Chapter 26
CHAPTER
TWENTY-SIX
Audrey
Me: I promise. I’ll come back next week when I get home from Boston, and I’ll answer whatever question you want to fire my way.
Gianna: I’ve started making a list. You’re going to need about 2 days to answer them all, from the looks of it now.
Me:
Gianna: I bumped what you owe me to $50, by the way.
Me: What for?
Gianna: Convenience fee for waiting for the dick data download.
I sit up on the bed. Did I hear something?
Gianna: Just don’t forget anything. I don’t want to hear you say one time I DON’T REMEMBER. That will be bad for you.
Knock! Knock!
I hop up and half-run like a lady toward the door.
Me: He’s here. Gotta go.
Gianna: Go get ’em, tiger.
I pause to give myself a second to catch my breath before swinging the door open.
Brooks comes inside, and instantly, I know something’s wrong. A forced smile doesn’t reach his eyes. Hands in his pockets instead of reaching for me. Not one singular glance at my cleavage in the lowest cut shirt I could find in Astrid’s closet.
I’m acutely aware of the sounds of my breath. I’m cognizant that my heart is beating too quickly. My body is heavy, like it wants to be rooted in place instead of following him into the kitchen, and I fight past the lump in my throat that popped up out of nowhere to block a surge of emotions.
How was I so happy two minutes ago, and now feel like I’m being dragged to certain demise?
“Is Otis okay?” I ask carefully, moving more slowly than molasses into the cabin.
He stands by the table. He doesn’t sit. Doesn’t lean. Doesn’t get comfortable at all.
“Yeah, he’s fine. Why?” he asks.
“Well, you look like someone might’ve run over something of value to you, and all I can think of to fit that bill is Otis.”
One corner of his mouth curls, and whatever war he’s fighting is broadcast across his face as plain as day.
I wipe my palms down my thighs. How hard can your heart beat without exploding?
“It looks like you have something to say.” I take a deep breath. “So, why don’t you put me out of my misery and say it?”
He runs both hands down his face, mumbling something I can’t make out. His jaw that I love to watch flex while he’s falling apart inside me isn’t as sexy now. Actually, it’s downright terrifying.
Brooks clears his throat. “We agreed yesterday that we weren’t expecting to come home feeling that way we did, whatever that meant to us individually.”
What?
“And I suggested we take some time to clear our heads last night and then discuss things this morning,” he says, his gaze shifting all over the room—to anywhere but me.
Tears clump in the corners of my eyes.
“Hey, don’t cry,” he says, clenching his fists at his sides.
I laugh sadly. “This isn’t a voluntary reaction. My body systems understand signals and historical patterns and try to get ahead of big emotions.”
“Audrey, I’m sorry.”
Audrey? Oof.
The first tear breaks free and rolls down my cheek. It’s utterly ridiculous to have tears shed without a reason, but that reason is coming. The elephant is already in the room with us, and it’s standing on my chest.
“Okay,” I say, drying beneath my eyes with my fingers. “What are you sorry for?”
“I didn’t mean for this to happen.”
His evasiveness burrows beneath my skin, and it burns like crazy. The man who demanded that I tell him exactly what I want is suddenly unable to form more than one sentence?
What the hell happened today?
We texted throughout the day yesterday after he dropped me off, and last night he called me before I fell asleep. I haven’t had time to be annoying, or childish, or to say something foolish enough to turn his opinion of me.
Was he playing me all along? Did I read him wrong?
“Do you know what?” I ask. “You need to look me in the eye when you’re speaking to me, and you need to tell me exactly what’s going on. You know, since you love exactness so much.”
“Motherfucker,” he growls, running his hands through his hair.
The longer I face him, the angrier I become. “Say it.’
“I have loved spending time with you,” he says, moving toward me as if he’s desperate for me to believe him. “On my life, it was the best few days of my life.” He shakes his head, squeezing his eyes closed. “We aren’t going to work out.”
His eyes fly open and find mine, searching for signs of the pain ripping me into shreds.
“This is so unfair,” I say, stepping away from him. “Stay over there.”
He grits his teeth together, but retreats to the other side of the table.
I stand like a fool just staring at him, trying to put puzzle pieces together that don’t match—trying to match up the man I woke up next to yesterday to this cold, sanitized version that makes no sense.
“Please don’t take this the wrong way,” he says, the words nearly a plea. “This isn’t about you. I just … I told you while we were sitting at this table that you were the kind of girl who levels my world, and I’m the kind of guy who decimates yours.”
“Oh,” I say, pretending to go along with his theory. “You’re right, you did say that. My bad. This is just you making sure you follow through, right?”
“No.”
My blood speeds through my veins, and a burst of energy surges along with it. “Okay. So, next you’re going to say that I should’ve seen this coming, right? Because you don’t give a crap what other people think about you.”
“No. Stop it.”
“I’m not going to stop it,” I say, my voice rising so quickly that it makes me jump. “You are full of crap right now. You’re backing out of this, whatever it was going to be, and you want to dust your hands off and say I told you so.” I narrow my eyes. “That’s not fair, and it’s also childish.”
His shoulders droop, and I can see flashes of pain striking across his eyes. I want to leap across this room at him, pull him into my arms and hold him as tightly as he’s held me. But he doesn’t want that. He doesn’t want me. After everything we shared and explored, he’s saying no.
Bullshit.
“I’ve never been shy about telling you that I can’t give you stability,” he says, talking fast. “And we agreed to no expectations. Remember?”
I pace in a circle, thinking surprisingly clearly despite the mist covering my eyes.
“What were you doing?” I ask. “Tricking me? Playing me? Just wanted a pathetic girl who’d let you fuck her for a few days.”
“Stop it right fucking now.” His eyes blaze. “I mean it. Don’t go there.”
“I won’t, because I don’t believe that’s true. I’m not pathetic. I’m not blissfully na?ve or desperate.” I face him head-on. “I’m a good person who was honest with you. Who trusted you. And if anyone should feel pathetic, it’s you.”
His face softens, and I think he might smile, but he doesn’t. And that doesn’t make any sense either. None of it does.
The typical bright green irises that shine back at me are cloudy. And the lips normally ready to plant kisses over every nook and cranny of my body are pressed into a tight, thin line.
“Drew called me last night and apologized for the things he said about you and how he spoke to me,” I say, swallowing an all-out sob.
“And you come in here and tell me we’re not going to work.
Yes, we hadn’t put a label on what we have together, and I’m not suggesting that we’re a couple.
It’s too soon for that. But I had thought you wanted to maybe …
try. With me. I also thought you were one of the few good men left with values and a heart that loves. But you proved me wrong.”
I throw my hands up in frustration.
I thought I’d go to Boston feeling stronger about myself. And I can still do that because Brooks woke up a sexual and emotional side of myself, I’d always shied away from to be “good.”
But this? I wasn’t ready for this. He’s not even willing to give us a go. A try. I need to accept that, even if it hurts. Even if I thought our fling might possibly lead to more.
Tears fall freely down my cheeks, landing on my chest and sliding down my cleavage where his hands were supposed to be. Splinters dig into the cavity where my heart used to live before it was smashed by the one man who I thought was going to be different.
But this isn’t my fault. I didn’t do anything wrong. It’s not because I’m too “sweet.” It’s about him. So, this is where I bring out the new Audrey who can stand up for herself. Who can use her voice. Who is not just sweet and amenable.
“You’ll regret this,” I say, my voice clogged with unshed tears. “And, when you do, remember that someone hurt you. But that someone wasn’t me.”
“Damn it.” He struggles to stay calm, like hearing this wasn’t what he expected. “You have to believe me that I don’t want this. You are the woman by whom everyone else is measured. The bar. You’re the fucking bar, Doc.” He narrows his eyes as if it’s going to help deliver his words to my heart.
“Look into my eyes.” I stand still, holding my place until his eyes meet mine. “You’re going to leave in a moment, and I want you to remember what you see.” My bottom lip quivers, but I will not let myself sob. “What you see isn’t regret. It’s disappointment.”
He reaches for me, his eyes filled with tears.
“Go.” I step away from him far enough that he can’t grab me. “Leave.”
“Can I …” He sighs. “No. No, I can’t. I did this. But I don’t deserve you to hate me. I don’t want you to hate me.”
I laugh sadly. “Yeah, well, you hesitated. Now you’re getting hit in the face.”
I turn away from him, so he doesn’t see me break down, and run to my bedroom down the hall.
He doesn’t follow.
He probably doesn’t even look back.
I don’t know why I ever expected anything different.
Whimsy List: Updated
Have a one-night stand.
ORGASM! (with a man)
Wear a bold lipstick.
Buy more lingerie (and wear it often).
Stop being sweet.
Learn to flirt.
Take a self-defense class.
Get a tattoo.
Sleep in the dark without being scared.
Cut my hair.
Learn to be okay if others are disappointed (even if it’s in me).
Eat alone in public.
Do something spontaneous.
Make Anna proud.
Learn how to give a blow job.