"Don't." Rachel's voice was sharp. "Don't do small talk. You said you needed to explain. So explain."
He took a breath. His leg started bouncing under the table, his old nervous tell. "Derek called me after the town hall. He was pissed, said you and your boyfriend destroyed his reputation with lies."
Her stomach turned. "And?"
"And he wanted me to call everyone I know. To tell everyone that you'd been obsessed with him, that you'd misremembered what happened." Brad's jaw tightened. "I told him to fuck off."
"Congratulations on meeting the bare minimum of human decency."
"Jesus, Rachel—"
"No. You don't get to be offended." Rachel leaned forward, her cup cold against her palms. "Why did you believe him, Brad? For months? Why did you believe him overme?"
"Because he was convincing!" Brad's voice rose, then dropped when an older couple glanced over. "He was my physical therapist, my mentor; he'd spent months helping my career. Why the hell would I think he was lying?"
"Because I was your fiancée!"
"You're right." Brad's hands went to his hair, fingers tangling in that familiar gesture that used to mean he was frustrated with a bad game. Now it just made her angry. "Look, I'm not saying I made the right choice. Obviously I didn't. But he made it seem so fucking reasonable. He'd say 'Athletes need space to focus' and I'd think 'Yeah, I do feel distracted sometimes.' Or he'd say 'She doesn't really get your world, does she?' and I'd think 'Well, she's not into hockey...'"
"I came to every game—"
"I know you did. But you'd be reading sometimes, or you'd zone out when I talked about plays, and Derek made that seem like—like you didn't care about my career." Brad's voice was defensive. "He made it sound like you were holding me back. Like I'd never make it to the NHL if I was worried about you all the time."
"So you chose your career over me."
"Yes! Okay? Yes!" Brad's voice cracked with frustration. The espresso machine stopped. Everything felt too quiet. "I chose wrong. I was an insecure asshole who believed some manipulative prick over the woman who actually loved me. Happy?"
"No, actually. I'm not happy about that, Brad."
They sat without speaking. Rachel could smell the cinnamon rolls someone was eating two tables over. It made her nauseous.
"Look," Brad said finally, his voice rough. "I'm not here to make excuses. I fucked up." He stared at his coffee, jaw working. "The engagement party; Derek told me that ending it publicly would be 'cleaner.' That if I did it in private, you'd talk me out of it or we'd drag it out for months. That beingdecisive would be kinder in the long run."
"Kinder?" Rachel's voice was incredulous.
"I know how that sounds now, okay?" Brad looked away. "But at the time, I actually believed him. I thought I was doing the right thing. Being clear. Making a clean break."
"You humiliated me in front of everyone we knew."
Silence.
"You told me I was suffocating you. That I was boring. That loving me was exhausting."
Brad flinched. "And I've spent a year regretting every fucking word."
"Is that supposed to make me feel better?"
"No. Nothing I say is going to make you feel better." Brad met her eyes, and there was something raw there. "But I'm saying it anyway because when Derek called asking me to help destroy you again, I finally realized what I'd been. Not just manipulated—willing. I was willing to believe you were the problem because it was easier than admitting I was sabotaging my own life."
Tears prickled behind her eyelids. She forced them back. "Why was it easier?"
"Because I'm a mediocre hockey player who peaked in college!" Brad's voice rose again, frustrated. An older woman at the counter turned to look. He lowered his voice. "Because you were smart and gorgeous and had your shit together, and I was barely making rent playing for a semi-pro team nobody gave a fuck about. And instead of dealing with that, I let Derek convince me you were the reason I wasn't succeeding."
"That's not an excuse—"
"I'm not trying to excuse it!" Brad's hands clenched into fists on the table. "I'm trying to explain why I was stupid enough to believe him. Why I destroyed the best thing in my life because I was too insecure to admit my career was going nowhere and it had nothing to do with you."
Rachel stared at him. Her latte had gone cold an hour ago. "So you're here to what? Absolve yourself? Feel better about being an asshole?"
