35. Darcy
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
darcy
Brett looks exactly the same.
Pressed white button-down beneath one of his dark jackets, sandy-brown hair clipped short at the sides the way he always kept it.
The only difference is the white lilies wrapped in brown paper that’s currently hanging from one hand, like he stopped somewhere before coming here because bringing flowers was what a guy surprising you was supposed to do.
For one disorienting second, my brain tries to place him somewhere he belongs— outside our apartment in Philly, coming back from a takeout run, on the couch after work. Then the brownstone behind him snaps back into focus and my stomach drops so fast I feel like I might throw up.
“Oh my god.”
Tyler mumbles something beside me, but it barely registers.
All I can see is Brett.
“Hey, Dee.”
That nickname used to melt me. Three years of hearing it across kitchens and parking garages and lazy Sunday mornings. Three years of him saying my name like he knew me better than anybody else on earth.
Now it just sounds wrong. Like somebody calling for a person who doesn’t live here anymore.
“What are you doing here?”
He smiles—a small, patient smile I’ve seen a thousand times before. The one that always made me feel like I was overreacting before either of us had said another word.
“I was in Boston.”
“At midnight.”
“I called you.”
“We were…” My voice catches for half a second. “I was out.”
“Yeah.” His eyes move over me slowly. “I noticed.”
For a second, I don’t understand what he means. Then I remember I’m still wearing Tyler’s jacket.
Brett takes in the oversized sleeves wrapped around my hands before his gaze drifts past me.
His eyes flick from Tyler to Mack and back again, lingering just long enough that I know he’s taking them in now.
The height. The shoulders. The fact that neither of them looks particularly interested in leaving.
His mouth tightens briefly before he smooths it away again.
“Who are these guys?”
“We live here,” Mack says.
Tyler looks at me instead of Brett.
“You want us inside?”
The question catches me off guard because he’s asking instead of deciding for me or stepping in because he thinks I need to be managed.
“No,” I shake my head. “Stay.”
Brett’s eyes narrow at that.
“I didn’t realize that you had roommates.”
“I didn’t realize you’d be showing up uninvited to my apartment.”
His jaw clenches.
A cab turns the corner at the end of the block while nobody says anything, music floating faintly from somewhere further down the street.
The city keeps moving around us while my entire nervous system tries to catch up to the fact that Brett is standing on my stoop holding flowers, like we’re still living in the same version of our lives as six months ago.
“You look good,” he eventually says.
His eyes dip briefly toward the dress before coming back up.
“That color always looked good on you.”
Tyler goes still beside me, which I’ve learned is usually a sign he’s trying very hard not to say the first thing that comes to mind.
“I asked you what you’re doing here.”
He lets out a slow breath through his nose.
“You left.”
That same calm certainty he’d use whenever we argued, like if he stayed steady long enough I’d eventually realize he was right and I was just making everything harder than it needed to be.
“Yes,” I say carefully. “I did.”
“You disappeared.”
“I moved.”
“You cut everybody off.”
I blink at him.
“I moved to Boston, Brett. I didn’t fake my own death.”
Tyler makes a sound beside me that he tries to turn into a cough.
Brett doesn’t even look at him.
“I think we should talk.”
“We are talking.”
I cross my arms.
“No.” His eyes stay on mine. “A real conversation. Alone.”
There it is again. That calm, patient tone I’d spent three years mistaking for reason. If he stayed steady long enough, eventually I’d get emotional, we’d stop talking about what I’d actually said, and somehow I’d end up apologizing instead.
“You don’t get to show up outside my apartment after three months and act like we just hit pause in the middle of an argument,” I say.
His expression twists into anger.
“You left before we really got to talk about anything.”
A laugh escapes my throat before I can stop it.
Sharp enough that all three of them look at me.
“Without talking about anything.”
“Darcy—”
“No, I just want to make sure I heard that correctly…”
My pulse starts beating hard enough that I can feel it in my ears now.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Mack shift a step closer.
“You proposed to me because your parents expected it,” I say. “You picked a condo in the suburbs before you even asked where I wanted to live. You decided where our wedding would be before I’d looked at a single venue. Every time I tried to tell you I was unhappy, you told me I was stressed.”
“You were stressed.”
I laugh again.
“That’s exactly what I mean.”
“What?”
“You say things like they’re facts.” My voice is steadier now than I feel. “Like if you sound reasonable enough, everyone else is supposed to stop arguing.”
His jaw flexes.
“Don’t you think you’re being a little dramatic?”
The second he says it, I feel every old argument slam back into place at once—me trying harder to explain myself while he stayed calm enough for both of us, me crying and immediately feeling embarrassed for it, me walking away from conversations already half convinced I’d invented the problem in the first place.
Behind me Tyler mutters under his breath.
“Bad answer.”
Brett’s eyes snap toward him.
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me.”
“Ty,” Mack says.
Tyler lifts both hands in surrender, but he doesn’t take a single step back.
I look at Brett again and only then realize my hands are shaking, pure feminine rage threatening to boil over.
“You thought I’d come back…”
His silence answers fast enough.
“Oh my god.”
I laugh again, softer this time, because the whole thing feels like a sick joke.
“You really thought this was temporary.”
“I thought you needed space.”
“I moved to another state, Brett.”
“You were overwhelmed.”
“I ended our engagement.”
“You weren’t happy.”
“Yes.” My voice sharpens. “With you.”
For the first time since he showed up, he doesn’t have an answer waiting.
I watch his expression change while he stands there on my stoop, flowers now sagging in his hand while he looks at me like some part of him honestly thought this conversation was going to end with me realizing I’d made a mistake by leaving.
“You’re serious…”
Before I can answer, Tyler’s hand brushes lightly against the back of my arm, just enough to let me know he’s still there.
Brett follows the movement this time, his eyes traveling from Tyler’s hand to my face, then past me to Mack, lingering there a beat before they come back again.
I watch him trying to make sense of the picture in front of him, like somewhere in his head there’s still a chance that I hear him out and we drive back to Philly together.
Instead, he looks at me like he’s looking at a stranger.
“This…” He lets out a short, disbelieving breath. “This is what you blew up your life for? Our life?”
The words are meant to hurt more than they do. Instead, I keep thinking about the way Tyler laughs into my neck and the way Mack grabs my hand, and falling asleep, tangled between both of them, holding onto me.
Blew up my life?
No.
I think I finally started living it.
“You don’t get to talk about my life like it belongs to you anymore,” I say quietly.
His eyes flick toward Tyler, then Mack.
“You think these guys are serious about you?”
Every muscle in my body tightens.
“Brett—”
“No, honestly.” He lets out a short, humorless laugh. “What is this, exactly? You think this ends well for you, Darcy?”
Mack straightens beside me hard enough that his arm brushes mine, like he’s about two seconds from saying exactly what he thinks about this conversation and only holding it back because I’m the one talking.
Tyler stays quiet on my other side, but I can feel him there every time I breathe, close enough that if I leaned even slightly, I’d hit his chest.
“You don’t know anything about this,” Mack says evenly.
“I know guys.”
Brett barks out a laugh, his eyes never leaving mine.
“You’re just a means to an end to him…to them…whatever the fuck this is,” he says, that calm tone finally starting to fray around the edges. “You wanted to feel wanted after running away from your life. Fine, I get it. But don’t confuse attention with being chosen, Darcy.”
Tyler doesn’t jump in. Mack doesn’t either. Neither of them tries to answer for me or rescue me from the conversation. They just wait, like the next words are mine if I want them and mine if I don’t. Brett watches me like he’s already decided what those words are going to be.
That’s when I realize how completely he’s missed it.
I didn’t leave because I wanted someone else.
I left because I wanted myself back.
“I did love you,” I whisper.
Hope flashes across his face before I keep going.
“But I spent three years trying to become somebody easier for you to hold onto. I’m not doing that anymore.”
“Dee—”
“No.” I shake my head. “You don’t get to show up here because you finally decided I’ve made my point.”
His mouth hardens into a thin line.
“You’re making a mistake.”
Maybe I am.
The thought lands fast and ugly because this—whatever this is with Mack and Tyler—still scares me more than I know how to explain.
But leaving Brett?
That’s the only part I’ve never doubted.
“Go home, Brett.”
For a second, I think he’s going to keep pushing. Then his eyes move past me one last time toward Tyler and Mack standing behind me. Tyler meets his stare without blinking while Mack stays completely unreadable beside him.
Brett lets out a slow breath through his nose and takes a step backward.
“This won’t last,” he snarls.
The words hang in the space between us.
Because maybe he’s right. Maybe this ends badly. Maybe all of this falls apart six months from now and leaves me wrecked in ways I haven’t even thought about yet.
But standing here now, looking at the man I once thought I’d spend the rest of my life with, I know with every bone in my body that I’d rather risk breaking my own heart than spend another three years slowly disappearing inside a life that never fit me in the first place.
Brett searches my face for another long second, like he’s still looking for the version of me he drove all the way to Boston expecting to find. I watch the realization settle over him. Then he turns and walks down the block without looking back.
I don’t realize how hard I’ve been holding myself together until he’s gone. My knees wobble so suddenly Tyler’s hand is already around my elbow before I can pretend I don’t need it.
“I’ve got you,” he says softly.
I press one hand against my chest and let out a breath that feels like it’s been trapped in for the last twenty minutes.
“That…I…”
“That sucked,” Tyler finishes.
A laugh escapes me anyway, thin and a little shaky.
“Yeah…”
Mack squeezes my shoulder.
“You okay?”
I nod too fast.
I’m not. But if I stop moving—if I let myself stand still for even a second—I’m pretty sure I’m going to start crying right here on the front stoop wearing Tyler’s jacket.
“I’m fine.”
Tyler’s hand slides warm against the back of my neck.
“It’s okay if you aren’t.”
“I’m sorry I ruined the night,” my throat tightens around the words.
Mack’s jaw tightens.
“You didn’t ruin anything.”
He says it so firmly it doesn’t even sound like reassurance. It sounds like a fact.
The adrenaline starts bleeding out of me all at once, leaving my hands shaky and my thoughts struggling to catch up with everything that just happened.
When Mack speaks again, his voice is quieter.
“We’re not trying to keep you here, Darcy. You know that.”
My stomach drops so hard it makes my head spin.
Brett’s voice rings through my head.
Don’t confuse attention with being chosen.
Tyler’s hand stills against the back of my neck.
“Hey.”
I nod.
“Right.”
I can already hear my voice starting to break, and if I stay out here another thirty seconds I’m going to fall apart in front of both of them.
Mack’s eyebrows pull together.
“Darcy—”
“Thank you for dinner,” I manage, already taking a step backward. “I’m really tired. I think I’m just gonna get some rest.”
Even to me, it sounds like a lie.
I turn before either of them can stop me and make my way up the stoop, legs heavier than they were thirty seconds ago.
“Goodnight,” I say, not trusting myself to look back.
The apartment’s dark when I lock the door behind me. I leave my hand wrapped around the deadbolt for a moment too long, listening to my breathing while the night closes in around me from every direction.
I kick off my sneakers near the couch and walk toward the bedroom without bothering to turn on a light.
The city glows faintly through the windows, streetlight bleeding soft gold across the floorboards in long, familiar rectangles, and I see Gerald’s silhouette sitting in the corner of the living room, completely unbothered by any of this.
Love that for him.
I sit down on the edge of the bed still wearing Tyler’s jacket, and the second I catch the smell of it, all the air leaves my lungs.
Three months.
Three months since I left Philly with half my clothes shoved into trash bags and Bex talking to me through the drive on speakerphone because every state line made the whole thing feel a little less reversible.
Three months since I stood in my old apartment staring at my engagement ring in my palm trying to understand why being loved by Brett felt so lonely.
Three months isn’t very long on paper.
And still somehow it feels longer than the three years before them. Maybe that’s why tonight stings the way it does.
I fall backward onto the bed and stare up at the ceiling while the sentence keeps circling, wearing the same groove deeper every time it comes back around.
We’re not trying to keep you.
By the time the first tear slips sideways into my hair, I’m still trying to convince myself I’m not crying.
I pull Tyler’s jacket tighter around me and curl onto my side and close my eyes while both Brett’s voice and Mack’s keep bleeding into each other until I can’t tell where one ends and the other begins.