Cassidy Lane (26 page)

Chapter Twenty

FROM THEN ON
things were different.

Brandon kept reaching
out, but less and less with each passing day. Where he had once sent Cassidy a message first thing in the morning, he began waiting later and later to get in touch, as well as longer to reply. The tone of their conversations was also shifting. He grew more reserved, so she followed his lead and shared less. They continued to text regularly and exchange information, but the intimacy was slowly disappearing, the witty banter gradually replaced by a bland neutrality more suited for a coworker than a romantic interest. She tried several times to inject a jolt of playfulness into their conversations, but he rarely reciprocated, and if he did, it didn’t last longer than a message or two. In striking contrast to the sexual innuendo that once leaped off the screen, she now found herself searching for any hint of suggestion or flirtation in everything he wrote her.

She rarely found
it.

Long day today. I’m exhausted. Need to get a good night’s sleep tonight.

Me too, have been working hard on the book, not getting as many naps in as I should.

I think I’m coming down with the flu.

Sorry to hear that. Wish I could be there to take care of you.

I hate being sick.

Drink hot tea with lemon.

Henry has the flu. That means we’re all going to get it.

Feel better. Listen, we’re clearly both tired, so I think I’m going to hit the sack now.

OK, good night.

He was also grumbling more and more about his hectic life—in addition to managing the care of his mother and sons, he was working crazy hours and looking for a new school for Jack—and inquiring less about hers.

Hi there, how’s your day going?

Not great. Too much work, too little time. Never seems to stop.

Are you feeling any better?

Unfortunately, no, but I have too much going on at the office right now to take a sick day.

Sorry to hear that. When I’m not feeling well, I can’t get any writing done. My brain basically shuts down and tells me to climb into bed. You know how I am about sleeping.

I wish I could climb into bed right now.

I wish I could cheer you up. I’ll be home in a few weeks, so at least that’s some good news.

That is good news. I hope I won’t have as much on my plate then, but it’s doubtful.

Soon he was
down to sending a single message after she’d already gone to sleep, and a couple of days went by when she didn’t hear from him at all. By the first Monday in December, after not hearing from him all weekend, she was on the verge of tears.

What had happened?

Long gone were
the spirited flirtations, playful teasing about her daily naps, or any mention of a visit to New York.

She’d once felt
they were growing closer with each conversation, but now it was as if they were moving in opposite directions.

Fast.

Early one evening
she was at her desk, working on her novel, when she heard the unmistakable chime of a new text message.

I feel bad that I haven’t been in touch much lately. I’m not being a good friend.

She caught her
breath.

He was finally
doing it.

She began nibbling
on her fingernail. She knew what was coming but tried to stop it by pretending everything was OK.

It’s OK, I know you’ve had a rough few weeks. How is your mom doing?

The back-and-forth ensued:

Not great. I’m not sleeping very much. Very stressed.

I’m sorry. I wish I could help.

You’ve been very supportive.

It’s because I care about you.

I wish I could give you what you need from me.

You’re doing your best. I’m just glad you want me in your life at all right now.

She felt sick
with desperation as she continued to pretend she didn’t mind, hating herself for not having the strength to agree he’d let her down.

To tell him
she deserved better.

To let him
go.

She held the
phone in her hand and waited. She already knew what his next text would say, but she wondered which words he would use to say it.

The phone chimed
about a minute later. She closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them and looked at the screen.

I just feel like I’m being pulled in too many directions. Maybe it’s best if we just stay friends until things settle down for me.

She stared at
the message.

There it was.

The other shoe.

Clattering against the
hardwood floor.

Cassidy squeezed the
phone, trying to process what had just happened. She’d been expecting it for days, even weeks, but she still couldn’t believe it was real.
Thousands
of text messages had come down to…this?

She tried to
remember when he’d dropped the first shoe. Was it their first date, when he didn’t kiss her until she asked him to do so? She’d been more or less teetering between bliss and eggshells ever since. Or maybe it was the morning they’d met for coffee to talk about his mother. There was no denying how different he’d been then. Then there was the time he hadn’t asked how her keynote address had gone…long before he hadn’t asked about her doctor’s appointment. Both instances had hurt her feelings, which in turn had made her feel guilty. Given what had happened to his mother, it wasn’t fair to expect much in the way of emotional support from him, if any at all.

Had it been
over even before it began?

She paced around
her apartment, not sure how to respond, humiliated that this was happening via text message. No matter how busy he was, didn’t he realize how insensitive
it was to end a romance this way? How
callous
it was? Didn’t he care about her feelings at all? What had happened to the gracious and polite man she’d fallen for? He’d once joked about how they were texting like teenagers, but they weren’t teenagers. They were adults.

She threw her
phone on the couch.

He should have
called her.

She was furious
but didn’t know if she had a right to be, which made her more furious.

Is this what
the world has come to?

Ending a relationship
via text message is acceptable behavior?

She put her
hands on her head, wanting to pull her hair out.

The man is
thirty-eight years old!

He has children!

He owns a
law practice!

After pacing around
her living room for several minutes, she picked up her phone and typed a brief reply:

Got it.

Her phone chimed
immediately, and the back-and-forth resumed:

Are you mad?

No.

I just can’t handle being more than friends right now. I hope you understand.

I understand, but I have plenty of friends.

What are you saying?

I’m saying I have enough friends.

That’s not fair.

Why isn’t that fair?

Because this isn’t about us.

What do you mean, it’s not about us? Of course it’s about us. Two weeks ago you said you wanted to come visit me, and now you’re dumping me over text message.

No, that’s not it.

Then what is it?

I’m sorry.

That’s not an answer.

I don’t know what else I can say.

I also invited you to my family holiday dinner AND sent you a photo of myself in my underwear. Now I feel like a complete idiot.

Please don’t feel like an idiot.

Easy for you to say.

You told me you’d been hurt before, so I’m just trying to protect you, because right now I can’t give you what you want. I don’t want to end up hurting you too.

I think it’s too late for that.

I’m sorry. I wanted to be ready to be in a relationship with you, but I’m not.

Nice of you to tell me.

I didn’t expect this to happen. I think the world of you.

Then what do you want from me?

I want us to be friends.

Stop saying that.

I’m just messed up right now.

That sounds like an excuse.

It’s not an excuse.

I’d rather you be honest with me than try to spare my feelings.

I am being honest. You’re perfect, and I’m a wreck.

Don’t say that. If I were so perfect, you wouldn’t be doing this.

It’s true.

She stared at
her phone, incredulous that they were still talking over text message. Why hadn’t he picked up the phone to call her? Wasn’t she worth at least
that
?

Why did you even bother to contact me if you weren’t ready for a relationship? You started all of this.

Things were different then. Maybe it was wrong to engage with you, but I had no way of knowing this would happen to my mom. I’m really sorry, Cassidy.

She closed her
eyes. Could this really be because his mother had had a stroke? Didn’t people overcome much bigger obstacles all the time, especially where love was concerned? Weren’t people supposed to do anything for love?

She threw the
phone on her couch again.

No.

She’d been an
idiot to believe he could fall for her.

She’d been a
fool to let herself fall for him.

She never should
have opened up and told him how much she’d been hurt in the past, but now it was too late. She’d shown her hand and he’d rejected her.

He wants to
be
friends
? Give me a break.

Everyone knew
let’s
be
friends
was a euphemism for
I’m not interested
.

She wanted to
chew her nails but stopped herself.

NO.

She balled her
hands into fists and started pacing around the living room again, her budding fingernails digging into her palms.

He’s the one
who pursued me.

He’s the one
who initiated everything.

I was doing
just fine before.

Why did he
bother?

Why did I
let him in?

Suddenly she wanted
to run, her Achilles be damned. Running would calm her down. Running would make her feel better. It always made her feel better. She rushed into her bedroom and changed, then grabbed her keys and left the apartment, slamming the door behind her.