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I’d become so damndependenton him.
My entire life had revolved around him since after high school—his meetings, his company, his needs, his dreams. And while I loved being such a big part of his life and took value in the work I did, I knew that couldn’t be all I was anymore. After thinking he’d broken my heart on purpose—even though now I knew the truth—it still made me realize one terrifying truth. If I took out all the parts of my life that were tied to Weston, I was left with nothing.
Nothing outside ofhim.
Sure, I had a resumé with some great experience on it, but I didn’t have my own company, my own position at a firm that he didn’t own. Hell, he was my best friend, and in turn, his friends were my friends.
I was hopelessly tied to a man I’d always loved and after the fight about the Nike proposal and the scare from Lena’s ridiculous antics to try and tie him down, it made it very clear that I needed to figure out who I was outside of him. Which was one of the reasons I’d sucked it up and reached out to Nike on my own with the proposal. I knew it was a long shot, but at least I’d done it without dropping Weston’s name. I wanted to prove it to myself at the very least that I had value outside what I did in his world.
Now, if I could figure out what to do about Weston and me personally, I’d be all set. Because he’d explained what Lena had done, which was vile and cruel, but it had nothing to do withhim.
What he did have a hand in was not telling her about me. Not telling her that we were serious or telling me how he actually felt. It’s what left me floundering for answers in the first place, and even with the engagement drama explained, I wasn’t sure where that left us.
I loved him. I always had. But for the first time in a long time, I wasn’t sure what exactly Weston wanted. I hated that I’d gone over every facet of the relationship and still couldn’t tell if it’d been just sex to him and all the other stuff—the caring for me and letting me sleep over—was just part of his normal best friend role that I’d never noticed before. Had I really gotten things that twisted?
And if I did, where did that leave us now?
* * *
The next day,a knock on my door had me climbing out of bed earlier than I had any intention of doing, but I was hopeful it was Amazon with my eye roller because Isoneeded help with the bags I’d been sporting every day since I read the Vogue issue.
Crying every day didn’t really help with that, but thousands of Amazon reviewers promised me that this would do the trick. My meeting yesterday hadn’t been a Zoom call, thank God. I would’ve looked like Death itself.
I made it to my door, head dipped down to scoop up the box as I opened it—
There wasn’t a box.
There was only a very expensive pair of shoes and, as I dragged my eyes up and up, a very expensive suit attached to them.
“Weston,” I breathed his name, my heart breaking at the sight of him.
He looked good. Too fucking good.
He certainly wasn’t in a pair of sweats and oversized T-shirt with no makeup to speak of and puffy eyes due to crying way too much because of an identity crisis. No, he looked like he’d just stepped off a shoot for G fucking Q.
“Brynn,” he said my name like an apology and it struck its mark in the center of my chest.
My body begged me to fall against him, to let him haul me into his arms and kiss me until I couldn’t remember anything outside of the way he made me feel.
Hadmade me feel—cherished and loved and cared for.
Before he ruined me. Before he made feel like I wasn’t as important in his life as he was in mine. And I know I’d had my hand in not wanting to go public, but not telling Lena when she tried to continue pursuing him? That was a different thing all together. One that would’ve prevented the world-shaking hurt her scheme delivered.
Now…I didn’t know what to think anymore.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, not bothering to invite him in.
He hesitated outside my door, tension tightening between us. I’d never not invited him in.
Memories of him taking care of me when I had the flu raced through my mind, tearing up my soul in the process.We hadn’t even been together then, and he’d taken such good care of me, like I was precious to him.
How was he capable of that but still had the ability to hurt me so badly too?
“I wanted to see you,” he said, clearing his throat.
I arched a brow at him, shifting to fold my arms over my chest. In the last two weeks since our fight, I’d envisioned a thousand different things I wanted to say to him but now that he was standing in front of me, I couldn’t think of a single word.
I’d told him I needed time, and that was still true.
