Page 84 of One Billion Reasons

Miles sucks in a breath.

“The keys,” I repeat.

His expression is wooden as he digs in his pocket. I’m careful not to let our hands touch as he drops the keys into my palm.

“This is the worst day of my life.” His words are hoarse. “I’m losing you, all over again.”

“I know. It’s mine too.” Before he can respond I turn and head up the stairs, to the car. Right before I shut the door, I hear him shout, “Fuck” over the waves. He sounds like an animal in pain. My chest aches. I want to run back, to hug him. To tell him that I’ll take him back even if he doesn’t love me. Pathetic. I start the car and let tears fall as I drive.

37

Lane

I pack woodenly, carefully wrapping any delicate items in the bags they came in. I run my hands over the thick silk crepe of the red dress. It’s been dry-cleaned by the hotel and is ready to wear again. I make a choked sound as I remember Miles zipping it up my back. His touch was reverent that night. I thought I was breaking through to him. Fool. I’m the opposite of the cool girl. I’ll never be that. I’m the one who loves too deeply, falls too quickly. And I fell for the man I swore I wouldn’t fall in love with. You never learn. I want to run home and lick my wounds, but the thought of moving in down the hall from Miles…I can’t. It’s too close. I zip the beautiful dresses into their garment bags, slip the shoes he bought me into the little dust bags. Within a matter of thirty minutes, everything is neatly packed, organized into perfect packets. Meanwhile, I’m falling apart. I call down to reception for them to get my bags. I can’t wheel them through the hotel myself. It will be too obvious I’m fleeing, and I can’t think of anything more embarrassing.

When I make my way through the lobby, I feel like a celebrity hiding from the paparazzi. My hat is pulled low, my sweatshirt hood pulled low over my head. I check out and my voice shakes when I give my name.

The pleasant woman at the counter taps a few keys and then says, “Mr. Becker already called down for you. He said if you wanted to go anywhere, a car will take you to the plane or drive you wherever you need.”

My eyes are hot as I respond, “Thank you.”

I want to scream, to tell him I’ll never take another favor from him again, but I also want to hug him, to tell him thank you for always caring for me. Even now. I told him I never wanted to speak to him again, and he still wants to soften the world’s harsh edges for me.

The driver pulls up, and I feel a little silly as strangers rush to help me. If I married him, I’d never carry my own bag again. The absurd thought jolts a laugh out of me. The driver is too polite to react.

“Miss. The pilot wants to know where we’re going. New York?”

I nearly agree, but snap my mouth shut. I can’t go to that apartment. I’ll see him in the lobby in just a day or two. I can’t.

Instead, I give him Liam’s address. I need to see my brother.

In the car, I press my head back against the smooth leather of the seat and shut my eyes. How am I going to survive this? What if he brings someone home? What if I see a woman doing the walk of shame in the lobby? What if I have to attend his wedding? A choked sound rips from my throat, and the tears finally start falling. As the car makes its way down the dark roads, all I can think is that as much as I wish I hated Miles Becker, I still love him. I may have always loved him. And I don’t think I’ll ever stop.

* * *

Liam’s at home when I arrive. I called him from the car to make sure he knew I was coming, and he sounded wary and excited all at once. When we pull into the drive, I breathe a sigh of relief. I love my brother’s house. It’s small, and during the day, the sun-filled clearing around it glows in the light between the oaks. Tonight, since it’s almost one a.m., it’s dark and silent, with night bugs buzzing and the stars impossibly bright overhead.

He’s on the front steps with his chocolate lab, Buster. Liam smiles when he sees me, and Buster lopes toward me, a happy dog smile on his face.

I give him lots of pats and let him give me his version of a doggy hug. And then I wrap my arms around Liam’s waist. It feels like coming home. “Missed you, big bro,” I murmur. He smells like Liam—warm man, faint body wash, and clean laundry.

“I missed you, too.” He steps back and grabs my bags. Liam looks just like me, but taller and obviously broader. His hair is golden brown, and his eyes are chocolate—deep and dark. He jokes that he got all the height and brains, and I got the dregs. He’s over six feet tall, with faint stubble and under-eye circles from sleepless nights trying to solve the world’s problems.

“I was a little surprised when you called,” he says mildly. His concerned expression belies his tone. “I thought you were enjoying the fancy hotel with Miles. But then you show up here after midnight.”

“I was,” I say slowly. “It’s a long story.” I’m not even sure I’m ready to tell it. “I just wanted to see my brother.”

And Liam, because he’s a saint and has demons of his own, doesn’t push. Instead, he puts my bags in the cozy guest room and pulls two beers from his fridge.

“Unless you want to go to bed?” he asks.

I shake my head, and we sit on the porch together. His house is deep in the woods, with few neighbors, and the view from his porch is of dark trees and night sky, with a few lights from the scattered houses. I don’t know how he can live this far out in the woods, but he loves the solitude. It must remind him of our parents’ old house upstate.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“I’m not sure.” If I tell Liam, is he going to go crazy? He’s never been that kind of brother. Protective, but not overly so. “I think that pretending to date Miles was a bad idea,” I say carefully.

He nods and sips his beer. “I might not be experienced in love, but even I knew it was a bad idea.”

---