we said last night?"
"What about it?" I counter, letting some of my frustration bleed through. "You said you love me, then in the same breath suggested we be 'just friends.' What exactly am I supposed to do with that, Brooke?"
She has no answer, her lips parting then closing without words.
"That's what I thought." I step around her, heading for the bathroom. "I'll be ready for brunch in twenty minutes."
The shower provides temporary solace, hot water washing away the sand and sweat but doing nothing for the heaviness in my chest. By the time I emerge, dressed and composed, Brooke has also changed, her public face firmly in place—makeup perfect, hair styled, a sundress that reveals nothing of the emotional turmoil from earlier.
"We should go," she says, her voice carefully neutral. "Mom will wonder where we are."
"Right behind you."
The farewell brunch is held in the same beachside pavilion as the welcome dinner, though it feels like a lifetime has passed since that first evening. Circular tables are spread across the wooden deck, laden with tropical fruits, pastries, and champagne for mimosas. The newlyweds are at the center table, Taylor radiant in her happiness, James looking at her like she's the sun his world revolves around.
It's the kind of love I thought Brooke and I might have, once upon a time.
"There they are!" Linda calls, waving us over to where she sits with Robert and several relatives. "We were beginning to think you two were enjoying a private farewell brunch of your own."
The knowing smile she sends our way makes my stomach clench with guilt. If she only knew.
"Just running late," Brooke says smoothly, sliding into an empty chair. "Dean has some ranch business to attend to, so he's heading back early."
"Early?" Linda's smile fades, concern replacing it. "But I thought you were both staying until tomorrow."
"Change of plans," I explain, taking the seat beside Brooke. "One of my hands called with an issue that needs attention. Nothing serious, but better addressed in person."
It's a plausible lie, and one that prevents any awkward questioning. Robert nods in understanding—he's always respected my commitment to the ranch—while Linda seems less convinced but doesn't press.
"Well, that's disappointing," she says after a moment. "We were hoping to have dinner with you both tonight. Our last evening in paradise."
"I'm sorry to miss it." I reach for the coffee pot in the center of the table, pouring a cup for myself and, automatically, one for Brooke with just a splash of cream. "Rain check for the next family gathering."
The words are hollow—there won't be a next gathering, not for me—but they maintain the facade we've worked so hard to preserve. Beside me, Brooke accepts the coffee with a murmured "thank you," her fingers brushing mine in a contact that sends electricity up my arm despite everything.
The brunch unfolds in a blur of food I barely taste and conversations I'll never remember. I play my part with mechanical precision—laughing at the right moments, answering questions about the ranch, keeping up the pretense that Brooke and I are just fine, that my early departure is nothing but a minor inconvenience in our otherwise solid relationship.
Through it all, I'm acutely aware of Brooke beside me, her body language a study in controlled tension. To anyone else, she appears perfectly relaxed, the picture of a supportive girlfriend sending her man off to handle business. But I see the strain in her smile, the slight tremor in her hand when she reaches for her water glass, the way she laughs a beat too late at her cousin's joke.
As the brunch winds down, I make my rounds of goodbyes—hugging Taylor and shaking James's hand, promising to visit them when they return from their honeymoon, accepting hearty backslaps from Robert and his brothers. It feels final in a way I try not to examine too closely.
"I'll walk you out," Linda says as I finish my goodbyes, linking her arm through mine in a gesture that brooks no argument.
Brooke starts to rise, but her mother waves her back down. "Stay and finish your coffee, dear. I want a moment with Dean before he goes."
Alarm flickers in Brooke's eyes, but she subsides, watching as Linda leads me toward the resort entrance where a cab waits to take me to the airport.
"So," Linda says once we're out of earshot of the others, "want to tell me what's really going on?"
I keep my expression neutral. "Just ranch business, like I said."
"Dean." She stops, facing me with the directness I've always respected in her. "I've known you for four years. I'd like to think I can tell when something's wrong. Especially between you and my daughter."
My facade cracks slightly under her scrutiny. "It's complicated, Linda."
"Love usually is." She studies me, her gaze uncomfortably perceptive. "But that doesn't mean you run from it."
"I'm not running," I protest, though the words ring hollow even to my own ears. "I'm just…accepting reality."
"Whose reality? Yours, or the one Brooke has convinced herself is inevitable?" She shakes her head, disappointment clear in her expression. "I thought you were a fighter, Dean."
The gentle admonishment stings more than I expect. "I have fought. I've laid my heart on the line twice now, and twice she's chosen the safe path over us. At some point, you have to protect yourself."
Linda's expression softens with understanding. "She's scared. She always has been—of depending on anyone, of putting her heart in someone else's hands."
"I know that," I say, frustration bleeding into my voice. "I've always known that about her. But I can't force her to be brave, Linda. I can't make her choose me."
"No, you can't." She touches my arm gently. "But you can make it harder for her to walk away. You can refuse to make it easy."
The cab driver honks, reminding me of the ticking clock. I glance back toward the pavilion, where I can just make out Brooke's figure, her head bent in conversation with her father.
"I love your daughter," I tell Linda, the words inadequate to express the depth of feeling behind them. "I probably always will. But sometimes love isn't enough."
"It is when it's real," she counters. "And what you and Brooke have? That's as real as it gets. Even when you're both pretending otherwise."
I blink, surprised by her insight, but before I can respond, she leans up to kiss my cheek. "Safe travels, Dean. I hope we see you again soon."
With that, she turns and walks back toward the brunch, leaving me standing beside the idling cab with the distinct feeling I've just been outmaneuvered by a woman who knows her daughter better than anyone.
The driver takes my bag, stowing it in the trunk while I contemplate Linda's words. Could she be right? Am I giving up too easily, making it too simple for Brooke to retreat to her safe, solitary life?
As I open the cab door, movement catches my eye. Brooke is hurrying across the resort's circular driveway, her sundress fluttering in the ocean breeze, her expression a mixture of determination and panic.
"Dean, wait!"
My hand freezes on the door handle, heart suddenly pounding against my ribs. For a wild moment, I imagine her running into my arms, declaring she's changed her mind, that she's ready to take the risk on us.
But when she reaches me, she stops several feet away, maintaining a careful distance that speaks volumes.
"You were just going to leave?" she asks, hurt evident in her voice. "Without saying goodbye?"
"I said goodbye at the brunch," I remind her, suddenly weary beyond words. "What more is there to say, Brooke?"
She looks lost, standing there with her arms wrapped around herself as if warding off a chill despite the warm Hawaiian sun. "I don't know. I just…it feels wrong, ending things like this."
"How should we end them? With promises we both know you're not ready to keep?" I shake my head, a sad smile tugging at my lips. "Better a clean break than more half-truths."
"Is that what last night was to you? A half-truth?" There's a vulnerability in her question that almost breaks my resolve.
"No," I say softly. "Last night was completely real. That's the problem."
She takes a step toward me, then stops, conflict clear in her expression. "I don't want you to go," she whispers.
"Then give me a reason to stay," I challenge. "A real one, Brooke. Not friendship, not taking it slow. Tell me you're ready to figure this out together, whatever it takes."
The silence that follows is answer enough. Her eyes fill with tears, but she doesn't speak the words that might change everything.
"That's what I thought." I turn back to the cab, my hands numb at my sides, even as I feel a warmth in my chest, an uncomfortable heat that I recognize as the dying embers of hope. "Goodbye, Brooke."
I slide into the backseat without looking back, giving the driver instructions to the airport. As we pull away, I finally allow myself one last glance through the rear window.
Brooke stands where I left her, a solitary figure growing smaller with distance, her arms still wrapped around herself in that protective gesture I know so well. She doesn't wave, doesn't call after the cab, doesn't make any move to stop me from leaving.
And that, more than anything, tells me I'm making the right choice. Painful as it is, walking away now hurts less than staying to watch her slowly back away from everything we could be.
I see Linda talking to her daughter as the cab turns onto the main road, taking me away from the resort, away from Brooke, away from the brief, beautiful dream that we might find our way back to each other.
Back to reality. Back to Colorado. Back to a life without Brooke Callahan—a life I've lived before and will learn to live again, even if right now it feels impossible.