Page 27 of Every Promise Broken

“Deal.”

Folding his arms over his chest, he nods resolutely, lip twitching. “Okay, then. It’s settled.”

“Is your little boyfriend as thrilled about this as you are?”

The scowl returns, deeper than ever. “His name is Reggie, you know that. And I will not be discussing him with you. Ever. New rule.”

“Okay, we won’t discuss Reggie. That’s fine by me.” Standing up, I level him with a look. “Would you like to stay for dinner? I was going to make some steak on the grill.”

Whit’s jaw clenches. “No, thank you. I need to be getting home.”

I nod, and a moment passes between us. Neither of us looks away or says anything, but I know we both feel it. It’s in the way Whit chews on the inside of his cheek. In the way his shoulders stay rigid. The way he holds my gaze even though I know he wants to look away because eye contact has never been easy for him, but he does it to appear unbothered. It’s in the way that, even after all these years, I still know Whit. I have the ability to read him, understand him, better than anybody. And as we stand here, unmoving and unspeaking, on my porch, I decide that I’m going to get him back.

I don’t know how I’m going to do it, but I have to. As we gaze at one another, as I take in the fact that he’s going to be living with me again, suddenly getting him back seems like a tangibleoption. Something is still between us, and even if he denies it, I know it’s not one-sided.

I’m going to make him see that I’m different now. I’ve grown and changed from the man he left all those years ago. I’m going to make him see that the eternal love he once felt for me is still there. No matter how much time has passed, I have never stopped loving Whit. Never. And the way he melted into my arms for comfort last month, the way we so easily fell back into old routine that night, tells me that maybe he never stopped either.

I just need to make him see that.

And I will.

12

Whit Bowman

Shooter stuffs a fry in his mouth, eyebrows raised, causing his forehead to crease. “Damn, I honestly cannot believe you agreed to that.”

“Yeah, me neither,” I mumble, staring down at the way my fingers are picking at the irritated skin around my thumbnail.

Shooter and I are at Lou’s Diner, a restaurant in town that we come to a lot. We try to meet up for lunch at least once a week when he’s home from the circuit. Shooter is a professional bronc rider, and about four or five months out of the year, he’s on the road traveling to different arenas to compete in, along with several of our other friends.

“Does Reggie know yet?”

I grab my glass of water off the table, bringing it up to my mouth. I take a drink as I avoid Shooter’s gaze. “No,” I reply plainly once I’m finished.

“You’re not telling him?”

“Uh, well…we broke up, actually.”

Shooter chokes out a laugh, his eyes going wide. “Shut the fuck up. When did that happen? Who broke up with who?”

“With whom,” I correct, earning me a dramatic eye roll. “And I broke up with him about a week ago.”

“Wait a minute.” Holding up a hand, he asks, “Before or after Conrad asked you to be his pretend husband?”

“Before.”

“Does Conrad know you aren’t with Reggie anymore?”

“No.”

“Are you going to tell him?”

“What is this, twenty questions?” I snap, suddenly regretting telling Shooter any of this, but I needed to tell somebody, and my therapist isn’t an option. That poor woman probably thinks I’m a lost cause after our last session. I can’t make it worse by admitting to her that I’m going to pretend to be my ex-husband’s husband for the sake of his nana. Trust me, I’m aware of how insane the entire thing is, yet I can’t not do it.

“You’re not going to tell him, are you?” He smirks, popping another fry in his mouth. “Why not?”

“Because I didn’t break up with Reggie because of Conrad.” There’s so much conviction in my tone, I almost believe myself.

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