Chapter 48
Rachel
He'd responded within minutes: I'll be there. Thank you for giving me a chance to explain.
Now, sitting in her car outside the coffee shop, she wondered if this was a mistake. Brad was driving four hours from Burlington for this conversation. And Mac had told her he was scared. Had said he trusted her but needed her to consider his feelings.
She'd promised him she'd think about it.
And then she'd texted Brad the time and place anyway.
Rachel gripped the steering wheel. She needed closure. Needed to hear Brad admit what Derek had done. Needed to understand how she'd been so blind.
But was closure worth hurting Mac?
She checked her phone. No messages from Mac. He'd been quiet all morning.
Rachel took a breath and got out of the car.
She arrived at The Grind fifteen minutes early, her hands shaking as she ordered a latte, although she felt like throwing up.
She chose the same corner booth where Derek had surveilled her, some perverse need to reclaim the space, maybe.
Her phone buzzed. Sophie. She’d told her about the meeting.
Sophie: Are you sure about this? Meeting Brad?
Rachel: No. But I need to do it anyway.
Sophie: Want me to come sit in the corner as backup? I can pretend to read but actually eavesdrop.
Rachel: That's sweet but no. I need to do this alone.
Sophie: Okay. But if he says anything terrible, you text me immediately and I'll come throw coffee on him. From MY coffee shop that is. (I can’t believe you went to the Grind!)
Rachel: LOL. Deal.
At 11:07, Brad Reese walked into The Grind.
Rachel's breath caught.
He looked the same: same blond hair, same athletic build, same easy confidence. But there was something different too. Lines around his eyes. A wariness that hadn't been there before.
Brad saw her and his expression shifted, guilt, hope, uncertainty maybe?
"Rachel," Brad said, approaching carefully. "Thank you for meeting me. I know you didn't have to."
"I almost didn't." Rachel's voice was steadier than she expected. "Sit."
Brad sat across from her, hands wrapped around his coffee cup like he needed something to hold onto. The espresso machine hissed behind the counter. Someone laughed at a table near the window.
"You look good," Brad said. "Happy."
"Don't." Rachel's voice was sharp. "Don't do small talk. You said you needed to explain. So explain."
He took a breath. His leg started bouncing under the table, his old nervous tell. "Derek called me after the town hall. He was pissed, said you and your boyfriend destroyed his reputation with lies."
Her stomach turned. "And?"
"And he wanted me to call everyone I know. To tell everyone that you'd been obsessed with him, that you'd misremembered what happened." Brad's jaw tightened. "I told him to fuck off."
"Congratulations on meeting the bare minimum of human decency."
"Jesus, Rachel—"
"No. You don't get to be offended." Rachel leaned forward, her cup cold against her palms. "Why did you believe him, Brad? For months? Why did you believe him over me?"
"Because he was convincing!" Brad's voice rose, then dropped when an older couple glanced over. "He was my physical therapist, my mentor; he'd spent months helping my career. Why the hell would I think he was lying?"
"Because I was your fiancée!"
"You're right." Brad's hands went to his hair, fingers tangling in that familiar gesture that used to mean he was frustrated with a bad game.
Now it just made her angry. "Look, I'm not saying I made the right choice.
Obviously I didn't. But he made it seem so fucking reasonable.
He'd say 'Athletes need space to focus' and I'd think 'Yeah, I do feel distracted sometimes.
' Or he'd say 'She doesn't really get your world, does she?
' and I'd think 'Well, she's not into hockey. ..'"
"I came to every game—"
"I know you did. But you'd be reading sometimes, or you'd zone out when I talked about plays, and Derek made that seem like—like you didn't care about my career.
" Brad's voice was defensive. "He made it sound like you were holding me back.
Like I'd never make it to the NHL if I was worried about you all the time. "
"So you chose your career over me."
"Yes! Okay? Yes!" Brad's voice cracked with frustration. The espresso machine stopped. Everything felt too quiet. "I chose wrong. I was an insecure asshole who believed some manipulative prick over the woman who actually loved me. Happy?"
"No, actually. I'm not happy about that, Brad."
They sat without speaking. Rachel could smell the cinnamon rolls someone was eating two tables over. It made her nauseous.
"Look," Brad said finally, his voice rough.
"I'm not here to make excuses. I fucked up.
" He stared at his coffee, jaw working. "The engagement party; Derek told me that ending it publicly would be 'cleaner.
' That if I did it in private, you'd talk me out of it or we'd drag it out for months.
That being decisive would be kinder in the long run. "
"Kinder?" Rachel's voice was incredulous.
"I know how that sounds now, okay?" Brad looked away. "But at the time, I actually believed him. I thought I was doing the right thing. Being clear. Making a clean break."
"You humiliated me in front of everyone we knew."
Silence.
"You told me I was suffocating you. That I was boring. That loving me was exhausting."
Brad flinched. "And I've spent a year regretting every fucking word."
"Is that supposed to make me feel better?"
"No. Nothing I say is going to make you feel better.
" Brad met her eyes, and there was something raw there.
"But I'm saying it anyway because when Derek called asking me to help destroy you again, I finally realized what I'd been.
Not just manipulated—willing. I was willing to believe you were the problem because it was easier than admitting I was sabotaging my own life. "
Tears prickled behind her eyelids. She forced them back. "Why was it easier?"
"Because I'm a mediocre hockey player who peaked in college!
" Brad's voice rose again, frustrated. An older woman at the counter turned to look.
He lowered his voice. "Because you were smart and gorgeous and had your shit together, and I was barely making rent playing for a semi-pro team nobody gave a fuck about.
And instead of dealing with that, I let Derek convince me you were the reason I wasn't succeeding. "
"That's not an excuse—"
"I'm not trying to excuse it!" Brad's hands clenched into fists on the table. "I'm trying to explain why I was stupid enough to believe him. Why I destroyed the best thing in my life because I was too insecure to admit my career was going nowhere and it had nothing to do with you."
Rachel stared at him. Her latte had gone cold an hour ago. "So you're here to what? Absolve yourself? Feel better about being an asshole?"
"No." Brad's voice went hollow. "I'm here because Derek tried to use me to hurt you again and I finally fucking woke up. Because I saw the town hall video and realized—" He stopped, taking a shaky breath. "I realized I helped him assault you."
Rachel's chair scraped back. She stood without thinking, her whole body recoiling.
"Not physically," Brad said quickly, looking up at her. "But I gave him the weapon. I made everyone think you were the problem. So when he… when he hurt you, you didn't tell anyone because I'd already convinced everyone you were unstable."
She couldn't breathe. The coffee shop smelled too strong, the cinnamon too sweet, everything too close.
"Rachel—"
"Don't." She sat back down slowly, gripping the edge of the table. Her hands were shaking. "You hurt me, Brad."
His voice cracked. "Yeah."
"I spent a year believing I was too much. That caring about someone meant driving them away."
"You weren't too much. You were—" Brad stopped, tears in his eyes now too. "Fuck. You were exactly right. Supportive and loyal and you actually gave a shit about me even when I was failing. And I threw that away."
Nobody spoke. The espresso machine started up again, a piercing whine that filled the silence.
"So what now?" Rachel asked finally, her voice hollow.
He stood abruptly, nearly knocking his chair over. "I'm sorry. For all of it. For being a coward. For believing Derek. For destroying us." He grabbed his coffee cup. "I won't bother you again."
"Brad—"
"What?"
Rachel didn't know what she wanted to say. Thank you? Fuck you? I forgive you? She didn't.
"Nothing," she said finally. "Goodbye, Brad."
"Yeah. Goodbye."
He walked out without looking back.
Rachel sat alone in the coffee shop, crying into her now-cold latte, feeling something shift inside her.
Brad had confirmed what she'd needed to hear: she wasn't the problem. But the confirmation came wrapped in his bitterness, his excuses, his year-too-late regret.
It wasn't clean closure. It was messy and complicated and imperfect.
But it was real.
And maybe that was enough.
The relief was tangled with guilt though. Because Mac had asked her not to do this.
And she'd done it anyway.
She pulled out her phone and texted Mac: I'm coming home.