Page 630 of Manhattan Bossholes

I didn’t say anything, waiting for his apology, which never came.

“It’s for the best, you know,” he continued. “When couples get stress-tested and don’t make it, that means they weren’t meant to be. Which doesn’t even apply to us since we were never a real couple.”

My face contorted with disgust at his ridiculous logic. “Excuse me? So, you think one little trial is enough to end a relationship? Have you ever heard of working through adversity? Or getting therapy?”

“Therapy is pointless,” he said, kicking a rock out of his path, which Boris tried to chase.

I snorted. “You sound like my parents.”

It was an intriguing enough confession to get him to finally look over at me. “What do you mean?”

I wasn’t expecting to go there with him, and it wasn’t a conversation I liked having, but the moment felt right. He needed to see that his logic was flawed using a real-life example.

“I lived in a home of prizefighters,” I began slowly. “Both of my parents knew how to verbally destroy each other. Perfectly constructed insults designed to wound. Screaming. Flying dishes. Storming out the door. I think I heard my parents say ‘I hate you’ more often than ‘I love you.’”

Cameron let out a shocked huff.

“Needless to say, I didn’t like being home much. And that’s where Nina came in. She could tell I was desperate to escape my real life, so she helped me create our own safe little world up in her treehouse. I basically navigated their entire divorce up there.”

“I’m sorry you had to go through that,” he said softly.

I steeled myself against him trying to be nice to me. “It wasn’t great, but things got better after the divorce. They weren’t horrible people, but they figured out every possible way to be horrible for each other.”

Boris paused to sniff a lamppost, and we both stared at him rather than looking at each other. I felt vulnerable revealing that part of my story, but I also felt like he needed to hear it.

“That’s what I mean, you know,” Cameron said as we started walking again.

“Huh?” I asked.

“About relationships. That’s how most of them end up. Fights. Pain. Divorce. We all know the statistics.”

“No,” I fired back at him. “It’s not true for everyone. That’s how my parents’ relationship ended because they refused to even try. And that’s what started our whole conversation—your argument that therapy doesn’t work. My parents never even considered it. But here’s the crazy part: I know they were in love when they got together. I’ve seen the old photos of them with their arms around each other, so giddy and happy it’s almost embarrassing. But life happened, and instead of facing the troubles that came along with it as a team, they let the challenges fracture them. And I’m not talking about big stuff, like cheating, but the normal bumps in the road. Money problems. Career challenges. Parenthood. And each new problem turned them into rivals instead of teammates. A good therapist could’ve helped them figure out what they needed to work on, but they refused to even consider it. So, a family was ripped apart.”

“I’m really sorry, Felicity,” Cameron said.

“What people don’t realize is that trauma echoes. Thanks to my parents, I didn’t have a model of what a good relationship looked like, so I was willing to take whatever bullshit my partners gave me. Like Steven.”

“I thought we weren’t allowed to talk about him?”

“I’m trying to make a point,” I said with a frustrated sigh. “Steven was withholding with his affection. His love felt almost…transactional. Like he had to decide whether I was worthy. That was fine with me for way too long because I didn’t know I was worthy of more. But when I finally started asking for what I needed from our relationship, like validation and a real commitment instead of stringing me along, he bailed.” I choked out a humorless laugh. “No, it was worse than just bailing. He built a career on lies about me.”

“Felicity…”

“All of that was just to say that you’re wrong, Cameron. A relationship can work, but only if you’re willing to work at it. I’m not saying you should try to stick it out in a situation that’s all stress and drama. That’s not healthy. What I mean is that running away at the first sign of trouble is giving up.”

I glanced over at him, but he refused to look at me.

“You work harder than anyone I’ve ever met. You run an empire, Cameron, clearly you know how to get things done. That’s why I’m sort of in shock that you gave up on us so easily. We had something good—I know you felt it too. But instead of sticking things out, you opted to walk away. I thought I knew you. Clearly, I was wrong.”

“It’s not the same thing,” Cameron sighed.

“You just don’t get it, do you?” I asked with anger tinging my voice.

He didn’t answer.

After that, I gave up. We both retreated into our own thoughts, walking side by side but worlds away.

“Excuse me?”