“You and I have history.” I need him to listen. I need him to understand that I’m confused. “Of course, there are feelings there. But look at us.”
He stares at me blankly.
I gesture around us. To no one. To everyone. “Look at how we discard others so easily when we’re around one another. It’s not healthy.”
“Are you blind?” He drops his hands away from my shoulders, pushing his feet into his boots. “We discard others because there’s something important between us.”
I nod, not willing to deny that certainty. “Maybe. But I also have feelings for Aaron, which means I can’t be certain of what I really feel. Maybe you’re my safe choice.”
I regret the words as soon as I’ve said them. He stands up in shock before I can take them back, and I feel cold.
I stand too, stepping toward him.
“Safe choice? What the fuck?”
“I’m used to you protecting me, Brooks,” I backtrack. “What if that’s what I’m hanging onto?”
He moves away from me again, rubbing his forehead in frustration. “You think you only want me because I’m what, like the dad you never had?”
I massage my hands. “No! You’re twisting my words.” I exhale heavily. “God, I’m mixing my words. It’s about me, Brooks.”
“I’m listening,” he implores. “Make me understand, Henley, because I’m standing here right now trying to make sense of what you’re saying.”
I’m certain that nothing I say at this point will make him understand. Hell, I don’t even understand what I’m trying to get across. “I’ve spent so long being stuffed into someone else’s pocket. Mom and Dad. Then you. Then just Mom. I feel like a broken bird afraid to fly. I had these illustrious dreams of traveling the world and finding somewhere to belong,” I explain. “But when crunch time came, Brooks, I came apart.”
“That’s understandable.”
The weather is frigid, but my body is covered in a sheen of sweat. Cold dampness coats my skin under the layers of clothing. His understanding is superfluous. He should be mad at me and call me out for being a despicable person.
Why does he do this? Why does he work to see me as a better person than I actually am?
“I’m not saying it’s silly or wrong,” I assure him. “But I want to be confident in myself. By myself.”
If I’d grown two heads, he’d likely look at me the way he is right now.
“You’re with what’s-his-name.”
“Aaron,” I whisper, feeling awful at even saying his name aloud at this point.
For him.
For Brooks.
“Aaron,” he echoes callously.
“He’s someone new,” I admit shamefully. “He’s not a security blanket. He’s a part of a journey of me finding myself.”
The upper line of his lip curls upward, the lust held in his eyes only minutes ago, gone, erased like it never existed, replaced with a void that frightens me. “Doing that through cock now, hey? I thought it was all about this.” He stretches his arms out. “Fresh air, the grass between your toes, and adventure.”
The stab of his words breaks at the way my heart beats, forcing it to stumble in my chest. “That was uncalled for.”
Stepping into me, he leans down, bringing us nose to nose. “I don’t understand who you are right now.”
I can feel my tears as they slide down my cheeks. “That’s what I’m trying to say,” I cry. “Neither do I.”
Lifting his camera, he takes a photo of me.
“Stop it,” I sob, turning my face away before he can take another photo.
“Am I just supposed to wait for you?” he all but spits. “Hang around while you fuck other men so you can find yourself?”
“You’re being horrible.”
He shrugs. “It seems promises don’t even need to be vocalized. You told me you loved me once upon a time, and I stupidly believed you.” He barks out a sinister laugh. “Told you it’d only break my heart.”
18
BROOKS
AGE 22 (THREE YEARS LATER)
“What are you working on at the moment?”
Handing over the change for my coffee, I smile my thanks.
“A shoot for a lingerie campaign.”
Addy’s amused laughter sings through the line. “Oh, poor Brooks. Sounds like a hardship.”
“I know.” I sigh jovially. “It’s a tough gig, but someone’s gotta do it.”
“I’m sure they had to twist your arm.”
“Something like that,” I murmur.
“Where are you anyway?” she asks. “Your reception is terrible.”
“Shenzen,” I tell her. “China,” I add in case her geography still sucks.
I can hear the smile in her voice when she speaks. “You and Henley, working to carve your name across the globe.”
“Henley is here?” I hate the hopelessness in my tone. The neediness in the way her name clings to my tongue.
“Was,” she clarifies, unperturbed by my longing.
Disappointment filters through my veins. My hope like a balloon with reality hitting it like the sharp point of a pin, bursting it with a bang loud enough to make me blink.
“When?”
“About three months ago.”
She was here. Just twelve weeks ago, she stood in the same place I did, studying the names of strangers who had carved their names into The Great Wall.
Nostalgia hit me like a freight train. Feeling the letters and symbols etched into the stone made me miss Lake Geneva and my childhood more than I should. I couldn’t bring myself to partake in the touristic tradition, the monument itself too consuming and potent for me to want to mark it in any way.
“Do you speak to her often?” I aim for nonchalance but fail. Miserably.
“Once a month,” she says distractedly. “You guys still don’t speak?”
I blow out a heavy breath. “Not since Glasgow. I called her a few weeks after to apologize for my tantrum, but she didn’t answer my call. Not that I blame her.”
I deserved her silence. I was a prick.
“I find it strange she hasn’t tried to contact you.” Subtlety isn’t Addy’s strong suit. Her eagerness for information as clear as crystal. I can’t hold it against her. She’s caught in the middle of a friendship that somehow went AWOL. It’s awkward for her. The third-wheel now
