“No. I have my own ghosts to contend with.”
I frown. “Nova?”
“And other reasons.”
“The age difference?”
“There’s that,” he agrees quietly.
More questions rise, but I bite them back.
He moves closer, our shoulders not quite touching.
“I do care about you,” he murmurs. “But you deserve someone who can give you all of himself. Someone wonderful. And when you meet that person…” His voice dips, almost faltering. “Well. I hope you’ll let that person make you happy.”
Silence stretches, his words settling deep. He doesn’t want me.
“And why would he?”
I can’t stay. But I can’t seem to leave, either.
I don’t know what to say.
I’m confused by what I feel.
By what he feels.
And by the way simply being near him is enough to unravel me.
Mercifully, Brandon continues walking, quiet and pensive, as if nothing happened.
I follow in silence, but my heartbeat drums in my ears, each step agony until the cottage finally comes into view. At the gate, I stammer goodnight and break away, making for the side entrance instead of the front door. My feet climb the metal fire escape in measured steps, though all I want is to run, to slam the door and bury myself under a pillow.
Once I’m finally inside, I shut the door softly, lean against it, and then slide down until I’m on the floor, knees pulled to my chest.
What a day. What a night. What a fucking night.
My phone buzzes, and I nearly drop it, heart leaping stupidly. For a wild second, I think it’s Brandon.
It isn’t.
Unknown Number:Hey Lily-Anne, it’s Willoughby. I got your number from the sign-up sheet. I hope that’s okay. You still up? I wanted to ask you something.
I consider waiting until tomorrow to reply, but my curiosity gets the better of me. What could he possibly want to ask me?
I slowly text back.
20
Matters of the Head
Brandon
One Week Later
“You. Fucking.Idiot.”
I halt mid-sip of my beer, foam clinging to my lips as I stare at Sean. “What?”
