Page 193 of Broken Brothers

“Hopefully, I won’t have to say the same of you later.”

It took me a second to get it, but when I did, Layla laughed at my reaction of playfully rolling my eyes.

“Sorry, I had to,” she said, though it was obvious one of us was eager to rush back into the way things were. “How are you? How’s the new place?”

“It’s a delight!” I said. “I had Mom and Morgan over for dinner last night, and right now, I’m just trying to take things slow. It’s weird, not having to fight back on something.”

“I can imagine,” Layla said.

I barely noticed that we had begun our walk, moving in what would be a very gradual clockwise path around Central Park.

“You know, I remember the first time I met you,” Layla said. “You were fighting like hell to prove yourself to John Burnson. You were fighting like hell to close that deal. You…”

Left unsaid, the words she almost put out, was that I was fighting like hell to win her heart over. If only she realized that I’m fighting the same fight. It’s just that my greatest “enemy” in this battle isn’t her. It’s me.

“Yeah, and the mindset is still in me to some extent,” I said. “It’s not like I can go from over two decades of having to prove, prove, prove myself and then just wake up a week ago and be like the Buddha and a pacifist. Sometimes I feel like I have to fight to, I don’t know, make MCH bigger than Hunt Industries. But I’m conscious of it.”

“Yeah.”

“And you?” I said, feeling guilty for having the center of conversation on me for so much to start.

“What about me?”

“Oh, Layla,” I said, putting my arm on the small of her back with a chuckle. “I mean how are you? What are you up to?”

Layla blushed when she realized the simplicity of my question.

“I’m just looking for work right now,” she said. “Even if I found my way into a good financial spot, I don’t think I could stop working.”

“Any luck?” I asked.

She shrugged.

“I’ve had some preliminary interviews with a couple of places,” she said. “Two places here. One in Chicago.”

“Chicago?” I said, the concern in my voice evident.

“Yeah, but I wouldn’t worry about that, I don’t want to leave this city and it’s more like a leverage play for me,” she said. “But yeah, other than that… that’s me.”

Layla’s soft, sweet smile and her red cheeks told me that her words weren’t what she was wanting to do. She wanted me to make a bold, romantic gesture that had so won her over before. She wanted me to do something very Chance-like.

But that Chance had a history of not getting what he wanted in relationships. He might have gotten laid a decent amount and even found love and possible long-term prospects in others, but his nature had prevented him from building something sustaining. There was too much in his past to truly, deeply believe something long term was possible.

This Chance would eventually live up to his name and take a chance, but for now, that wasn’t going to be the case.

“Oh, please,” I said. “That can’t possibly be all there is to Layla Taylor right now!”

We shared a laugh, a sound that would become the dominant sound over the next several hours. What started out as a stroll through Central Park turned into getting lunch at Shake Shack, which I paid for. Layla made a show of paying, but there wasnever going to be any doubt who was taking the bill on this day. I suppose an argument could have been made that doing so was giving Layla some sort of hope that didn’t need to be there, but that was ridiculous; I wasn’t going to be unromantic, I just was going to take my time.

And you know what? I had never anticipated that taking my time could pay off so well. Obviously, this was an unusual circumstance since we’d already slept together multiple times, had said we loved each other, and had a history that went longer than the novel “War and Peace.” But being deliberate made me realize that I wasn’t just wrapping myself up in Layla’s body; I was wrapping myself up in her soul and her mind.

If I could do that, then the greatest chance of all would pay off—the chance that we could last forever.

After Shake Shack, we thought of taking the subway back to Central Park. But instead, I issued Layla something of a challenge.

“How often are we going to get the chance to just walk around this city?” I said. “We’re always in such a rush here. We’re dressed in athletic, loose clothing. I say we take our time and explore.”

Layla looked at me like I had just suggested we swim in the Hudson.