Chapter 21
Twenty-One
Briar
I smile at West from across his kitchen table.
He smiles back.
Silence—something that’s not been unusual tonight, but something that’s seriously unusual with West and me in general—falls.
Typically, it’s easy with West.
Conversation flows and it’s not a struggle to find things to relate about.
Hockey and work, funny stories with the team and drama at the office. Frankie’s latest Frankieisms and the fact that the young kids on the Vipers don’t know what a floppy disk is.
Tonight isn’t that.
I don’t know what it is—or maybe I don’t want to allow myself to accept what it is.
But deep down I know. With so much certainty it’s filling the room.
And I’m not so naive as to think that West hasn’t picked up on it too.
He took one look at my face when he answered the door then leaned in and kissed me on the forehead.
Then hugged me tightly.
No words. Just West.
And…cue guilt.
For sitting with Colt late into the night, for talking about TV shows and old memories and then…falling asleep pressed against him.
It felt so right, reclined on the loveseat, the world quiet and dark around us.
Not fighting. Just talking. Just us being Colt and Briar again.
If I’m being completely truthful, it was like coming home.
Finally feeling like myself again after all these years.
Meanwhile, I’d just come from a date with the man sitting across from me, the man who’s been patient and kind and sweet and not at all an asshole about my baby daddy returned from the dead who’s living in my house.
God, West really deserves so much better.
“Thank you for cooking,” I say softly.
He studies me with eyes that see far too much. “It’s not a problem, sweetheart.”
See? He’s so damned nice.
“Right,” I whisper, focusing back on the plate of homemade pasta.
Yup.
Homemade pasta.
And garlic bread.
That’s not homemade—the bread at least. The garlic deliciousness he spread on top of it before putting it in the broiler to get all golden-brown and crispy and yummy is, though.
And he made his own Caesar dressing too.
Something that’s also delicious.
He’s clearly putting in the effort.
Showing me this time with me means something to him.
The worst part is that it means something to me too.
Which is why this is so freaking hard.
I scoop up a forkful of pasta, but I don’t lift it to my mouth—or I can’t because I feel like I might throw up.
Clink.
My eyes fly up and I see West has dropped his fork to his plate.
Before I can ask him what’s wrong, he pushes his chair back, rounds the table, and takes my hand, drawing me up from my seat.
“Wh—?”
But he doesn’t speak, just drops his head and kisses me.
It’s a great kiss—his lips are firm, his tongue is sure as it darts into my mouth, his arms are strong, his body flush against mine…
And yet, it’s so totally wrong.
He pulls back the moment those words drift through my head.
“Yeah,” he murmurs. “I knew it.”
I press my hand to my chest, heart sinking, stomach twisting. “Knew what?”
His eyes close and he releases me, turning away, hands settling on the island, and when his head drops, shoulders slumping, I know.
“West,” I whisper.
He’s still for a long moment. Then his head lifts and his eyes lock onto mine.
And God, the pain in them hurts, almost as much as his words.
“I felt it the moment I walked into Sunday Dinner.” A breath, his big body shuddering. “But I knew it when I saw the way you looked at him when he held Frankie up to grab a puck.”
I suck in a breath, a tear slipping down my cheek.
“You looked like a family.”
Fuck.
My lungs hitch, and I shake my head. “I didn’t— We didn’t— Nothing’s happened—” A sob escapes. “West, I promise you nothing has happened between us. I’m with you—”
“No, honey,” he whispers, “you’re not.”
Hand pressing harder against my chest, I step back…
And stumble.
But he’s there, steadying me before I can fall.
Of course he is.
Because West is such a good guy.
“I know nothing’s happened,” he murmurs, drawing me close, hugging me tight. “Because you’re Briar. Because you’re sitting across from me, eating your favorite meal, and you’re tearing yourself apart, baby. I’m falling for you—no, I fell for you a long while back.”
“I—”
He lightly presses his thumb to my lips. “I know you were right there with me. I know. But he’s the one for you. He’s Frankie’s dad. He’s Colt, and I can never, ever compete with that.”
Said with blunt, heartbreaking honesty.
Another sob escapes, and I bury my face in his chest.
“West,” I whisper.
His hand settles on the back of my head, keeping me there while I try to not completely fall apart.
“I didn’t want us to end like this,” I say when I can manage to speak.
A light tug at my hair has my head lifting. “I know,” he says gently. “But you can’t turn yourself inside out trying to keep it.”
I close my eyes. Breathe. Then open them again. “You deserve to be with someone who’s not doing that.”
“Yeah,” he murmurs, but something about the way he says that has my heart convulsing.
Because I’m not sure he believes that.
“West,” I begin.
He turns and starts for the hall. “Come on, sweetheart. Let’s get you home.”
“I can—”
His eyes hit mine, hold.
“Briar, I may not be the man who gets to show you how precious you are. But I’m the man who’s driving you home.”
As usual, instead of West making things hard, he even makes breaking up easy.
The drive is quiet, but he turns on a playlist to fill the quiet, to make it so we aren’t sitting in painfully awkward silence.
And then he walks me up to the front door, touches his knuckles to my cheek, and whispers, “Be well.”
Be. Well.
The only saving grace is that Colt doesn’t open the door tonight.
But he’s right inside the hall when I unlock and push through the entrance.
And suddenly, it all hits me.
And I’m hurt and scared and freaked out and—
“Go away,” I mutter.
He lifts his hands. “I’m just getting a beer.”
But he doesn’t go get said beer.
Or go away.
Instead, he steps closer, face clouding. “What the fuck happened, Briar?”
“Nothing.” I turn for the stairs. “I’m going to bed.”
He snags my arm, drawing me to a halt, eyes molten, anger in his words. “Did he hurt you?”
Protective Mode activated.
And I just don’t have the patience—or maybe the strength—to handle it.
“No,” I snap. “Now go away.”
He doesn’t go away, of course he doesn’t.
In fact, he draws me closer.
And it feels good.
Guilt ripples through me. I am such a fucking mess.
“I’m going to kill him,” Colt growls.
I jerk my arm free, shove at his chest. “West didn’t hurt me. If anything, I was the one to hurt him.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
“It’s none of your business.”
“Briar.”
Ugh.
He’s not going to let this go, and I just want to go upstairs, cry my eyes out so I can have my shit together for Frankie in the morning.
He turns gentle. “Talk to me, baby.”
Gentle. I can’t handle gentle right now.
Which is why I say something unforgivable.
“Why did you come home now? I was finally doing good, finally over you and moving on a-and now you’ve ruined everything!”
His eyes flash with anger.
And hurt.
More things to feel guilty about.
“Well,” he says evenly. “I’m back and I’m not leaving.”
“Well,” I parrot meanly, “you're no longer welcome to do that with me.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
“I mean,” I draw out. “You’re not going to be living here. So, we’d better figure out how to co-parent.”
His eyes hold mine.
For a long, long time.
I hold his gaze right back.
“Are you fucking kidding me?”
I lift my chin. “I want you out in a week.”
“You don’t mean that.”
“I do.”
“Briar.”
“I fucking do, Colt. All you’ve done is fuck everything up and I’m done being the one who has to sort through the aftermath.”
His face clouds, but I don’t stick around.
The guilt and hurt is choking me, and I’m about to lose it.
I can’t have him around to see that.
So, I turn on my heels, sprint up the stairs, rush into my bedroom, and shut the door, leaning back against it.
Waiting.
Half expecting him to be right behind me.
Knocking.
Demanding I let him in.
But there’s nothing but silence…until there’s not.
Because as I’m standing there in my bedroom, heart aching, tears streaming, and feeling like I’m going to puke, I hear the front door open and close.
I hear Colt leaving.
And that’s when my knees give way.