Brady’s room is empty too. His bed is unmade, the covers thrown over one side. Meaning he slept alone. Nobody else climbed from the other side of the bed. My heart heaves a huge sigh of relief.Thank fuck.
I retreat back to the kitchen and sit at the table, gazing out the large window to the sparkling pool. Maybe they went out for breakfast. Which is still rude, considering Brady knew I wanted to get started early, but I’m so relieved I didn’t just find Lennon and Brady in bed that I don’t mind Brady’s tardiness.
I pull out my phone to text Brady, but an email pops up and distracts me. It takes me twenty minutes to respond to the guy who manages my portfolio, mostly because I don’t know what he’s talking about and have to look up some of the terms. I know numbers just fine, but I don’t speak finance.
When my email is sent, I thumb over to my messages. I’m about to fire one off to Brady when a movement outside catches my attention. The pool house door swings open and Brady steps through it.
What the fuck?
Lennon follows.
No. No no no.
Maybe it’s not what it looks like. Maybe it’s not what it seems.
But something in my gut tells me it is.
Did Lennon choose?
My heart does this awful terrible thing where it feels like stone or concrete, something hard and angry, while simultaneously melting, right down into nothing.
“Finn!” Lennon’s shocked voice pulls me from my own shock. She has stepped into the house ahead of Brady, because, ever the gentleman, Brady has held the door open for her.
Guilt washes over Lennon’s features. Her eyes are full of it, like water filling a glass. Her cheeks redden, her chin dips.
Brady doesn’t look like her. He sighs and rubs his eyes.
And me? I want to do the right thing. I want to stand up and shake his hand, tell him congratulations.
The best man won.
I can’t. I’m too sick inside. Ripped to shreds by Lennon, even when she wasn’t trying to hurt me. I guess it will be me who won’t stop loving her immediately but will pull away for a while to lick my wounds, to heal and return only to love her the appropriate amount for a long-time friend.
Except I really don’t fucking want to.
Lennon steps forward, tears in her eyes. “Finn—”
I cut her off with a wave of my hand. It’s rude, but I can’t help it. Her face falls and her lips close.
Standing, I direct my gaze at Brady. “You ready? We’re late.” I walk to the island and turn around. “Pack an overnight bag. We’re going to work late and get started again early.”
Suddenly I’m itching to work, to use my hands, to feel sweat covering me.
Brady clears his throat. “I already did. You mentioned it was a possibility, so I went ahead and planned for it.”
“I also planned to be halfway there by now.” I look away, not interested in seeing their expressions. Why wasn’t Brady ready when I told him I’d be here? Were they too consumed by each other, doing the things I thoughtI’dbe the one doing with her?
“Are you guys going somewhere?” Lennon’s voice is small, and I hate it. Hate that this situation has made her feel afraid of asking a question. I never want her to feel timid when it comes to me.
So I look her in the eye, even though it kills me. I take in her beautiful, uncertain face with tears stuck in her lower lashes. And even though my chest feels hollow, I manage to tell her where we’re going, and even though I know she’s not mine, my heart still can’t stand being without her and so I say, “You and Laine should drive up and hang out.”
I tell myself I’ve said this for Brady’s benefit, so he can see her, but the truth is I’m a selfish bastard and I want her there forme.
Her face lights up like the sun. Her smile, a mixture of relief and happiness, beams directly into my mutilated heart.
“We’d love to,” she answers quickly.
“Great,” I say, turning away. There’s only so much I can take, and watching her smile is too much. “Brady, meet me in the truck.”
