Page 194 of Broken Brothers

“You really are changed,” she said. “The old Chance would be wanting to seal the deal immediately.”

“The new Chance recognizes such a thing ain’t possible,” I said. “At least, for what I want.”

Layla’s eyes narrowed, and she looked like she was expecting a kiss. Instead, I took her hand and led her out Shake Shack, walking west so we could walk along the water.

Taking my time in New York City felt like I’d gotten placed on the set of a major action scene, but instead of being expected to take part, I was allowed to mill about and walkcasually. Around us, men in suits answered phones and moved hurriedly; women in heels and sunglasses moved with purpose, their heads slightly lowered or looking straight ahead. The pace of everyone moving could best be described as “purposeful”—careful strolling seemed light and easy.

This was how we moved until the sun began to set. I couldn’t think of a better indicator that our date was going great than that I didn’t check my phone once in the time that we were together.

“So what’s next?” Layla said as we sat on a park bench near the water on the far southwest side of Manhattan. Ahead of us, we could see the sun beginning its initial disappearance behind the horizon.

“I don’t know,” I said. “And I think that’s part of the fun, right? Unless you had something in mind?”

“Well…” Layla said, her voice trailing off, replaced by a smile.

She put her hand on my knee. I turned to her, propping up my right elbow and turning to her with my head resting on my hand. I was sure my face was one of utter contentment.

“We could go and grab drinks. See what happens from there.”

I chuckled lightly at the thought.

“That would be kind of fun, huh?”

I immediately regretted the words. I got snapped back to reality was I remembered my two rules for the first few dates—no drinking and no sex. The latter would be easy to avoid for now, but the former was being put to the test. And no one who spoke the words I did would have said them if they weren’t also intending to have some drinks.

“But you know we can’t,” I said.

If you want to break the old patterns, you need to stop following them.

“Chance, why?” she said, and her voice was not just pleading.

It was annoyed. Disappointed. Almost hurt.

“Why what, we can’t have drinks?” I said, trying to be empathic. “It was one of the rules we made in agreement. We—”

“Do you still find me attractive?”

All of these rules and moving away… it’s making her insecure. She’s scared. Comfort her.

“Of course I find you attractive,” I said, squeezing her hand. “I’m very attracted to you, Layla. There’s no one else I’m trying this with. It’s not like this is a test where I’m seeing four other people and then I pick whomever I like. This isn’t The Bachelor, you know? I’m trying to make this work.”

“I know,” Layla said, experiencing a feeling I knew too well.

It was very easy to understand something from a rational, logical perspective. It was much harder to process it and accept it as the full truth from an emotional perspective. That disparity had caused me a lot of heartaches over the last few months, and that Layla was suffering from it right now was something I had an enormous amount of sympathy for.

“I just worry that you leaving the apartment, just so shortly after we’d had sex for the first time in a long time, and now these rules… I agreed to them because I wanted to go out with you, but I worry this is your way of softening the blows.”

I hadn’t looked at it like that before, but damn… put from that perspective, it really did look like a fucking hit and run of sorts. A prolonged one, but a hit and run nevertheless. It was small wonder that Layla’s emotions were starting to get the best of her.

“Here’s my vow to you, Layla,” I said, pulling her head in close to my chest, a cuddle she took without hesitation. “I am going slow because I am scared of my old habits ultimately tearing us apart. I want to make this work with you, but I need to go against my own worst instincts and take my time. I, frankly, want to go back to the apartment right now with you and do all sorts of dirty things. But…”

Layla sighed, and the look in her eyes scared me. It wasn’t a look of disappointment. It was almost a look of resignation.

“I know you have to do what you have to do, Chance,” she said softly. “But I can’t be waiting forever.”

“I know,” I quickly said.

The words, though, sounded like some sort of very quiet, very hidden warning. Was it a warning that she was dating someone else she was going to move on with? Maybe that job she interviewed for in Chicago was much more promising than she had let on. Maybe there was something else; maybe she just needed to move and start over elsewhere, regardless of what job or male prospects she had.