Page 68 of Legally Ours

Chapter 16

The rest of the party continued without a hitch. It seemed like a welcome release for a lot of the people there. I guessed I wasn't the only one who got swept up in the whirlwind of Brandon's life. I recognized some of the members of his campaign, for instance, leaving their phones in their pockets for once while they tipped back another pint and goofed around to the Springsteen covers. The band was doing a good job of keeping everyone going, and they sprinkled in a good mix of other songs along with the Springsteen stuff to keep people dancing long into the night.

Brandon was in the center of it all, cutting a rug with his co-workers with absolutely no rhythm whatsoever. For a long time, I watched with amusement from the bar, amazed by the fact that I could have gone this long knowing the man without discovering his horrendous dance abilities. I loved the fact that it didn't stop him from twisting his big body around with whatever beat he perceived.

But now things were calming down. We'd sung "Happy Birthday" with a cake brought out by the kitchen staff. Some of the older attendees had gone home, although the younger crowd clearly intended to stay for as long as the music continued.

I was getting antsy. It was edging on two a.m. "Later" had turned into "never," and Brandon was clearly doing his best to avoid me.

I'd tried everything I could think to get close. Asked him to dance a few times, although he'd begged off for the bathroom or the bar before returning later to dance with other people. Brought him drink refills, only to have them set aside when he took one from someone else.

I was tired of all of the sad, sorry looks my way. I felt pathetic. The adoption papers, the party––this plan was the best I had, so if it wasn't going to get me back into Brandon's good graces, maybe it was time to accept the inevitable. He said he wanted things to work, but right now, I didn't see it.

I'd already paid the band generously to play for as long as they could, and had rented out the bar for the entire night. With one last swallow of beer, I slipped off my seat in the back of the room and wove my way to the dance floor where Brandon was resting between songs. As if on cue, the band launched into a slower song, and the crowd dissipated a bit.

I tapped Brandon on the shoulder, and he swung around.

"Hey!" he said with a smile, which dropped into a frown as he realized that I had my purse slung over my shoulder. "What's up?"

"I just wanted to say Happy Birthday again," I said, my eyes darting around as I tried and failed to keep my voice from warbling. Do not cry, do not cry. "I'm going home. It's late."

Brandon didn't answer, just crinkled his eyebrows in confusion.

"Okay then," I said quickly. I stood up on my tip toes and pecked a quick kiss on his cheek, trying to ignore the way his unique scent, even overlaid as it was with beer, made me tremble with want. The tears rose again. I wasn't sure how long I could really do this. "Bye."

Before he could answer or brush me off again, I turned and started making my way through the crowd. I had done my best, but I couldn't stay around being ignored any longer. At some point, it just hurt too much. He wasn't the only one who had been through trauma, and I was doing everything. Bending over backwards trying to please this man, trying to prove I loved him. I'd made mistakes, sure––big ones. Huge. But he had too, and I was present. I was the one who had come back completely. Where was he?

"Skylar, wait."

Just before I reached the exit, my hand was grabbed and I was whirled around.

"Where are you going?" Brandon snapped. "I though you said you weren't going to run anymore."

"I'm not running," I insisted, even as my voice cracked. "I'm just..." I sighed, and started again. "Tell me this, Sterling. Are you ever going to come back to me completely?"

At that, the glare wiped completely from his face. His face screwed up in total confusion. "Skylar...Jesus."

I watched carefully. It wasn't like Brandon to lose his articulation.

"You have my forgiveness," he said finally. "You always did."

"Then why won't you talk to me tonight for more than two minutes?" I demanded. "When will you stop treating me like some kind of pariah?"

"When I know you're actually in this for good!" he shot back, the volume of his voice just barely below the chatter around us, but still causing more than a few people to glance curiously our way.

We bristled at each other across the doorway, but his words hit me like a bag of bricks. A few seconds later, Brandon had dipped his head down, covering his brow with clenched hands, and my chest felt like it was caved in. How could he not know by this point that I was in this for good?

But of course, it made sense.

Hadn't I run when it got even a little bit hard?

Hadn't I lied?

Hadn't I turned him down?

Hadn't I pushed him away, time and time again, whenever he really tried to get close?

Marry me, he'd said less than a month before, in France. I'd thought he was half-joking, had brushed it off, then told him in no uncertain terms that I wasn't ready. But looking at him now, I understood the seriousness that was hidden under the joke. Humor was a mask for Brandon, one he wore to protect himself at his most vulnerable. How could I not have seen it directed at me?

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