His gaze darkened. "What do you think?"
"I think you're angry."
His tone grew sarcastic. "You think?"
"That's what I just said, isn't it?"
In my peripheral vision, I saw Cami watching from the far end of the hallway. When I gave her a worried glance, she pointed toward the front door and mouthed, "I'm going for a walk."
Oh, great. Now, on top of everything else, I'd forced her out on yet another fruitless walk. Poor Cami. Somehow, I'd need to make it up to her.
But I had just a few minutes with Brody, and I couldn’t afford to waste them. Plus, there was something I had to tell him before he heard it from someone else. "I ran into Mason today."
"Yeah. I heard."
"You did?" I shook my head. "When?" It couldn't have been too long ago, considering that barely an hour had passed since Mason had sped off, taking Willow with him.
Apparently, news traveled fast.
When Brody's only reply was a tight shrug, I reluctantly asked, "Did Mason say anything?"
"He might've." Brody's voice grew several degrees colder as he said, "But you're not fired, if that's what you're asking."
"I wasn't."
Stupid or not, I hadn't expected to be fired. But I had expected something, like for Mason to throw me off the roof or run me down with his car. And I wasn't even sure I was joking.
I asked, "Is Willow okay?"
"She's fine." And with that, Brody returned once again to his clothes. In less than a minute, he was done packing. When he zipped up his duffle bag, I felt a surge of raw, inexplicable panic.
This was happening way too fast.
And Brody still hadn't answered my question. I tried again. "So, do you?"
"Do I what?"
"Care." Again, I felt myself swallow. "About us, I mean?"
He hoisted the bag over his shoulder and turned to fully face me. "You think I don't?"
"Honestly, I don’t know what to think." My stomach clenched. "I mean, you're obviously leaving." It was a useless thing to say. Not only could I see that he was leaving. He'd just told me so during the last few minutes.
Plus, days ago, on the phone, I'd practically demanded that we separate. Wasn't this exactly what I'd wanted?
Yes.
And no.
The thought of us separating for good was nearly impossible to bear. "Well?" I said. "Do you?"
Brody dropped his duffle bag onto the floor and strode toward me. He stopped so close, I could've fallen into his arms.
I wanted to. Oh, boy did I want to.
But I didn’t. I couldn’t. Because he still wasn't being honest.
In a low voice, he said, "What, you think I don't care? Even now?"
"I don't know." I craned my neck to stare up at him. "Do you?"
"You know I do." His jaw clenched. "But I'm done."
My eyes filled with unshed tears. The whole thing was so totally unfair. If anyone should be angry, it was me.
Why should Brody get to leave in a huff when I was the one who'd been wronged?
With a choked sob, I said, "Oh, for God' sake, why don't you just admit it already?"
By now, he looked on the verge of losing it. "Admit what?"
"The thing with the house." I gave him another pleading look. "I mean, come on. You know what I mean. Just tell me. Please?"
I held my breath and waited.
With a hard scoff, he said, "What? You want me to tell you I'm sorry? For what? 'Stealing' it?" He shook his head. "Well, I'm not. So deal with it. Or don't. Your choice."
I wanted to scream in frustration. He still wasn't getting it. Or maybe he just didn't want to.
Desperately, I tried again. "I don't think you stole it, not technically."
"Then what do you think?"
"I think you cheated." I bit my lip. "And maybe you lied, at least a little." There was no "maybe" about it, and the lie hadn't been small. But heaven help me, I still wanted to hear it from him.
With another scoff, he said, "Right."
"Oh come on, Brody. You seriously don't think you did?"
"You wanna know what I think?"
"What?"
"I think you're nuts." He shook his head. "Hell, I knew you were nuts. But I fell for you anyway." His mouth twisted as he said, "My mistake."
My breath caught. "You fell for me? Seriously?"
"It doesn't matter now, does it?"
"It would if you'd just be honest."
"Yeah? Well honesty's a two-way street."
I was openly crying now. I didn't want to, but I couldn’t seem to help it. "Alright, you want me to be honest?" I said. "I think you knew the house was mine all along, and you wanted to take it from me, because you hated me." I sucked in a ragged breath. "And maybe part of you still does."
My voice rose as I continued. "And here's the best part. If only you would've come clean, I was so stupid, I would've forgiven you almost anything. So who's the dumb-ass now?"
He looked at me for a long moment. As he did, I saw the unfiltered emotions flicker in his eyes – first pain and then so much anger, I fought a sudden urge to step back.
But I didn't.
Instead, I waited stubbornly for his response.
When his reply finally came, it was just a single word, spoken so softly, it might've been a whisper. "Me."
I shook my head. "What?"
"Me," he repeated. "I'm the dumb-ass, because I bought that act of yours."
"What act?"
Ignoring my question, he said, "But hey, it was a good one, right?"
I shook my head. "It was no act."
"And about the house," he continued. "Fuck yeah, I'm glad I bought it. The place was going to shit. Another year of neglect, and even I wouldn't have been able to save it."
He pointed to the floor. "So maybe you should get down on your knees and thank me if the place means so much to you."
By now, I was literally sobbing. I hated myself for doing it, but I couldn’t seem make myself to stop, not even when I reminded myself that he wasn't worth it, not
