Page 40 of Revenge Brunch and Other Disasters

He kissed her forehead before she could say anything. Beforehecould.

He’d just whispered “You don’t have to say anything,” like that would soften the blow.

Like that would protect her from the truth.

Like he hadn’t just handed her the sharpest edge of everything he felt.

Then, when he’d dropped her off, he’d hesitated and then fled, leaving Sir Stumps-a-Lot behind like an emotional support pillow.

The dog didn’t even hesitate. Just trotted into her apartment like he understood the assignment: Stay. Watch her. Keep her grounded.

Possibly fart under the covers for revenge. Maybe chew one of her sandals for solidarity.

Rhys watched the door close behind them.

Then he left. Drove halfway down the block.

Parked.

And stayed.

Because leaving didn’t feel possible, even if staying hurt worse.

He stared at the passenger seat like it might start talking.

It didn’t.

Obviously.

The silence in the car was too loud. His chest hurt in that dumb metaphorical way people described in romance novels he pretended not to read.

God, he hated himself.

He shouldn’t have brought in Micah. That had been the tipping point. The final chess move in a game she hadn’t agreed to play.

Micah, who had beenway too excited.

“Finally,” he’d said, treating the whole thing like a black box theater production. “A chance to play a morally complex gay ex-boyfriend in a limited-run engagement. I want tension. I want intrigue. I want to ruin lives. Dramatically. I want someone to cry in a café bathroom.”

Rhys had nodded numbly. He wasn’t sure who that someone was going to be.

He was starting to suspect it might be him.

Because Micah was theater, yes. But Linda? Linda wasn’t faking.

God, he loved her.

Like—loved her.

He loved her so much it felt like gravity shifted every time she smiled. Like time bent a little when she said his name. Linda, with her alarm clock vendettas and nervous rambling and heroic commitment to snack-based coping mechanisms. Linda, who panicked when things were too sincere and said things like “I hate you” instead of “I’m scared.”

He loved her even when she burned toast and yelled at the washing machine.

Especially when she tried to hold all her fear in one shaky laugh and pretended it didn’t matter.

Linda, who thought she could keep herself safe by calling it pretend.

Linda, who was already half in and didn’t even know it. Justified their relationship by calling herself his beard like that was going to stop the truth from leaking out of her eyes when she looked at him.

---