Page 66 of What We Keep
I was over Brad.
You are over Brad.
Great, now we’re talking to ourselves in the third person. Even worse, we’re referring to ourselves like we’re a split personality or something.
I mentally chastised myself. I was over Brad, but I was still disappointed in myself. Deeply embarrassed because he’d played me for a fool, and it hadn’t even taken much effort on his part. I knew this. My track record with men was so pathetic.
After we moved away from Willow Brook during high school, I’d been that foolish young girl who wanted to fall in love and was so desperate to belong. Even though my parents’ marriage had actually been a decent example—my dad had adored my mom—the world wasn’t all that kind to girls like me.
I’d been insecure and felt out of place everywhere I went. All of that had led to a string of stupid choices when it came to men. These choices culminated in Brad, the big boss of assholes in my life.
My hands were damp from nervousness and anxiety. I brushed them over the front of my jeans, cleared my throat, and swung the door open. I didn’t even give Brad a chance to think he could come in.
I stepped onto the porch, closing the door behind me. “Hi, Brad.” My voice was a little loud, a little forced.
He tipped his head to the side, his lips curling in a slow smile. That smile once would have gotten to me. Now, it just made me feel angry.
“Elsa, Elsa, Elsa,” he said, using what I thought of as his fake charming voice.
I crossed my arms. “What is it, Brad?”
“Babe, I missed you.” His voice was low, cajoling.
I took a minute to study him. The man was handsome. He had brown hair shot through with gold—not quite blond, but almost. He also had blue eyes, and he was really good at making them look wide and innocent, like he did now.
Haven’s blue eyes were better. I silently scoffed. “Brad, what do you want?”
I didn’t even give in to the urge to pointedly tell him that I didn’t miss him. Because I didn’t. It was so not fun to be involved with someone who constantly elicited a sense of insecurity. Brad had been that guy—handsome, intelligent, had a good job. He had it together on the surface yet had played me like the foolish fiddle I was.
For better or worse, my abandonment issues—say, my dad dying and leaving us nearly broke—made me crave stability in an unhealthy way. Grief was messy most of the time.
Brad’s gaze sobered, and he stuffed his hands in his pockets, shifting from the guy who was worried about me and missed me to looking a little contrite. “I mean it, Elsa. I missed you.”
I tightened my arms in front of my chest. “You didn’t miss me, Brad. What do you want? I don’t have anything you want, so I have no idea why you’re here and why you even chased me down.”
Shocker of all shockers, he decided to play it straight. “I’ll be honest. I heard you inherited that property here and?—”
“What do you need with that property?” I cut in.
“Collateral.”
“Collateral?” I sputtered. All that hurt and foolishness spun like an angry, painful storm in my chest.
“Fuck off, Brad. Just leave.” I turned to go just as Brad reached for my arm, his hand closing around the spot above my elbow a little too tightly. I sensed motion just out of the corner of my eye.
I glanced over to see Haven practically running as he dashed up onto the steps. “Get your fucking hands off her,” he nearly growled.
Brad had already dropped his hand because I’d yanked my elbow away.
“Who the fuck are you?” Brad muttered. He was used to being in control and calling the shots.
“I own this place, and I’m telling you right now to get the hell off this property.” Haven met my gaze. “Who is this?”
“Brad, my ex. He’s an asshole. He wants my property. For collateral,” I said, my tone dry.
“Jesus, Elsa. I’m not that bad,” Brad protested.
I felt on the verge of tears. Not because I was sad about Brad. But his presence and being so blunt about the property—that was how little he thought of me. I hated how stupid I felt.
