Maybe he didn’t owe her any explanation, but it was the rudest kind of gut-punch to realize you didn’t know the person you’d shared a bed with. Exchanged vows with.
How long had he lied to her? Deprived her of a full life?
So she did something she never would have done when they were together. She showed up at the firehall.
She made sure she looked good. Heeled boots, tight jeans, low cut and snug t-shirt under a blazer. No lipstick, because Brent had never liked that, but lots of eye makeup. Almost too much for the daytime, but it worked.
Even if he wasn’t interested anymore, his fellow firefighters would be, and that would get to him.
Right now, she was on a warpath, set for destruction.
Hers or his or both, she wasn’t sure.
This is a bad idea, she told herself. But it was the only one she had left. She needed closure.
She was betting hard that he hadn’t changed his work schedule. Brent was a man of firm routines, and sure enough, his truck was in the parking lot.
Heart pounding, she strode toward the front door. A woman in a paramedic’s uniform pushed through it as she approached, and stood there with a smile, holding it open for her.
“Thanks,” she murmured as she brushed past.
She’d been here twice before in the last six years for holiday parties. She knew—generally—where she was going. Instead of storming all the way upstairs, she stopped at the office on the main floor and introduced herself. “I’m looking for Brent,” she said. “If he’s free.”
The guy behind the desk gave her an easy once over, the outfit doing its job. “Sure thing.” She didn’t give her name, and he didn’t ask. He just picked up the phone. “Brent’s got a visitor,” he said when someone picked up upstairs.
It didn’t take long for footsteps to sound, and then he was in the doorway. He was in uniform, and maybe it was because she’d seen him in the dark blue so often, or maybe it was the bright lighting compared to the dark banquet hall on Saturday night, but up close she noticed things about him she’d missed on the weekend.
He’d lost weight, for one. He was looking positively lean, although his arms were still tightly corded and strong, his forearms tanned and dusted with the familiar blond hair she liked to drive her fingers through.
“Jess,” he said, his eyes wide. “What’s wrong?”
She opened her mouth. Nothing came out.
His brows pulled tight, and he nodded sharply. “Come on. Follow me.”
Palms slick and throat dry, she did as he instructed. Her anger had disappeared as soon as he’d looked at her, really looked at her, not in the across-the-room bullshit kind of way he had Saturday night.
He’d seen her standing in the office and his face had fallen. He didn’t want to see her right now, but he thought something was wrong—it is, it really is, she wanted to protest, her entire world was wrong and confused—and so he was giving her an audience for that reason alone.
He led her to a small kitchenette off a meeting room, then closed the door behind her so they had privacy.
“What is it?”
Her bravado didn’t return. “I shouldn’t do this here,” she said, her voice shaking. “I’m sorry.”
“Do what?”
“You’ve—I’ve been texting you.”
His jaw flexed. “Yeah. I know. I’ve been a dick about that.”
It wasn’t an apology. Just an acknowledgment, but it was enough to spur her forward a bit more. “I just wanted to talk, and…” She gestured around the kitchen. “Obviously I know this isn’t the right space. And maybe I need to listen to your silence.”
“You’re here now.” He scowled.
“So?”
“So we can talk.”
