Don't Let Go (23 page)

IT HAD BEEN
a busy morning, but Megan managed to gather up an apple fritter and an extralarge cup of coffee and, with Stacy handling the post–morning rush crowd, she headed down the street to Carter's shop.

She ran into Molly, who told her Brady was in the garage.

“He's not painting or anything? I notice Roxie is in here.”

She shook her head. “No, you're safe to go in there right now. He's just beating something up with a hammer, so it's too loud for Roxie out there.”

“Great. Thanks.”

She walked in to find Brady banging away on a fender with a rubber hammer. The sound was deafening. She went over to him so hopefully he'd notice her and stop.

He did, looking up at her and frowning. “What are you doing here?”

She held up the cup and the bag. “I thought you could use a break. You didn't come in this morning, so I brought you coffee and an apple fritter.”

He frowned. “Just . . . put them on the desk.”

Wow. No improvement in the mood yet. “Okay.”

She went over and set them on the desk, and he went back to hammering, which made her ears ring.

Did he think she was just going to drop those off and leave? She went back over to him and stood there, enduring the endlessly loud hammering.

Fortunately, he stopped and stood. “What, Megan?”

“Why are you being so mean?”

“I'm not being mean. I'm working.”

“I've been here before when you were working and you were never mean to me. So why now?”

“I'm busy. I've got a lot going on.”

She tilted her head to the side. “Come on, Brady. Something's going on with you—with us. We need to talk about it.”

He looked toward the door leading to the shop, then back at her. “Fine. But not here and not now. How about I come over to your place after work—maybe like six o'clock. We'll talk then.”

“All right. I'll see you tonight.”

She waited, but he didn't kiss her, didn't hug her, and didn't thank her for bringing him the coffee and the apple fritter.

Now she'd spend the rest of the day anxious about tonight, about what they were going to talk about.

But at least they were going to talk, so that was progress.

MEGAN HAD SHOWERED
and changed clothes before Brady was supposed to come over.

She'd also spent the afternoon nervously pacing her house. After she left work for the day, she'd baked two pies, one cheesecake, and a batch of chocolate chip muffins, then thoroughly scrubbed her kitchen.

She debated whether or not to lay out the baked goods for Brady. He'd been wretched to her lately, so he really didn't deserve anything.

Then again, maybe there was something on his mind and he just needed time to sort through it. And what better way to sort through a dilemma than with a slice of cheesecake or a muffin?

In the end, she decided to offer a spread of cheesecake and muffins—an obvious cure-all for anything. She also put a ham in the oven to warm, along with some sweet potatoes. He might be hungry. He probably was upset about something and wasn't eating well. She could at least feed him.

After she stared at herself in the mirror to check her jeans and peach silk blouse, she realized her hands were shaking.

Calm. Down. It's just a conversation, and no matter what's wrong, we're going to fix it. Together.

She took a deep, cleansing breath and felt a lot better.

Brady knocked on the door. She went to answer it. He was freshly showered and looked amazing, as always.

She looked around him. “Where's Roxie?”

“She's at my place.”

“You could have brought her.”

He shrugged. “She's fine at home.”

Okay then. “Would you like something to drink?”

“A beer would be good.”

She went to the refrigerator and grabbed a beer for him, then poured herself a glass of wine. She handed him the beer and he took a seat at the island. “Rough day today?”

He shrugged. “Average.”

She took a seat in the chair next to his, took a long, courage-inducing swallow of wine, then laid her hand over his. “Tell me what's wrong.”

“Nothing's wrong.”

“Something is definitely off. You haven't been calling me. You haven't stopped in at the bakery, or come here to the house. There's been nothing, Brady. No contact of any kind.”

“I've been busy.”

She refused to let him brush this off. “Your attitude toward me is different. You aren't affectionate with me and you haven't been for more than a week now. You can talk to me, Brady. I'm a grown woman and I can handle whatever it is.”

He took a couple of swallows of his beer, then set it on the counter. “Okay, fine. It's not working between us.”

His words sliced through her like a knife in her heart, but she held steady. “What's not working?”

“This. You and me. I'm not meant to have a relationship.
I've been giving it a lot of thought, and I need to make some changes.”

Her earlier confidence that she could handle whatever this was started to fade. “What kind of changes?”

He stood and paced back and forth in front of her. “You know, people seem to think they know me. But they don't. I had a plan, and it was a good one. I was happy being alone. I want to save money to start my own business. But I don't know when that's going to be or where that's going to be. People can't dictate those terms to me.”

Now she was just confused. “What people are you talking about, Brady?”

He raked his fingers through his hair. “Just . . . people. Trying to give me ideas, trying to force me to set down roots, establish relationships. Make friends. I don't need permanence in my life. I just need to be left the hell alone.”

He'd finished with a raised voice. She didn't even know this person who was standing in front of her yelling at her as if she and some random, faceless, nameless “people” were the cause of all his perceived problems. She only knew that whatever was bothering him, it was bothering him in a major way. “I'm sorry, Brady, but I don't exactly know what you're talking about. I can see you're upset. Let's have some dinner. I made a ham and sweet potatoes. We'll talk this through and figure out what's upset you.”

He whirled on her. “I don't want any goddamn dinner. What I want is for everyone to leave me the hell alone. I'm not upset. I'm done. I'm done with you and I'm done with everyone else who has a plan for my life.”

She blinked, shocked at the anger he was directing at her. “What? What plans? I haven't had any plans for you. Why are you so angry at me?”

“I'm not . . . I'm not angry. I'm just . . . I need to get out of here, Megan. Kurt and I had plans, and you saw how those worked out. I can't do plans. I can't do looking forward into the future.”

Oh. She suddenly had an inkling of the problem. “So you're feeling things for me, and you're forming friendships here, and that scares you because you're afraid of losing it all just like you lost Kurt.”

He stared at her for what seemed like an eternity before he answered. “That is not what I said. This has nothing to do with Kurt.”

She wasn't buying it. She saw anger on his face, but there was pain in his eyes. “Doesn't it? Maybe it's time to separate the rest of your life from the past, to let go of your brother and look toward your future.”

She got up and went over to him and laid her hand on his arm. While the words he'd said to her had hurt, she understood it was coming from a place of deep pain. He was scared of all his feelings, and she wanted to help him. “I'm here for you. I understand the pain you feel. But until you talk it out with someone, those feelings aren't ever going to go away.”

He looked down at her, and for a moment, she saw the softness, the tenderness in him, and for just that split second, he was the man she'd fallen in love with.

But then those beautiful eyes of his hardened.

“You can't fix everything with a fucking muffin, Megan. And some things can't ever be fixed. So why don't you just leave me the hell alone and let me live my life the way I want to.”

Okay. That was enough. “I didn't say I was trying to fix anything. And certainly not with a muffin. That was insulting, Brady.”

His only response was to shrug.

“You're going to stand there and tell me you don't care about me. At all.”

He didn't say anything. He gave her nothing in the way of a reply. Not even a shred of hope for the two of them.

She took a step back. He'd completely shut her out. Despite her offer to help, he'd decided he didn't want her support. He didn't want her love.

He didn't want her.

She folded her arms in front of her, pulling her own hurt and emotions in, because she'd be damned if she'd fall apart in front of him. “You can't keep running from your feelings, Brady. Eventually you're going to have to face them. You're going to have to face how you feel, and all those painful emotions you've kept locked away. And maybe someday when you're ready to do that, you're going to need someone who cares about you to be there with you. And maybe because you've spent so much time fighting so hard to keep yourself locked up tight and running from everyone who cares about you, when you finally fall flat on your face and need support, you'll be alone.

“And I'll feel really sorry for you when that happens, because I can't think of anything worse than being alone with all of those feelings you might actually have to admit to someday.”

All he did was look at her. Emotionless, his stare like a deep, black hole of nothingness.

“Get out, Brady.”

He turned and walked out the door, taking all her hopes and dreams with him.

Only when she heard his bike rumble down the driveway did she release the tears she'd held back.

*   *   *

BRADY THREW HIS
keys on the kitchen table. He wasn't even pissed. He was just . . . empty.

He grabbed a beer and went to the sofa. Roxie hopped on his lap, and he absently stroked her back.

He'd done the right thing tonight. He'd let Megan go. She might hurt now, but in the long run, she'd be better off without him. And he'd sure as hell be better off without her.

Without anyone.

He didn't need all these people who kept pushing him to be someone he wasn't. He just wanted to crawl inside of himself and forget. He was tired of hurting.

He'd hurt enough over the past couple of years. All he wanted to do was forget about everything, forget about Kurt, and just live his life as if his brother hadn't existed. The problem was, this whole damn town and everyone in it wouldn't let that happen.

They all wanted to talk about Kurt, remember Kurt. They wanted him to talk about Kurt and remember Kurt. And if they didn't want him to remember Kurt, then they wanted him to get over Kurt. And because of that, the giant hole in his heart wasn't closing.

He should have never stayed here after Kurt died. He'd known it was a mistake, but because of his parents, he'd stayed and taken that job with Carter. And then he'd made an even bigger mistake by making friends and falling in love with Megan, who'd opened him up and opened old wounds that wouldn't close anymore.

He didn't want to be open and honest with his feelings. He'd felt a lot better when he was closed up tight, refusing to feel.

Feeling things hurt. They hurt so damn bad he wasn't sure he could make it through a day feeling everything he did right now.

Seeing that look in Megan's eyes when he'd shut her down hurt so damn bad he ached with the pain of it. And he hadn't felt pain like that since . . .

Hell, this pain was even worse. And there was only one solution to that.

Leaving.

He had to get away from Hope, from everyone who wanted him to relive the most painful moments of his life. He had to escape his parents, who refused to put away their memories of Kurt, as if the collections of photos they'd put up on the mantel and walls would bring their son back to life.

And most important, he had to get away from Megan, whose love suffocated him and made him open his heart in a way that made him bleed out the emotion and
depths of feelings he'd fought so hard to keep locked up tight.

Yeah, he had to get the hell out of this town right now, so he could lock down those feelings and once again go stone-cold.

He'd feel a lot safer that way.

“TO THE COLDHEARTED
bastards of the world. May they all rot in hell.”

Megan raised her glass to Chelsea's toast, but her heart wasn't in it. It had been eight days, nine hours, and . . . she refused to even look at her watch anymore to calculate the minutes and seconds since Brady had dumped her. She'd done enough clock-watching, hoping like hell he'd show up at the bakery or her house and beg her forgiveness.

He wasn't coming back, and she was just going to have to get over it. The best way to do that was with her friends. The girls had insisted she had to leave her house and go out with them.

“And may they all get STDs,” Sam added, then hiccuped out a giggle.

“Atta girl,” Chelsea said. “I'm enjoying this new inebriated side of you, Sam. I'm especially enjoying it because I'm sober when we go out.”

“Thank you,” Sam said. “I figure I have to pick up the slack for your lack of drinking while you're pregnant.”

“I knew I could count on you.” Chelsea smiled, then frowned. “Wait. Did you just call me a lush?”

Emma laughed. “I think she did.”

Jane giggled. “I'm just going to take pictures so we can text them to Sam when she has a hangover.”

“I'll especially enjoy those,” Sam said. “Reid likely will as well.”

“Either way,” Emma said. “We're drinking to all the losers we've all dated. We're better off without them.”

“Megan is definitely better off without He Who Shall Not Be Named,” Molly said. “Also known as He Who Left Without Notice.”

“Hear, hear,” Sam said, hoisting her margarita. “To the deadbeat boyfriend and employee. No, wait, we're not toasting him, are we?”

“We definitely need to monitor Sam's margaritas,” Jane said to Megan. “Though you need to be drinking a lot more.”

“I do, don't I?” Megan took a long swallow of her wine. “Men suck.”

“Well, sometimes they suck in all the right ways,” Chelsea said with a wicked smile.

“Chelsea,” Emma said. “Now is not the time to talk about great sex.”

“Oh, right. Men are pigs.”

“As one of the species you hate, I'm sorry,” Bash said, coming over to their table. “But I'm just checking on refills and to see if any of you want to order dinner.”

“We're drinking dinner tonight. Thank you, Mr. Bartender,” Sam said, slurring most of that entire sentence.

“Uh-huh. Okay, then.”

“Better bring menus over, babe,” Chelsea said. “And alert Reid that Sam's on a tear.”

Bash laughed. “I'll do that.”

They'd been at it for about an hour and a half. Megan had nursed two glasses of wine in that time frame. What she should be doing was getting shit-faced with her friends, but so far, she was still sober, which was sad.

“Your sad face is killing my buzz, Megan,” Sam said, then ordered a round of tequila shots for everyone.

“Oh, Lord,” Emma said. “No shots for me. Megan, you'll have to do mine.”

“None for me, either, for obvious reasons,” Chelsea said.

“I'll pass, too,” Jane said. “I have to pick up Tabitha from dance class in an hour.”

In the end, Sam had taken Emma's shot and Megan had taken Chelsea's. After two shots of tequila, Megan was much more in the spirit of the evening. Then Loretta and Des showed up, so Megan had a couple more shots of tequila.

“I just don't understand him,” Megan said now that she was unburdened of her sobriety. “I loved him. I was going to tell him I loved him before he went all brooding and angry on me.”

“Sometimes men get scared when they start to have feelings,” Molly said. “I think we all went through it.”

“And sometimes they're just jerks,” Loretta said. “And there's no hope for them.”

“Well, this is true,” Emma said. “There are relationships that are salvageable and some that aren't. I thought for sure Brady was the right one for you.”

“We all did,” Chelsea said. “I'm so sorry it didn't work out.”

Megan nodded, then took a sip of her wine. “Me, too. But I'm better off without him. I don't need a man in my life who doesn't want me. I want a man who loves me, who will move heaven and earth to have me.”

“Amen, sister,” Loretta said, lifting her glass of wine in a toast.

Fortunately, dinner arrived, and it took the edge off of Megan's fuzzy head. By the time they got to dessert—a decadent triple-layer cake—Megan felt a lot better. But she still let Reid drive her home, laughing as Sam sang one of her favorite songs from the Top 40. In the wrong key.

“Thanks for the ride, Reid,” she said.

“Anytime.”

“Love you, honey,” Sam said, waving to her over the front seat.

“Love you, too, Sam.”

She went inside the house and changed into shorts and a tank top, then fixed a large glass of ice water, already feeling dehydrated from all the alcohol. She sat at the island and went through the day's mail. Then she looked up and saw the cheesecake she'd made earlier.

She pushed the mail to the side and rested her chin on her hands.

Cheesecake. Brady loved cheesecake. Out of all the sweet confections she'd made, he'd pronounced it his favorite.

She wondered where he was now. Was he happy?

She wasn't happy. She missed him. He'd hurt her—broken her heart, actually. But she still missed him. You didn't fall out of love with someone just because they broke your heart.

This healing was going to take some time.

She swiped her finger through the edge of the cheesecake and took a taste, not bothering to brush away the tears that slid down her cheeks.

Bastard. Someday she'd stop crying over him.