Chapter Sixteen
“Excuse me?” I ask, finally snapping out of my daze.
“Look...” Brad sighs, moving toward the chair beside me.
I immediately get to my feet. If he's divorcing me, the least he can do is stay over there.
“I...” He drags a hand through his hair. “I heard what you said before I left and you were right.”
My eyebrows pull together. “What?”
“I was acting pathetic.” He laughs, but there's no humor in it. “Pining after you. Begging you to take me back.”
I don't say anything. Mostly because that's not exactly what I'd said. But it's not exactly wrong either.
“I've been talking to a friend,” he says casually. “And she made me realize something.”
Instantly my guard goes up. She?
“And what's that?” I ask sarcastically.
“That I ruined us.”
My mouth opens but I can’t find the words to contradict him.
“I finally understand there's no coming back from what I did.” His throat bobs. “At least not for us.”
“And?” I ask, wondering what else this ‘friend’ said.
“And I'd rather end this as friends than drag it out until we hate each other or do something we regret.”
I stare at him. “You mean like you cheating on me?”
His eyes close briefly.
“See?” He gets to his feet, abandoning the beer on the table. “That's exactly what I mean.”
My jaw tightens.
“I do love you,” he says, emphasizing every word. “I probably always will.”
I almost laugh. Almost.
“But the last few months...” He shakes his head. “They've been good for me.”
My tongue traces the inside of my teeth. Interesting choice of words.
“Good?”
“Yes.” He answers loudly. “For the first time since everything happened, I stopped spending every second trying to convince you to forgive me.” He shrugs. “And honestly? It was a relief.”
Brad walks back toward the table and picks up the beer. His thumb scratches at the label, but he doesn't take a sip.
“I started seeing friends again. My work improved.” He lets out a breath. “I stopped waking up every morning thinking about how badly I'd fucked up.”
I raise my eyebrows, not bothering to point out that he had.
Tired of whatever self-discovery journey he's currently on, I cross my arms.
“Well, that's wonderful for you,” I say with an eye roll. “What exactly does that mean for us?”
Brad doesn't answer immediately. Instead, he stares out into the yard.
For a second I wonder if he's playing some kind of a reverse psychology shit on me.
Then he sighs.
“It means I don't want to spend the rest of my life paying for the worst thing I've ever done.”
The words catch me off guard.
His eyes meet mine.
“That's not your fault,” he says quickly. “You have every right to hate me.”
“I don't hate you.” The admission slips out before I can stop it.
His expression softens. “I know. I think we both stopped fighting for this a long time ago, Wyn.”
The nickname hurts.
“And?”
His shoulders sag. “And it means...” He hesitates. “I don't want to do this anymore.”
The irony isn't lost on me. I kinda expected to say those words, in two months.
I don't know if the pain in my chest is from him fucking up my timeline or something else.
Brad doesn't give me much time to analyze the feeling.
“You don't have to move back immediately,” he says softly. “Take a few days. Say goodbye.”
I feel my heart drop. I just got home. And he wants me to leave again.
“Why would I do that?”
“Because I...” He rubs the back of his neck. “I got offered the director position.”
For a second I just stare at him. Of all the possibilities that had crossed my mind, that wasn't one of them.
In all the years I've listened to him complain about hospital politics, then the old director getting fired, and the endless parade of young visionaries who lasted three weeks before crashing out, I never once considered him for the role.
“How?”
Brad lets out a sad smile. “I applied.”
I blink, shocked.
“You applied?” I ask. “What is this, the director of a hospital or a Baskin-Robbins?”
One corner of his mouth twitches. “Teresa made me realize I actually had a shot. So I applied. The board said they always appreciated how I ran plastics.”
I don't hear much past the first part. “Teresa?”
“She's a new intern,” he admits, smiling lightly. “We've gotten close.”
The smile bothers me more than the words.
Actually, no. The words don’t bother me at all. Because suddenly I feel vindicated. Not because I think he's sleeping with her.
Because it proves he hasn't changed. He's just found another woman to lean on. Another woman to confide in. Another woman to tell him how wonderful and misunderstood he is.
My eyebrows shoot up.
“As friends,” he adds quickly.
I let out a short laugh. “Of course.”
“Wyn-”
“So you've got a new young friend, a promotion, and you dumped the ball and chain.” I gesture between us. “How exactly does any of that translate into me moving back to LA when you promised to move here?”
“Because of Sophia.” He says it like it's obvious. Like I'm the unreasonable one. “I can't spend the rest of her life flying back and forth.”
My jaw tightens. “Why not?”
“Wyn...” He looks away. “It's not like you have a job.”
“I do have a family,” I say quietly not letting his words affect me. “One you agreed was important for Sophia's development.”
“Yeah, but you can't seriously expect me to quit my job and move to bumfuck Texas.”
I actually take a step back. Fuck him and his high and mighty attitude.
Shaking my head, I simply say. “No.”
He opens his mouth but I don’t give him a chance to speak.
“No.” I point toward the house. “My daughter has grandparents here. An aunt. Cousins.”
“And she has a father in LA.”
“She could have a father here too.” My nostrils flare. “If only he kept his promises.”
The silence that follows is ugly. Because we both know what I mean.
He could move. He just doesn't want to.
“Look.” Brad sighs. “Just think about it.”
I laugh. Actually laugh. “You think I'm moving?”
“I don't want to take this to court.”
The words wipe the smile from my face.
“But I will if I have to.”
I bite my tongue, fighting the urge to shake him and ask how dragging each other through family court is supposed to help Sophia.
But I don't.
Because if he's giving me time, then he has no idea about the residency requirement.
And why would he? I didn't know about it either until Claire talked to the lawyer.
Which means Brad hasn't talked to one yet. And I need to make sure it stays that way for as long as possible.
I look back at him.
He's not looking at me. No. He's staring at the beer bottle in his hands.
“Where would we live?” I ask.
“What?” His head snaps up.
“If I moved back.” I shrug. “Where would I live? Since you want a divorce, I can't exactly move back into the house.”
Relief flashes across his face. “Uh...” He rubs the back of his neck. “You can have the house.”
I blink. “You'd just give me the house?”
“Yeah.”
“And where would you live?”
“The super from Laila's building called a while back.” He clears his throat. “Said she'd moved out and it'd cost more to break the lease and lose the deposit than keep paying rent.”
For a second I just stare at him. “So, you've been staying in Laila's apartment?”
“I've actually been sleeping there for months,” he continues. “It's closer to the hospital.”
“I guess you're used to it.” The thought slips out before I can stop it. I immediately close my eyes. Not the time.
Thankfully Brad either doesn't hear me or pretends not to.
“Not long-term,” he says. “I'd need somewhere bigger. At least two bedrooms.”
I nod slowly. Even pretending to consider this makes me feel sick.
“We signed a six-month lease on this place. I'd like to stay until then.”
I know it's risky getting that close to the deadline. But what other option do I have?
Brad hesitates.
I clear my throat. “If you want us to be friends, then you're going to have to meet me halfway.”
He doesn't answer. Just stares at me. The silence stretches long enough that I start wondering if I pushed too hard. Finally, he exhales and nods.
“Okay.”
Relief floods through me so fast I almost sag.
For a second I think we've reached some kind of understanding.
“But I'm still filing for divorce.”
That makes me stop.
Because I don't actually know what happens if he files now and we stay in Texas until the residency requirement kicks in. The article I'd read hadn't covered that scenario.
"What's the rush?" I ask with a small laugh.
Brad looks down. Uncomfortable. "I just feel like quicker would be better."
I bite my tongue.
It's Teresa.
Of course it's Teresa.
This asshole isn't rushing because he wants closure.
He's rushing because he's already found another woman.