Don't Let Go

by Jaci Burton

  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.

  Chapter 32

  "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.

  Chapter 33

  BRADY SAT IN his one-room efficiency in Denver, scrolling through the apartment rentals.

  He had a line on a job that looked promising. He'd interviewed at an auto body shop this morning, and the owner told him he'd probably have an offer for him this afternoon, but he'd promised his wife he'd interview her nephew, so he had to go through the motions. But the guy said the nephew didn't have a quarter of the experience or skills that Brady had, so Brady knew he had the job. Which meant he'd have to find a place to live. This efficiency hotel was fine for an interim, but he'd need at least a studio apartment, which would likely be cheaper anyway, from what he'd seen in the apartment rentals section of the real estate ads he'd reviewed.

  He put his laptop aside, stood and stretched, then took Roxie for a short walk. He breathed in the cool, crisp air.

  Yeah, Denver would work out. He didn't know anyone here, and that suited him just fine. Plus, he liked the mountains. He'd been here before. He and Kurt had come here one January to ski with some friends. They'd had a great time.

  He took Roxie to a nearby dog park and let her run loose with some of the other smaller dogs. She was having a blast, so he picked a bench and sat, keeping a close eye on her. So far, so good. He'd like to find a place near a dog park. Watching Roxie play with the other dogs made him realize she needed some companionship.

  He didn't, but his dog definitely did.

  He stared up at the mountains, remembering the year he and Kurt had come here. He'd been eighteen, fresh out of high school. Kurt had been twenty, and they'd packed up their car, along with two other friends of Kurt's. They'd rented a one-bedroom condo, mostly crashing on the floor and couches, and skied their asses off.

  Hell, that had been fun. He'd been on a lot of fun adventures with his brother. Camping trips and canoeing and hunting. Except for the one year he'd found Kurt facedown and passed out, stoned out of his mind, when they'd taken a summer vacation in Fort Lauderdale. God, he'd been scared to death that time. But he'd been able to rouse his brother, who'd told him it was no big deal.

  Yeah, no big deal. He'd believed him then. And so many other times when Kurt had told him to mind his own business, that he could handle the addiction.

  There'd been good times with Kurt. And some shitty times, too.

  It struck him right then that no matter where he went, no matter how many places he traveled to--his memories of Kurt would always travel with him.

  He'd never get his brother out of his head. Those life experiences he'd shared with his brother--the good and the bad--would always be with him.

  He hadn't left Hope because of Kurt. He'd left Hope because of himself, because he was afraid to lose what he'd built there.

  Friendships. Love.

  Megan.

  That fear had become a real, tangible thing. And now he was afraid he'd really lost everything he'd built, everyone he cared about.

  He looked up at the clear blue sky, at the mountains, at the beauty of the landscape, and suddenly that landscape shifted. All he could see was the warmth of a beautiful smiling face, gorgeous brown hair, and melting brown eyes.

  He called to Roxie, and they headed back to the efficiency. He dug through his things and found a brand-new sketch pad, then pulled out a pencil. He tore the wrapper off the sketch pad, the ideas coming fast and furious now. He propped his feet on the coffee table and started drawing.

  When his phone rang, he glanced at the number, then ignored it and kept drawing.

  He had to get these images out of his head and onto paper. Then, he had to get back to Hope.

  And hope like hell it wasn't too late to make things right.

  Chapter 34

  IT WAS A crap day. Megan had been up all night, because the thunderstorms blowing through town had been furious. First, they'd knocked out the power, and then the thunder had been so loud it had kept her up. By the time the power had come back on, it had been an hour until she was due to get up and go to the bakery, so she went in early, hoping the power was on at the bakery.

  Fortunately, it was, so at least she had a head start on her baking for the day. She was more than ready by the time the bakery opened. And apparently everyone coming in was as cranky as she was, because they wanted coffee and pastries in a hurry. She and Stacy had their hands full until there was enough of a lull for Megan to start cleaning up in the back. By the time
they put out the closed sign, they both looked at each other in utter exhaustion.

  Stacy helped her clean the kitchen, then Megan ran to the bank, and she had nothing in mind other than falling facedown in bed and sinking into oblivious sleep for at least an hour. She was certain she'd feel a lot better after a nap.

  The rain had settled into a steady downpour--minus the thunder and lightning--so she planned on letting the sound of it lull her into a lovely sleep.

  What she hadn't planned on was seeing a motorcycle in her driveway, or Brady standing on her porch.

  She got out and ran to the porch. "It's raining."

  He smiled at her, the first smile she'd seen from him in what seemed like forever. "Yeah, I noticed that."

  "You're all wet."

  He reached out and grasped a tendril of her soaking wet hair. "So are you."

  "Why are you--never mind. Let's go inside."

  She unlocked the front door, and he followed her inside. She turned to him. "Wait here."

  She threw her purse on the island, then went into the bathroom to grab two towels. When she came out, she threw one at him. "Dry off."

  She did the same, shrugging out of the jacket she'd hastily thrown on at the bakery. Not that it had done much good. She was still wet. And now she was cold.

  And mad. "What are you doing here, Brady?"

  "I came to see you."

  "All the way from . . . wherever it was you left Hope for?"

  "I was in Denver."

  "Long drive just to see me."

  "You're worth it."

  She frowned. "Don't be nice to me."

  "Ohhkay. Why not?"

  "Because you weren't nice to me the last time we were together."

  "I know. About that . . ." He reached for her and she backed away.

  "You hurt me."

  He had the decency to look ashamed. "I know I did. I'd like to talk to you about that."

  She used the towel to dry her hair. "I don't know if I want to talk to you anymore. The last time didn't go so well."

  "Please, Megan. I have a lot of things to talk to you about."

  She supposed she had to make a decision about that, rather than let him stand there dripping wet on her tile floor.

  "Fine. I'm going to go change clothes. Dry off and I'll make some coffee. Providing you don't have any criticisms about me making coffee."