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Brou releases his hold and follows me to the car, carrying my bag. He opens the driver’s door but closes it before I’m able to get inside. “Fuck, I don’t want this. Saying goodbye to you is killing me.”
I could throw my arms around him and say screw marriage and kids because all I want is him. But I’d be cheating myself. And lying.
I place my hands on his face, my palms against his beard. Oh, God, this is the last time I’ll touch him like this. “I love you, Lucas Broussard.”
“And I love you, Lawrence Thorn.”
His eyes are locked on mine. “Kiss me before you go. Please.” One last kiss won’t hurt.
I lick my lips and it’s all the permission he needs. His mouth lands on mine, and he pulls my body hard against his. His kiss is slow, romantic, yet dominant. Different from all our others.
This is a goodbye kiss. And it’s shattering my heart all over again.
When he releases me, his forehead is pressed to mine. “If you change your mind, I will be right here, waiting for you.”
I’m not settling. If he wants me, it’ll be on my terms. “You know where to find me if you change yours.”
* * *
“Oh, Ollie.” I launch myself into my brother’s arms when he opens his front door.
He wraps his arms around me and pets the back of my hair. Same thing he did when we were kids in an attempt to soothe me. “I’m gonna kill that fucker. What did he do to you?”
My chest is spasming to catch my breath. “Not . . . what . . . you . . . think.”
“Well, something happened and I doubt you’d be here if he weren’t the root of the problem.” Ollie takes my bag from my shoulder and ushers me to the couch. “Tell me what he did, Lawry. The truth. Don’t sugarcoat it to protect him.”
“Nothing bad.”
“You sitting here crying your eyes out says otherwise. It’s not convincing me I shouldn’t go kick his ass right now.”
Ollie doesn’t know how serious our relationship has gotten so this may come as a surprise. “Brou told me he loved me last week. And I told him the same.”
“I’m not surprised. He told me a while ago he thought he was in love with you.” I didn’t know that.
“We agreed to take this weekend to talk about our future. Decide where we wanted things to go next.” One part of me wishes we’d never started that conversation. I was happy. I almost wish we could have stayed in that cocoon we’d built together. But it wasn’t real. It wasn’t forever.
“Tap being open to discussing a future with you blows my mind. But I take it that didn’t go over well since you’re here crying, so what did he say?”
“We started out discussing who would relocate. I already knew going in it would be me because he can’t leave Lovibond. And that’s fine. I was willing to move for him but not without some kind of commitment.”
“Oh, God. The C word.”
I punch Ollie in the arm. Hard. “You, asshole! You’re siding with him.”
“Oww.” He rubs his bicep. “I’m not siding with Tap over you. I said that because I assume your idea of commitment is marriage, and I know how he is about that.”
“What do you know about it?”
“Says he’ll never marry or have children. I’ve heard him say it at least a dozen times.”
“You know, I didn’t expect a proposal or babies right now. I asked him to be open to considering them in the future.” Not really even a commitment if you think about it. Consideration isn’t pledging anything to me.
“Lawry, you asked him for the two things he’s adamant he never wants.”
“I thought he might reconsider if he loved me enough.” I was wrong.
“Both of those things caused him a lot of pain in the past. He’s terrified of going there again.” He has never sorted through the guilt from an adult’s point of view. He still sees everything from a teenage boy perspective. Self-focused. He’s terrified because he’s not analyzed his marriage or the death of his baby with knowledge and wisdom.
“If he can’t stop making decisions based on the past, we can’t be together.”
End of story.
End. Of. Us.
Period.
I’ve been through some hard shit in my life. But I’m certain the hardest thing I'll ever do is walk away from Lucas Broussard, still loving him.
Lucas Broussard
I twirl Wren’s note back and forth between my two fingers as I read the scribbled black ink over and over. I love you. How can those three damn words break my heart every time I look at them?
I do this to myself every day. The pain forces me to remember how good we were together. Until I fucked it up.
I bring the note to my nose and inhale. Six months have come and gone since Wren left me but the paper still faintly smells like lavender and vanilla. Just like her. I’m surprised I haven’t sniffed away every bit of essence. But it wouldn’t matter. My house is permeated with that fragrance. I’ve filled it with candles and oil diffusers. I walk around smelling like damn flowers and cookies.
Fuck, I miss her. Time isn’t making this better. If anything, it’s getting worse.
Maybe I could move on if I fucked someone. That might help get Wren out of my system. But you’ve already tried that, asshole. Remember? It was a fail. You couldn’t pull the trigger because no woman was enough. You kept comparing them to her.
How could anyone compare when I am in love with Lawrence?
It wasn’t just fucking. It was love.
And I lost her.
I was numb the first month following our separation. And maybe a little pissed since I had told her from the start I wouldn’t remarry. Would never risk losing another child. Hell, what part of a vasectomy did she not understand? I was honest with her from day one.
But then one month turned into two. And my anger dissipated when I stopped thinking of myself and how much I was hurting. Hadn’t she told me from day one what she wanted as well? Yet, I was the one who pursued her. I went to Savannah with every intention of making her mine, a woman who had clearly told me she wanted marriage and children. Did I not know somewhere deep inside she would eventually want those things from me if our relationship progressed? Of course, I did. I’d be lying if I said otherwise.
We’d been apart a few months the first time I googled vasectomy reversal. I knew there was no denying it; the act itself was a serious indication I was on the edge of caving to Wren’s demands. But by month four or five, it didn’t feel like such a concession on my part anymore. I loved her and didn’t want to be apart from her. Wouldn’t the next logical step be to marry her? And isn’t it a reasonable thought to expect children after that?
Bridgette hasn’t missed an opportunity to tell me what an idiot I am for letting Wren go. And she’s right. Even my sweet Bebelle, who is growing like a weed, has given me grief about it. Bridg would rub it in my face so fucking hard if I told her she had been right when she said I should marry Wren and have the vasectomy reversed.
Now, here I sit facing the hard cold truth. Wren was my world. My everything. And I let her go.
If I don’t show her how special she is, another man will.
If I don’t put a ring on her finger, another man will.
If I don’t give her babies, another man will.
Can I live with that? Fuck, no. The thought makes me blind with rage and jealousy.
A knock on my door gains my attention. “Hey, Tap. You busy?”
I fold Wren’s note and put it away in my top drawer. “Not too bad.”
Stout’s attitude toward me has been surprising. Strangely, he understands me better than I thought possible. Sure, he was pissed after our split because his sister was hurting, but he recognized I was in no less pain than she was. We’ve come out of this shitstorm better friends. Porter too. Turns out he wasn’t nearly as infatuated with Wren as Stout let on. Protective because she is his best friend’s sister, yes. But smitten, no.
Stout comes into my office and ta
kes the seat across from me. Hands clasped behind his head. Feet up on my desk to piss me off. This is the old Stout. “I know it’s quitting time but do you feel like talking business for a minute?”
“Always.” Business is all I have now; there’s nothing waiting at home for me. But there could have been if I hadn’t been such a fucking hardheaded fool. “What’s up?”
“I’ve been in contact with a hard cider company, still in its infancy. They’re having a rough go at getting started and may be looking for a partner. I’ve been kicking around the idea of trying to produce and market a cider. This could be the perfect opportunity to get in on it. I’m curious to know what your thoughts would be about buying into something like that. Maybe making it a sister company to Lovibond.”
Stout has been a machine for almost a year. Expanding the company is all he eats, sleeps, thinks. “You know me. I’m always interested if there’s money to be made. How do you feel about what they’re producing?”
“I love what they’re doing over there. Totally thinking out of the box. And everything is organic.” My mind immediately goes to Wren. Fruity and organic. She would love that.
“I’m happy to take a look at the books whenever you’re ready.”
“Would you be free to drive over with me this weekend?” Wow. He’s really serious about this.
My Friday night plan includes sitting on the couch watching the idiot box. The only thing on the agenda for Saturday is getting up at the ass crack of dawn and sitting in the cold-ass woods waiting for a deer to cross my path. “Sure, I can do it. Where are we going?”
“Savannah.”
This cider company could be anywhere in the fucking world but it’s in Savannah, Georgia. With her. “I don’t know about that, man.”
“This is business, Tap. It’s all about perfect timing and financial opportunity. Not my sister.” I know. But she’s there. Within my reach.
“I can’t believe you’re pussing out.” Stout chuckles. “You’re so damn scared of seeing my sister you’d give up an opportunity to make money.”
“I’m not scared to see her.” I’d like nothing more. But I’m terrified of falling to my knees and telling her I’ll give her everything she wants if she’ll have me back again. Can I do that? Give her what she desires most so I can be with her?
