Page 72 of The Write Choice

“I’m so sorry, Brandon. I had no idea how hard this was for you. I really thought it was just the same old work stuff.” A little bubble starts to rise in my chest, like maybe if I can tell him everything that’s been weighing on me, I’ll feel better, too. But I shove it down. He needs to have this moment for himself, and he needs my support.

He shakes his head vehemently. “No, Cat. I’m the one who needs to apologize. I need to set better boundaries like I promised I would. At the very least, I’m not going to miss more time with you and the kids.” He takes a shuddering breath and presses my fingers between his own. “If you want to go back to New York, I’d go with you. Right now.” His face is eager, and it’s so boyish that for a second, I’m taken back to the night I told him I was pregnant with Mason. He was outwardly thrilled and ready to jump in, feet first. But just like now, I knew he wasn’t sure. That he was posturing for my benefit.

A corner of my mouth pulls up as I slowly shake my head. “Brandon Conley, you are not a quitter.”

His eyes dip to my lips, then shine before making their way up to mine again. “How do you figure?”

I laugh, my smirk turning into a full grin. The sound is clunky from the stress of the conversation and almost foreign to my ears, though Brandon’s brows loosen all the same. “You asked me to marry you every single day for almost an entire year,” I say as if it should be obvious.

He leans in, brushing his nose back and forth against mine. A rumble starts deep in my throat, and he inhales, breathing me in. “When I see something I want, I don’t give up easily.” His voice is husky, and I’m grateful we’re sitting because it makes my knees go weak.

“Yes,” I breathe. I clear my throat, pulling away from him just a bit. “Right. Focus for a second.” My voice is steadier, in control. “Do you want this job?”

He narrows his eyes, but his gaze never leaves mine. “I do,” he admits. “But not if it’s going to come between us like the last one did. Not again. You’re too important to me.”

“Then we need to figure out how to make the job work with the family,” I say firmly.

It feels like a lot of things have been solved for him, or at least they should be, but he’s still looking at me a little strangely.

“I’m confident we can figure it—”

“Why did you apologize for getting pregnant the other night?” he blurts out.

I reel back, my shoulders tensing. “What?”

“You told me the other night you were sorry you got pregnant. That it cramped my style or something. Why did you say that?”

“Why are you asking about this now?” I’m still reeling from the topic switch.

“It’s been on my mind all day.” He frowns when I don’t respond. “Why did you say that, Katie? Please.”

“I was upset,” I say simply.

Apparently, that’s not good enough for him. He shakes his head without speaking. I run a hand through my hair in frustration. He’s really all about unburdening himself tonight, I guess. Well, I wanted my turn. Now I have it.

Resigned, I drop my hand to my thigh with a smack. “You never got to choose us. The choice was made for you. It wasn’t my fault, per se, but it happened. And you’re a great guy, so of course you were going to do the right thing by us.” I sigh, turning my gaze to the ceiling. “But I had a couple years on you. You were fresh out of school. Unprepared for this.” I shrug, returning my eyes to him. “You didn’t know anything about me, Brandon.”

“I knew enough,” he insists, his voice barely a whisper.

“You didn’t.” I lean forward to punctuate the words. “You didn’t know anything about my family. You knew I drank a lot, but you didn’t know I—” The words catch in my throat. “All of a sudden, I was knocked up, and you hadn’t had the chance to run.”

“You were…” he pauses, swallowing audibly. “You are everything, Katie. I wouldn’t have run.”

I jump to my feet in a fit of frustration. “You’ve been running. What else could you possibly call this?” I throw my arms wide, encompassing the house, the kids, the sheer size of the loneliness I’ve been trying to shove into a too-small box. “I understand where you’re coming from. I do. But you can’t just open up a little and expect that to fix everything. You promise again and again that you’ll be here. I believe you every time. Even now, you have me hoping things will be different.” I don’t mean to sound patronizing, but he winces. “What am I supposed to think?”

I want to tell him more. I want to tell him about all the times I’ve felt overstimulated. When I’ve just needed five minutes of quiet. When I’ve thought a drink might take the edge off—something that’s been happening more and more lately.

But I don’t because pain crosses his face, clear as day. I might as well have struck him with my open hand across his cheek. It feels equal parts devastating to know I caused it and exhilarating to have finally gotten it out.

He stands slowly. Normally, he towers over me, but he’s so deflated that he seems about three inches shorter than usual. He looks at a spot over my shoulder. “I’ll take the guest room tonight,” he whispers. He steps past me toward the basement stairs.

I whirl around as he passes. “No. Please.” My voice cracks. If I had known this was going to be the result, I would have continued to keep it all bottled up. I finally thought we were getting somewhere, and he’s running. Again. “I want to figure this out.” I mean to sound confident and assertive, but it comes out more as a plea. A prayer. Desperate.

He stops but doesn’t face me. “I’m going to try, Cat. I just… I need some space.” He continues his way to the stairs, descending them silently.

I watch until he’s well out of sight, hoping he’ll change his mind, but he doesn’t. I get ready for bed and fall into a restless sleep, alone.

Chapter 21