Page 44 of The Ex-Girlfriend Agreement

I sink onto the edge of the bed, my legs suddenly unable to support me. The tears I've been holding back spill over, hot tracks down my cheeks as I realize what I've done. In my fear of committing to an uncertain future, I've pushed away the one person who's ever made me feel completely seen, completely loved.

I've done it again. Run from the very thing I want most, because wanting it makes me vulnerable. Because loving Dean means opening myself to the possibility of loss, of change, of a life I can't completely control.

But as I sit alone in the room that still smells like him, like us, I have to wonder—what am I really protecting by keeping him at arm's length? My independence? My career? Or just my fear of discovering that love might actually be worth the risk?

SIXTEEN

Dean

I walkuntil my feet hurt, until the resort becomes a small white speck in the distance and the beach stretches empty before me. The morning sun climbs higher, beating down on my shoulders, but I barely notice the heat. My mind is too full of Brooke—her face when she suggested we be "just friends," the tears in her eyes that I pretended not to see, the way my heart felt like it was being ripped from my chest all over again. I've been here before, standing on the edge of heartbreak while Brooke Callahan chooses safety over us. You'd think it would hurt less the second time. It doesn't.

Sand crunches beneath my feet as I turn back toward the resort, my decision crystallizing with each step. There's no point in prolonging this. The wedding is over, the charade complete. Staying any longer would just be self-torture, watching Brooke retreat further into her shell of practicality and fear, measuring the distance growing between us with each careful word and averted glance.

I thought this time might be different. After our night together, after her admission that she still loves me, I allowed myself to hope. Stupid. Loving someone isn't enough if they don't have the courage to act on that love, to take risks for it, to prioritize it above their carefully constructed plans.

My phone vibrates in my pocket—a text from Robert asking if I'm joining them for the farewell brunch. I send a quick reply confirming I'll be there, adding that I'm changing my flight to head back early. His response is immediate: "Everything okay with you and Brooke?"

I stare at the screen, trying to decide how to answer. The truth—that his daughter and I have been pretending this whole time, that we're no more a couple now than we were when we arrived—would only cause unnecessary pain. The wedding is over, Taylor is happy, and that was the whole point of this charade.

All good. Just ranch business that needs attention.

The lie leaves a bitter taste, but it's kinder than the truth.

By the time I reach the resort, I've mapped out my exit strategy: attend the brunch, make my goodbyes, change my flight, and be on my way back to Colorado before dinner. Clean break. No messy scenes, no extended goodbyes, no more nights lying next to Brooke pretending we have any kind of future together.

I find her in our suite, sitting on the edge of the bed, still in her robe from earlier. Her eyes are red-rimmed, hair pulled back in a messy ponytail—a far cry from her usual put-together appearance. Something in my chest twists at the sight, but I steel myself against it. Her tears don't change anything. They didn't two years ago, and they don't now.

"You're back," she says, standing quickly. "I was getting worried."

"Just needed to clear my head." I move past her to my suitcase, pulling out clean clothes for the brunch. "I'm going to shower."

"Dean, can we talk? About earlier?" Her voice is small, uncertain.

"Nothing left to say." I keep my tone neutral as I gather my toiletries. "You made your position clear."

"That's not fair." She steps in front of me, forcing me to look at her. "I'm trying to find a middle ground here."

"There is no middle ground, Brooke. Not with us." I meet her gaze steadily, letting her see the resolve in mine. "We've never been capable of half measures. I guess it is all or nothing, and you've made your choice."

"By suggesting we take things slow? That we figure out the logistics before jumping in?" She runs a hand through her hair, frustration evident in the gesture. "That's not a rejection, Dean. That's trying to be practical."

"Practical," I repeat, the word souring on my tongue. "That's always been your go-to, hasn't it? The practical choice over the right one."

Her eyes flash with anger. "That's not fair."

"Maybe not," I concede, too tired to argue. "But it's how I feel. And I can't do this anymore—the back and forth, the hope followed by disappointment. I'm changing my flight, heading back to Colorado after the brunch."

She goes still, the color draining from her face. "You're leaving? Today?"

"The wedding's over. Mission accomplished." I shrug, aiming for casualness despite the ache in my chest. "No reason to stay."

"No reason—" She cuts herself off, blinking rapidly against what might be tears. "What about us? What we said last night?"

"What about it?" I counter, letting some of my frustration bleed through. "You said you love me, then in the same breath suggested we be 'just friends.' What exactly am I supposed to do with that, Brooke?"

She has no answer, her lips parting then closing without words.

"That's what I thought." I step around her, heading for the bathroom. "I'll be ready for brunch in twenty minutes."

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