She was already attached. She loved him so much, which was so different from the last time. She suspected she’d never really stopped loving him, but it had changed. Now, it was real and true, and adult, but like before, it was one-sided. She needed to leave now. If he pushed her away again, her pride would never recover.
Whenever Gabe was ready to commit, it wouldn’t be to someone like her. Occasionally, like now, he wanted variety, but when he settled, it would be with someone sweet like Jacey, bubbly like Taylor, or someone like Shannon whose outer appearance was perfection but who secretly had a wild side. Brooke smiled to herself. Certainly, it would be to someone with big boobs and size sixteen jeans, not scrawny little her.
It definitely wouldn’t be someone with a shady past who, at the best of times, could barely hold herself together.
Gabe captured her hand where it lay against his chest. “Maybe getting attached wouldn’t be so bad. With all that’s happened, what if you need me?”
Need him?
She ripped her hand from his and retreated to the other end of the kitchen.
“I won’t.”
“Yeah, but—”
“No, Gabe. Get it through your head. I don’t need you anymore. And to be honest, I never really did need you. It was always my problem. It really had nothing to do with you.”
The frown he wore so often around her darkened his features. “So that’s it? It’s over?”
“What more did you want? It was a fake relationship.”
Arms crossed, mouth firm, eyes narrowed, Gabe radiated fury.
Were they water and oil—or flame and kerosene?
Was it anger and resentment—or passion and heat?
“Okay, fine. You don’t need me. But what about what I want?”
Feeling like she was walking into a trap, she cautiously wondered, “What do you mean?”
“You don’t want me anymore?”
Unsure where this was headed, she let her gaze take him in, his angular jaw covered in a light beard, the color perfectly matching his dark brows. His brown eyes and his wide forehead were creased with rage. His blue button-down denim shirt and his fashionably ripped blue jeans. Would she ever not want him?
Knowing what was best for both of them, Brooke braced herself against the hurt inside and broke her heart, replying with an impartial shrug. “I’ve had you.”
Anger flashed in his eyes. His jaw locked. “Fine.”
So accustomed to their verbal sparring, Brooke was left floundering when Gabe turned on his heel and fled. She flew to the door after him, but rather than bar it with her body as she longed to, she merely watched him storm out of her home.
If she was doing the right thing, why did she feel so bad, so empty inside? And why did she feel as though she’d hurt him?
Rather than run to her bathroom to dismantle the closest razor, Brooke sank against the door, tightly hugged her legs, and cried. She cried for Gabe, for her mom, and for herself. She cried because she had no one had such difficulty making friends. She cried for how badly she’d damaged Kevin.
She wiped beneath each eye, smudging the tears. She noticed the small half-moons she’d unconsciously carved into her palms when she’d fisted her hands. Drawing in unattractive, ragged breaths, she hit her head against the wooden door. Once, twice, a third time, until a dull ache formed at the back of her skull.
Eyes wet, insides in tight anguish, she rested her head against the door and glanced upward. “Why?” She swallowed a hard, foul-tasting lump. “Mom. Why?”
Sniffling and whimpering, Brooke gave herself time to feel horrible.
Today she’d feel shitty.
Tonight, she’d pack.
And tomorrow, she’d worry about how to move on with her life.