L. A. Witt - Rules 1 - Rules of Engagement (34 page)

All I could think about before was whether I was over my exwife, what my family would think if I admitted I had a boyfriend, and what I “was.” I had been so wrapped up in figuring out which gender I preferred that I’d let the one individual I truly wanted get away. Sure, now I knew for certain that I was bisexual, but at what cost? I was so caught up in the big picture that I’d lost sight of what really mattered.

I had, in a way, missed the trees for the forest.
How could I have been so fucking stupid?

I rubbed my forehead, sighing heavily as I closed my eyes. Lying beside Sean, I realized that what I was didn’t matter, because Brandon was gone.
S
HORTLY
after Sean left, my cell phone rang. The familiar ringtone sent ice through my veins.

Christ, I do not need this right now.

Just as I had dozens of times before, I considered ignoring the call, but I could only put it off for so long. Closing my eyes and tightening my jaw, I flipped the phone open.

Through clenched teeth, I muttered, “Hi Mom.”

 

“Dustin, I’ve been trying to call you for three days. Where have you been?”

 

“Sorry.” I didn’t give a shit if I sounded insincere.

“You haven’t been out with that man again, have you?” She spat the words out as if they were sour on her tongue.
No, Mom, I’ve been out fucking another woman and another man to try to figure out just what in the world I want. Want details?
I ground my teeth so hard it hurt. “I’ve just been busy.”

“Doing?”

Sean and Renee, if you must know
. In spite of the anger tightening my chest, I tried to keep the conversation light. “I’m here now. What’s up?”

“Dustin, I’m worried about you.”
I sighed. “You’re always worried about me.”

“Yes, but after all of….” I could almost see her grimacing. “Good heavens, after all of
this
….”

Fuck, I do not need this. Not now
. “Mom, just—”
“I’m serious, Dustin, it’s disgraceful. You….”

I rubbed my eyes with my thumb and forefinger, hearing my mother’s grating voice but not understanding—or caring about—what she was saying. The disapproval in her tone was more than enough without actually knowing what she was saying. I didn’t need this. The pain of losing Brandon was unbearable enough without a huge serving of Mom’s home-cooked guilt.

“None of this is any reason to pretend you’re gay and run off with a
man
, Dustin.”
I couldn’t take it anymore. “Mom—”

“You just need to find the right girl. I’m sure you feel guilty about—”

“Mom—”
“—leaving Stephanie, but you’ll find another girl like her and—” “Mom,
just fucking stop
.”
Silence. My pulse jumped.
Did I really just say that?
“Dustin, what did you say?”
Yep, guess I did.
“You heard me.”

More silence. For a moment, I thought she’d hung up on me. It wouldn’t have been the first time. A faint breath on the other end told me she was still there, mercifully speechless for once.

“Mom, you need to listen to me.” I waited to see if she’d cut me off, but she didn’t. “It’s over with Stephanie. It’s over with Brandon, for that matter.”

“Well, good, then—”

“
Stop
.” I took a deep breath, trying to keep from losing my temper. “Listen to me. It’s over, but I’m not about to pretend that I didn’t—and still don’t—love Brandon—”

She cut me off, screaming something at me, but all I heard was my own voice echoing in my mind. Did I just say that I loved him?

I’m not about to pretend that I didn’t—and still don’t—love Brandon
. My heart thudded. Of course I did. It only made sense. I loved him. I loved him, and he was gone because I was too fucking stupid to figure it out. Because I’d hurt him.

I’m not about to pretend that I didn’t—and still don’t—love Brandon
.

 

My eyes stung, and my throat tightened.
What the fuck have I done?

“Dustin, are you listening to me?”
I swallowed. “No. No, I’m not.”
Silence. “
What
?”

“No, Mom, I’m not listening to you,” I said, fighting back emotion. “When I listened to you, I ended up married to that manipulative, controlling, cheating bitch. When I listened to you again, I stayed with her, even though she made my life hell. And when I listened to you yet
again
, I let you and everyone else fuck with my head enough that I let the best thing that’s ever happened to me get away.”

“Dustin, that’s ridiculous.”

“No, letting you dictate my life is ridiculous,” I said. Adrenaline surged through my veins. I had never stood up to her. Never. This was almost three decades in the making, and I couldn’t have stopped it if I tried. “I let you badger me into marrying a woman who was just like you, and you couldn’t see past your own delusions to see that your own son was miserable. I got out from under her thumb, and now I’m getting out from under
yours
.”

“
Dustin! You
—”

“Mom, stop.” I took a breath. “Just, stop. I don’t want to hear any more. I don’t want to listen to what you think I should do with my life. If you can’t deal with who I love—” I paused, swallowing the lump in my throat. “If you can’t deal with who I love because you can’t see past what he is, that’s your problem. Not mine.”

“Dustin, he’s a man. You can’t—”
“I am, Mom.”
“This is nonsense.”
“This is none of your business.”
“None of my business?” she screeched. “My son is—”

“Your son is listening to his heart for once instead of his mother, who seems to think the only way he can be happy is by making
her
happy.”

And before I could stop myself, I snapped the phone shut.

For a long, long time, I just sat on the edge of the bed, my phone clasped in both hands beneath my chin as I rested my elbows on my knees. I gripped the phone so tight I thought I was going to break it, but it was the only way to still the shaking. And to keep myself from answering when it rang once, twice, and three times.

I wasn’t backing down. I’d let my mother’s domineering behavior control my life for far too long and at far too great a cost to myself. If I had done this a long time ago, maybe Brandon would still be here.

The phone rang again. I tossed it on the bed and walked out of the room. Sooner or later, I would have to deal with the fallout from that conversation, but it could wait.

I sank onto the couch, closing my eyes and sighing. Even as the adrenaline from confronting my mother wore off, the knot in my gut only grew. Of all the chances I’d had to tell Brandon how I felt, it took an angry conversation with my mother to finally get the words out of my mouth.

I loved him. I still love him.

Now that it was out, I didn’t even bother trying to rationalize, trying to tell myself that it had just slipped out and I didn’t really mean it. It hadn’t, and I did.

The simple words on his note flashed through my mind:
It was more than “nothing” to me.

“It was more than nothing to me, too, Brandon,” I whispered into the silence. “It was
everything
.”

I
WENT
to the club four nights in a row before I finally saw Brandon. He wasn’t there when I arrived, but shortly after I settled in at the bar with a beer and a healthy dose of self-pity, he showed up.

When he came into the club, my back was turned, but I knew. The dull roar of the crowd beside the pool tables suddenly crescendoed to shouting and shit-talking as their favorite competitor appeared, but that only confirmed what I already knew. As soon as the door opened, the air changed. The hair on the back of my neck stood up as the place went from a room full of people to a room with Brandon in it.

Our eyes met briefly as he took on his first challenger, but he didn’t react. Not that I could see, anyway. If he was hurt, angry, or upset, he didn’t let it show.

He wasn’t the same charismatic Brandon that played the crowd as much as he played the table. Tonight, he didn’t talk shit. His expression was neutral even as he collected his winnings on the first and second games. He barely acknowledged his opponents except to size them up, find their weaknesses, and beat them without any flourish, without any fancy shots. Just cold and calculated. He won, as always, but his heart definitely wasn’t in it.

I wondered if he were there for the same reason I’d found myself in this place several times, if he just needed to get the fuck out of the house before the silence drove him mad. If that were the case, my presence probably wasn’t helping.

After watching him play for a while and realizing that I was never going to get up the nerve to approach him in here—and he sure as hell wasn’t going to approach me—I paid for my drink and left.

But I wasn’t going home yet.

Brandon’s car was parked towards the back of the lot, beside an SUV. I leaned against his car as he had done to mine a few times, watching the club’s door through the SUV’s windows.

Blood pounded in my ears. Over and over, I ran through the possible scenarios in my head. I didn’t know if I could listen to him tell me off again, but the faint glimmer of hope that he wouldn’t kept me there by the car. Waiting. Wishing I’d had just one more round of liquid courage. Waiting. Losing my ever-loving mind.

It was almost an hour before Brandon left the club. I held my breath, waiting to see if the baseball-capped guy walking out with him was actually with him or if their simultaneous exit were a coincidence.

The guy in the cap went the opposite direction, and neither of them acknowledged the other. Brandon continued across the lot alone. His hands were in his pockets, his shoulders bunched and his elbows close to his sides as if trying to ward off a cold wind. His eyes were down, and what I could see of his face was just as neutral as it had been inside the club.

What I wouldn’t give to be able to read minds like you do, Brandon.

Every step he took made my pulse jump. Part of me wanted to take off, to get the hell out of there before he saw me, but I planted my feet. I had to do this.

From a few feet away, he clicked the remote, unlocking the doors and popping the trunk. The vibration rattled through my bones. I swallowed. Now or never.

He was reaching for the raised trunk lid when he saw me, and he froze. His eyes widened, and his lips parted, a surprised, startled expression that I rarely saw on the unshakeable Brandon Stewart. He recovered quickly, though, narrowing his eyes and tightening his jaw.

After he set his cue in the trunk and slammed the lid, he folded his arms across his chest, rested his hip against the car, and eyed me. “Let me guess,” he said, almost snarling. “We need to talk?”

I fidgeted against the car. “I need to talk. I’m hoping you’ll listen.”

A brief, almost imperceptible upward flick of his eyebrow told me I’d caught him off guard. He tightened his arms against his chest. “Okay. Talk.”

“I came to apologize. For everything.”
He watched me quietly.

Still my shot, is it?
“Just, to get right to the point, I was a jerk. I wasn’t ashamed of you, I wasn’t trying to hide you, I just….” I shook my head. “I was stupid. And I’m sorry.”

The silence hung in the air for a moment before his eyes narrowed. “So is this the part where I’m supposed to tell you that it’s okay, that I’ve just been waiting for you to see the light, and everything’s back to the way it was before?”

“Fuck, Brandon,” I said through my teeth. “Look, I’m not going to pretend to be any good at this. I took you for granted. I made a huge mistake. What else do you want me to say?”

He pursed his lips. “I don’t think there’s anything left to say.” He started towards me. My heart was racing, wondering what he had in mind. Then he stopped. Reached towards me—

And grabbed the handle on the car door.

His eyebrows lifted and he gave me a look that said, “
Move
.” I stepped away so he could open the door. Panic surged through me. I couldn’t let him leave. There was no way I could watch him go. Not again.

“Brandon, wait.”
He stopped. Looked at me. Waited.
“Please, don’t go yet.”