Page 74 of Falling For My Ex's Older Brother

"You don't know what led to that." His voice rises.

"You don't know what was happening between us. You don't know anything about what we had and you're standing there acting like you have the full picture when you have whatever she chose to tell you."

"Fair," I say. "Tell me."

He blinks. He wasn't expecting that.

"Tell me," I say again.

"What was happening. What led to it. I'm listening."

He stares at me for a moment. Then he lets out a short, hard breath and moves further into the room — pacing slightly, the energy in him needing somewhere to go.

"Things were complicated," he says.

"The distance, the timing. She moved up here and everything just — it got harder. I was on a project, she was buried in this job, we weren't talking—"

"Whose choice was that?"

He stops pacing. He looks at me.

"Every time she called," I say, "did you pick up?"

Silence.

"When she had something to tell you," I say,

"Did you listen? Or did you hear it and move on to the next thing in your head?"

His jaw works. "You don't—"

“—I'm asking because I genuinely don't know," I say.

"I'm not attacking you. I'm asking because you'retelling me things were complicated and I want to understand what that means."

"It means it was hard." His voice is rougher now. Less controlled.

"It means I was dealing with a lot and she was dealing with a lot and we kept missing each other and eventually—" He stops. He looks at the window.

"Eventually it felt like we were already done and I just made it official."

"Over the phone," I say.

"During her lunch break."

Caleb looks at me and for a moment the anger drops enough that I can see underneath it — the specific guilt of a man who knows the answer and doesn't like it.

"That's not the point," he says finally. His voice has less heat in it now.

"It's exactly the point." I move toward the kitchen and pick up the glass I abandoned. I turn back to face him.

"You let her go. You made that choice. And then you're angry that someone else didn't."

"Not someone else." He meets my eyes.

"You. My brother." The anger resurfaces — sharper now, more specific.

"You knew who she was. And you—"