Page 230 of Broken Brothers

When we got outside, the Uber was two minutes away. I stood by Sarah, smiling at her.

“You know, you will always be the one that got away,” I said with a smile.

“Really?” she said.

But I learned that it was OK that you got away. I learned that I had to let you go so I could be with the one that’s still here.

“You’re a very special person to me, Sarah,” I said. “When you come back to New York City—if you do come back here, if you do pursue your acting career—you call for coffee. And no more bullshit. I won’t hide anything from you. If we can give this a third roll of the dice, we will. And if not, you’re still an amazing human being.”

The Uber then turned the corner, giving me perhaps fifteen more seconds before Sarah, once again, stepped out of my life; before Sarah, once again, left me without me having slept with her or dated her.

But I wasn’t the crying, desperate twelve year old kid anymore.

I was an adult.

It was tough. But I was OK.

“Keep in touch, Sarah,” I said. “Promise me.”

She smiled warmly as she embraced me.

“I will,” she said. “I’ll see you soon, Chance.”

I believed her entirely when she said it. And the best part was, I knew now I could see her not as Sarah Hill, the girl I had to fuck to make up for childhood failures, but as Sarah Hill, a wonderful human being.

“Good night, Sarah.”

91

Perhaps the greatest feeling when I woke up the next morning was the realization that I had made the right choice with Sarah.

I had no regrets about passing up sex. In fact, I felt proud of myself. I felt like I had done something last night that I had never done before, which was stop myself at the moment I would have lost my mind before, said “fuck it, figure it out later,” and then had consequences blow up in my face. I was a man who could say no.

And now, I could say yes to Layla.

But she had to say yes to me.

I fumbled for my phone as soon as my eyes fluttered awake, grasping for it on the table by my bed. I saw that I had three texts—one from Mom, one from Sarah, and one from Layla.

I looked at the message from Mom first. She was going to be over to my place in about two hours to take me to Rhode Island. I wrote back and said that sounded great.

The second came from Sarah, and it was sweet how genuine it was.

“Hey, had a great time hanging out last night! Just wanted you to know I still like you and you’re still a great friend to me. I know you have some things to work out and I hope they work in your favor. I’ll be back in the summer :-)”

I could only wish that I handled failure and rejection as well as Sarah did. I couldn’t think of a situation more potentially embarrassing than what I had put her through, and yet she handled it quite well and was able to take it in stride. I thanked her profusely and told her to never be afraid.

The last text was the one that I dreaded the most. I had seen snippets of it going through the others, but I held off on reading the full thing. When I saw it, I wasn’t surprised, but it still crushed me.

“I accepted the job. I’m leaving for Chicago on Friday. Already gotten a truck and got movers. You’re welcome to come and see me anytime before then, but we’re just going to be friends.”

No. No. Maybe you believe that right now, Layla, but I know how you feel about me. This isn’t over. I just need to prove my commitment to you—not just say it.

I know.

I tore out of bed, throwing my clothes on, again skipping breakfast—it was a meal I was getting pretty good at skipping. I called for an Uber before I had even done my morning piss, and it arrived before I’d even left my apartment. Fuck if I cared about a waiting fee; I needed a vehicle there to take me over to her place as quickly as I could.

When I got in the Uber, I didn’t even know what I was going to do or say. I just knew I had to see her now; I had to prove how seriously I took her. But as the drive progressed, I knew what I had to tell her.