Page 124 of Reckless Vow

Taking off my jacket, I hang it on the chair. I should have pushed more. I shouldn’t have let Micah shove me away.

Brook slams down into her chair. She’s too quiet, and I hate that I don’t know if she needs consoling or if she needs time alone to absorb this fucking revelation.

I don’t know what to do with that either. Over the years, when I always considered she might not have made that choice, or she might have changed her mind, I locked it away as wishful thinking.

It’s not like her life looked to be filled with grief.

“Talk to me, Brook.”

She snorts. “Says the man who keeps his cards to himself. Why didn’t you tell me when I told you about that night?”

“Really? I don’t think there was room for it that night. If I mentioned it then, it would have been an accusation. I believed Micah when he told me you didn’t want to see me.”

“Is that why you did all of this but never approached me?” She points at the computer.

Outside, the world is waking up for the night of partying. Laughter, cat-calling, music and roaring cars flow by on the street below.

My old habits call for me to go downstairs and check that everything is prepared for the night ahead.

I should make a few phone calls to deliver on the commitments I made in Italy today.

My desk is overflowing with paperwork that I’m sure Chloe didn’t tackle.

And while I think of it all, I don’t have an iota of desire to go through the motions.

Not that I particularly want to discuss the past or my obsessive surveillance with Brook, but I would still rather be here with her than anywhere else.

Even when she is mad or heartbroken—I don’t know how to handle drama—I still want to be with her.

What that means, I’m not ready to contemplate. But somewhere between our pathetic wedding ceremony and tonight, my subconscious decided for me.

I belong to this woman. I belong with this woman.

I’ll believe enough for both of us for now.For now, she said. For her, this is still a temporary arrangement. A means to an end.

Well, fuck that, I wanted to protect myself from the pain, but I had no chance from the beginning.

From the moment I saw her in the kitchen of our Riverdale childhood home, I was desperately destined to get hurt. No matter how much I believed I was in charge.

“I almost did once. It was more to confront you, to find out why the fuck you gave up on us. I was in London, and I looked you up.”

I sit down across from her at the table. With Brook behind her laptop, there is an offensive gap between us. Like this is a formal interrogation.

Perhaps she needs some answers. I want to put all this behind us.

Start afresh. If that’s even possible.

“You did? What happened?” She slaps the notebook closed, leaning forward.

“I caught you leaving your building with that fucking D-list actor you’d just started dating.”

“Dylan…” She groans, and lowers her head to the glass tabletop and taps it with her forehead.

“Yeah. You were laughing and looked so happy, I decided to let it go. I thought it was perhaps only me who regretted what could have been.”

Lifting her head, she stares at me, pain and fatigue marring her beautiful face. “So you just left, but continued watching me from afar?”

“For another two years, yes, then I gave up.”

---