“Because he hasn’t mentioned it,” Brandon answered.
Stella turned in her seat and placed a hand on Brandon’s arm, as much for comfort as to plead with him. “Don’t you think you should tell him?”
“I told Trish I wanted to talk to Matt first.”
How long had Brandon been keeping that from Matt? “And have you talked to him?”
Brandon turned his pained expression to her.
Stella swallowed and removed her hand from his arm, missing his warmth. “So that’s a no.”
He stared at her for a moment as though he wanted to say something. But what?
Brandon snorted. “Matt will hate me when he finds out I knew and didn’t tell him.” He shook his head. “How can he go through this again?”
And she’d been obsessing over why Brandon hadn’t chosen to include her? What a selfish ass she was.
“Matt hating you isn’t possible,” she urged him. “He worships you, Brandon.”
Brandon laughed without humor. “You don’t get it, Stella. I’m all he’s got. I’m the one person in his life he’s supposed to trust. The only one who hasn’t ripped the rug out from under his feet. How do you think he’ll take it when he finds out I’ve been keeping this from him?”
“She’s the one who left,” she told Brandon, hoping to get through to him. “She’s the one who stayed away.” She gripped his scruffy jaw with both hands and urged him to look at her. “You’re not responsible for her actions.”
His jaw tensed. “But I’m responsible for my son’s happiness.”
“He’s seventeen, Brandon. He’s not a kid anymore and you can’t protect him forever.”
He blew out a breath. “What if I let her talk to him, then the calls stop like they did before?”
Stella released his face before she did something really stupid like kiss him. One kiss a night was enough. “Then it’s her loss.”
Stella’s heart ached when Brandon rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “Yeah, but I’ll be left to clean up the mess, just like when Matt was little.”
“And you’ll do the best you can, because that’s what you do,” she reassured him. “That’s what good parents do. And you’re a good parent, Brandon. Don’t let her make you feel inadequate. You never stop trying to be better for Matt, and that’s what makes you different.”
He slid her a look with a raised brow. “You mean like how your mom did for you?”
“Yeah, well.” Stella attempted a laugh but failed. “Just consider Gloria Davenport an example of what not to do.”
He was quiet a moment; then she almost jumped out of her chair when he touched her chin and turned her face toward him. “I’m sorry you went through all that, Stella. Your mother doesn’t deserve you.”
The last little piece protecting her heart fell away. Just tumbled into an abyss before she had a chance to snatch it and put it back where it damn well belonged. Brandon had no business saying things like that to her, and he certainly had no business making her feel like a happy ending was possible for her. Messed up people like her didn’t get happy endings. They didn’t have smokin’ hot, heroic men like Brandon looking at her like she was the answer to all his problems. She’d only create more problems for him.
Didn’t he know to stay away from her?
“Brandon,” she whispered, fighting tears and knowing she’d lose. “Why do you have to make it so hard?” She attempted another laugh, only this one came out as half a sob. “I mean, you wear shirts that are too small, you drive me home when I’m drunk, you let me cry on your shoulder, and then you say things like that. And you expect me to be able to walk away from you?”
His grip on her chin tightened. “So don’t.”
She blinked, trying to force back tears that kept threatening. “Don’t what?”
“Don’t walk away,” he said again, his voice nearing a rough whisper. “Don’t go to Chicago.”
A heavy breath whooshed out of her. His request was her happy ending and worst nightmare all wrapped into one desperate plea. Her whole life she’d dreamed of a man like him, despite the fears that had prevented her from ever getting close to anyone. One who’d look at her like no one else existed. One who’d take her for who she was, flaws and dirty secrets and all. But also one who understood the final dream she’d yet to fulfill, that was her pièce de résistance.
But fate had to be just that cruel, didn’t it? Just like everything else in her life, she’d been presented with something she couldn’t have. Given a snippet of the future she’d secretly wanted for herself, only the timing was all wrong.
Why was it always wrong?
She opened her mouth, ready to jump at his words, but the declaration died in her throat. Why couldn’t she do it? “Brandon, I…”
He cleared his throat and released her chin. “I’m sorry. That was wrong of me.”
No, wait!
“I told you I would never ask you to give up your dream, and I meant it,” he went on. “I just thought…” His words trailed off as his eyes searched hers.
He just thought what? That they could have a real shot together? That whatever was between them was strong enough to go the distance?
She opened her mouth to say something, anything, when Matt pushed through the double doors. And the second Matt stepped into the room, Stella knew the moment had been lost. Like a hot air balloon slowly sinking to the ground, so had her chance with Brandon. He’d given her a window, and all she’d been able to do was sit there and question everything like she always did.
The moment was lost, and she feared she’d never get another chance.
Stella had decided it was time to talk to her mother, just to round out what had shaped up to be a miserable weekend. Today was the day she was supposed to go shooting with Matt and Brandon. But after last night in the ER, when she’d behaved like a royal jackass and basically thrown Brandon’s invitation back in his face, she hadn’t been in the mood. Although she’d suffered from a heavy dose of guilt for letting Matt down, Stella simply hadn’t been able to face Brandon. She shot him a quick text, telling him she wasn’t feeling well. He didn’t respond. She told herself it was for the best, because she needed some time away from him. Space to clear her head and decided what her problem was and why she always screwed everything up.
So, yeah. Perfect time to have it out with her mother.
Besides, it was past time. Gloria’s calls and text messages had eventually stopped and the silence had only served as a reminder to Stella. Sometimes Gloria’s silences could be louder than her tantrums.
She turned her car into the driveway of her mother’s new house, taking in the clean and well-manicured lawn. Gloria had never been much of a housekeeper. No, Stella had been the one to wash the dishes, vacuum, and clean the bathrooms. She’d even made sure there were fresh flowers on the breakfast table. So the quaint ’50s ranch with potted mums and a garden gnome at the base of a tree threw Stella off.