Page 80 of Cause and Effect

“Hi.” I smiled. “Come on in.”

“Thanks.”

“Can I get you a scotch or a glass of wine?” I asked.

“No. I’m good, Julian.”

“Are the girls over at Parker’s?”

“Yeah. I just dropped them off. What do you want to talk about?”

“Let’s sit on the couch.” I gestured.

Regret and guilt lingered on my tongue, knowing that what I was about to tell her would hurt her. From the expression on her face, I could tell she already knew what this talk was about.

I sat beside her, and our bodies turned, facing each other.

“It’s been about eight years since her,” I said, running my hand through my hair. “But sometimes it feels like yesterday.” I stared at the empty glass on the coffee table, avoiding Laurel’s eyes.”

“Who was she?” she asked.

“Her name is Danielle. We were together for four years. Engaged for the last two. She was supposed to work at the firm with me.”

“What happened?”

“Career opportunity at a much larger law firm in Connecticut. The worst part was that I had already proposed. We set a date, booked a venue, and informed all of our family and friends. When the firm in Connecticut offered her the job, she accepted it without even discussing it with me. I came home one day and found her ring resting on a note on the table. The note said she didn’t know how to tell me and she was so sorry. She also went on to say that she canceled the wedding venue, so I didn’t have to worry about it.”

“She left you a note and didn’t even say goodbye in person?” Laurel asked.

“I immediately called her, not expecting her to pick up, but she did. I begged her to come back so we could talk. She told me that she wanted a different future and thought she was ready to settle down, but she wasn’t and didn’t know how to tell me. I loved her, and it broke me when she left. What hurt the most was how she couldn’t tell me in person. I spent four years with her and never saw it coming. Or maybe I did but didn’t want to see it. I told my family that she wanted me to go with her, which was a lie. Letting them believe she was still in love with me was easier.”

“I’m sorry, Julian.”

“Don’t be. I freaked out when you said you needed to talk to the girls about us. I have feelings for you, Laurel. I genuinely do. However, I'm unable to commit to anything beyond a physical relationship. I just can’t. I want to be honest with you. This—us—it can't be more than what it is.”

“And what exactly is it?” she asked, looking down at her hands.

“Physical. Convenient.” The words tasted bitter. “I’m not built for relationships. I decided that a long time ago.”

“So that's it?” she finally asked. “Everything we've shared comes down to... what? Just bodies?”

“I’m sorry, Laurel. I really am.”

She stood from the couch, walked into the kitchen, and poured a glass of wine while I poured another glass of much-needed scotch.

“The thing is, I wasn't asking for forever. I wasn't even asking for next year. I was just asking for the chance to see where this might go. You don’t think Jason’s death broke me? After he died, it was like someone had ripped away my ability to imagine a future with anyone else.” Her finger traced the rim of her glass. “The first year was just survival. Getting through each day, making sure the kids ate, and remembering to breathe. It wasn’t just about losing him. It was about losing myself in that grief. Everyone kept saying time would heal, but what they don’t tell you is how rough that healing is. Some days, I'd feel almost normal, and then something small—his favorite song on the radio or finding one of his socks that fell behind the dryer—would tear everything open again.”

“I’m sorry, Laurel.”

“So am I, Julian.”

Chapter Thirty-One

Laurel

The stinging in my eyes was fierce, but there was no way I would let him see me cry. I set my wine glass on the table and stood up.

“This ends tonight. From now on, we only see each other at the office.”

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