“I thought I’d make you something,” I tell him in a false, cheery voice. “Since I never got to finish that wall in your bedroom. Plus I think you definitely deserve a gift after how you helped me earlier today. You keep doing that, don’t you? Helping me. Helping me see things. You helped me see your brother, which I never would’ve done if not for you.”
That gets him moving.
My dig about his brother.
Now instead of simply staring at what I’ve drawn on his truck, his eyes snap back to mine. His eyes clear out as well. The slight look of confusion goes away and they become alert, flashing before he moves.
Before he bounds down the stairs of his house, strides across the driveway and comes for me.
And I’m ready for him.
I’m so totally ready with a wide stance and a lifted chin.
Reaching me, he growls, running his eyes up and down my dress that’s now covered in pink and purple and red and yellow splotches. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”
“I told you. Making you a special gift for helping me out with Ledger today.”
He clenches his jaw at ‘Ledger.’
“How’d you get here?” Before I can joyfully inform him how, he takes the right guess. “You take the bus?”
“Yes,” I tell him enthusiastically. “Although I will say that if it wasn’t my only choice, I wouldn’t have taken it. People kinda stared at me a lot in my outfit.” His eyes become slits at this but I don’t care, I keep going, “Which I specifically wore for you. Because I know you like me in this. My ball gown, my lipstick. All my jewelry. My hair.”
Then, widening my eyes, I add in, “But please, don’t tell Ledger, okay? I don’t want to start off our relationship with him knowing that I’m dressing up for another man. For his brother no less. I mean how tacky and —”
“Stop,” he booms, his hands fisted at his sides, “saying his name.”
I clench my own fists then, at his anger, his jealousy.
He’s jealous, isn’t he?
Of his own brother.
He’s jealous even though he ended things.
He gave me up three weeks ago.
“Why?” I ask, staring into his angry blue eyes. “Why shouldn’t I say his name? He’s the right guy for me. He’s young. He’s got a bright future. He’s going places. He lives in New York. You said so yourself.”
“I’m not —”
“As opposed to you,” I cut him off, leaning toward him. “A liar.”
“What?”
I shake my head then. I clench my teeth. I somehow clench every single part of my body as I say, “That’s what you are, aren’t you? A fucking liar.”
“Bronwyn,” he warns.
I chuckle harshly at his stern voice. Angrily, bitterly, as I say, “I should’ve known. I should’ve fucking known that you’d do something like this. You’ve done it before, right? You’ve lied to me before. Not once. But twice. You lied about not remembering me. Back when you started at St. Mary’s. And then you lied about not wanting me when in fact you were obsessed with me. And I forgave you. I forgave you both times. But not anymore. I’m not going to forgive you this third time. Because I know. I know you’re lying again.”
He’s seething. I can see that.
He’s burning up and I want to tell him to pace himself.
Because I haven’t even gotten to the good part yet.
We’re only covering the basics right now.
“Aren’t you, Conrad?” I prod him. “You’re lying about being with her.” I raise my hand then before he can say something, “Oh, not exactly. Not in those words. You never said to me that you were going with her. You never said those exact words but you implied it. That day in your office. When I kept asking you and asking you. When I kept poking and prodding as to why. Why, Conrad? Why did we have to end? You used her as an excuse. You used the excuse you knew I’d accept. You used the excuse you knew would make me stop asking questions. Because you didn’t want me to ask questions. Because if I had, then you’d have to admit the truth. Then you’d have to face it. And you didn’t want to. And I’ll also tell you why. It’s because you, Conrad Thorne, are afraid.”
He flinches at my words.
And it’s not a small flinch, it’s a big one.
It’s more of a spasm running through his body. As if I’ve jolted him.
And like the idiot I am, I want to wrap my arms around him. I want to give him comfort.
But no.
I’m not his wallflower anymore. I can’t give him my softness.
All I can give him now is the truth.
The things that I didn’t see before but now I do. After the party.
“You know, all this time, I kept thinking about it and thinking about it,” I say, my heart pounding and pulsing and thrashing in my chest. “I kept thinking, why don’t you want that new job in New York? Why do you keep turning it down? Why do you want to stay here if you hate it? If you hate this house. If you think it’s a dump. If you hate this town. Why don’t you want to see that you love coaching? That’s why you do it all the time. You do it during the week. You do it on weekends. You do it because you have such a passion for it. But you don’t want to admit that.