Page 60 of Forever Then

Chapter Forty-Six

DON’T SAY THINGS YOU DON’T MEAN

Gretchen

After trailing Drew for twenty minutes through three very intentional wrong turns, I conceded his desire to be alone. Rest assured though; I’m no quitter. That’s how I ended up here at his doorstep. He’ll come home eventually and I’ll make him talk to me if it’s the last thing I do.

Yet, there’s a ripple in my gut that says to go back to Connor.

He’s in love with me.

I wanted to shout it right back, but Drew wouldn’t let anyone else get a word in edgewise.

Connor never told me the details of those months after Drew’s wedding and I never asked for them.

He said he became the worst version of himself.

He told me he drank too much and he mentioned other women.

Someone else might hear those things and think less of him, label him as one giant red flag—that was certainly Drew’s hope when he decided to air his best friend’s dirty laundry on a busy sidewalk for all of Chicago to hear.

But I don’t see the man Connor used to be.

I see the man inside—the man he’s always been.

His past has never mattered to me. Connor has to know that by now. But the way he looked on that bench where I left him? Broken. Ashamed. Vulnerable. Haunted.

His past still haunts him. Maybe I shouldn’t have come here at all.

Or maybe it’s exactly why the blood red rage staining my vision has me knocking on my brother’s door, ready to fight for the man I love.

When Reagan opens the door, her smile falters as she takes in my expression. “What’s the matter?”

“I know my brother’s not home yet, but can I stay until he gets here? I really need to talk to him.”

“Of course.” She swings the door open and I step inside. “Did something happen at lunch?”

I plop down on the couch and fall back against the cushions as she takes up her previous spot on the chaise end of the sectional marked by the fresh Reagan-sized indentation and a blanket that’s been tossed aside.

“You could say that.”

Reagan shifts in her seat, grimacing through the discomfort in her abdomen as she repositions herself.

“God, I’m so sorry! I shouldn’t be here. I can talk to Drew later. I’ll let you rest.” I move to get up, but she stops me.

“Like hell you will. I’m tired of everyone tiptoeing around me.

If you have drama to distract me from mine, I’m first in line to listen.

” She pauses, breathing deeply. “I don’t want to talk about me or this ” — she gestures over her body—“anymore. It hurts. It sucks. I’m mad. I’m sad. End of story. Let’s move on.”

I swallow hard. Message received.

“So, out with it,” she adds with an amused gleam in her eyes that immediately puts me at ease.

At that, the words spill out of me. “Well, basically, I went and fell in love with Drew’s best friend and before I could tell my family that I found my birth family in Arizona—which is complete with a mom, a dad, two brothers, two sisters and a partridge in a pear tree, by the way—Drew found out about the aforementioned love-falling, completely lost it on Connor—who somehow loves me, too, only I didn’t know that until about thirty minutes ago—and now I’m here to murder my brother for being a giant asshole. ”

Reagan’s eyes are saucers, mouth agape.

“Yeah, I know,” I say.

“Wow. Okay. That’s a lot. Um…wine? Yes, wine. We need wine.” Reagan gestures toward the wine rack in the kitchen and I oblige.

“Wait, you, like, just had surgery. Should you be drinking?”

The saucers turn to slits, face dour.

“Right. Wine.”

One bottle of red and an hour later, I’ve regaled Reagan with the whole story.

“I always knew that micro-mini bitch he brought to our wedding was bad news,” Reagan says as she tips back the last of her wine.

“You have no idea.”

Reagan’s gaze looks somewhere beyond me, tugging at a memory. “So, that Thanksgiving? Connor was the reason you didn’t come?”

I nod.

“And when he showed up at your graduation dinner, it had seriously been three years?”

I nod again and a weighty awkwardness settles between us.

“I know Lauren is your friend,” I begin cautiously. “For what it’s worth, I really liked her and I know Connor feels terrible about how he handled that whole thing.”

She shrugs, albeit noncommittally. “Yeah, Drew and I weren’t sure what to think when we heard that he dumped her, but…I mean, she’s happy now. Like, really happy.”

“Connor said she met someone.”

“Yeah,” she sighs. “Sounds like it was all for the best. ”

Reagan twirls the stem of her wine glass between her fingers and I worry that the sullen look on her face might be because she thinks as little of Connor as Drew seems to. If everything my brother said was true, then she had to have seen some of it.

“Do you think Connor’s a bad person?” I ask.

“What? No, I could never think that.”

“It’s just…the things Drew said about him…” I can’t even say it. My brain is too weak and my heart too weary to litigate every accusation again.

“Those months after our wedding were rough. Your brother was so worried about him. He tried to get him to talk about it, but Connor just shut down. Sometimes it was radio silence for days at a time.” She taps her nail on her glass. “I guess now we know what was really going on.”

“ You do, but Drew won’t give him a chance to explain,” I remind her. “Connor wanted to be the one to tell him everything about us, but today went so wrong. It was really bad, Reagan.”

She studies me for a beat before looking away.

“Listen, I know there’s this marital code that says you’re only allowed to see the good in my brother and that husband bashing is generally frowned upon. And that’s fine. But I need you to let me be angry.” I drain the last of my second glass of wine.

“Nobody can tell you to not feel things. The only encouragement I can give you is to give Drew time. Connor’s a good man.

Nobody knows that more than Drew.” She reaches for my hand.

“He loves you, Gretchen. Whether or not he sees it now, in the end, your happiness will trump any grudge he thinks he’s justified in holding. ”

I manage a half-smile, hoping against hope that she’s right.

Reagan’s phone vibrates on the coffee table. My brother’s name lights up the home screen as I pass it to her.

“Hey, babe,” Reagan says by way of greeting as I collect our wine glasses and head to the kitchen.

“Yeah, your sister’s here. She wants to talk to you when you get home. ”

Reagan meets my eyes across the room, careful that her expression not give anything away.

“That’s okay, more girl time for us then,” she chirps. I try to return her enthusiasm with a smile, but I know it looks forced. He’s avoiding me.

“Gretchen will be here when you get home.” She pauses. “Huh? What was that? You’re cutting out. Okayloveyoubye,” she rushes out before disconnecting the call.

“He’s avoiding me, isn’t he?” I ask as I toss the empty wine bottle in the recycle bin.

“Yes, but he can’t do it forever.”

“I can’t be in your hair all day, Reagan. Who knows when he’s going to come home.”

“Nonsense! You’re staying here. We’re ordering takeout, because I’m starving, and you’re gonna tell me all about your birth family.”

I drop back to the couch on a laugh. It fades just as quickly when memories resurface. My parents. I told them I found my birth parents and then Drew lost it and everything turned to chaos.

“Hey,” Reagan says softly. “Where’d you go?”

“My parents probably have so many questions,” I reply, tone worried.

“They’ll understand. You’ll get another chance to talk with them soon.”

“Yeah, but I should text them.”

My hands ghost over my body, eyes darting from the coffee table to the kitchen to the entryway. I shoot up from the couch, scanning every surface as I spin in place. “Dammit!” I slap a palm to my forehead. “I left my purse at the restaurant. My phone’s in there.”

“Ahhh, okay. Damage control. Don’t panic.” She raises her phone and swipes it to life. “We’re gonna call the restaurant and make sure they have it. And then we’re gonna tell Drew to swing by and grab it on his way home.”

“Right. Okay.”

Her fingers tap away on the screen. “And I’ll text Connor and tell him you’re here waiting on Drew?”

“Yeah, please. And my parents, too, if you don’t mind. ”

“On it,” Reagan says as she effortlessly flips her lawyer-mode switch and gets stuff done.

Hours pass.

Reagan asks, and I answer, all of her questions about my birth family. We order takeout, watch a romcom, binge the first half of the latest season of Emily in Paris , and I paint Reagan’s toenails.

The sun has set, the view outside their balcony doors transforming to the night canvas of a city illuminated by streetlights. Reagan stifles a yawn and I’m about to wave my white flag and head back to Connor’s, when Drew finally walks through the front door.

He waves my purse at me before setting it on the entry table.

“Thank you,” I say.

Drew doesn’t respond as he drops his keys and wallet on the same table and walks himself to the kitchen for a glass of water.

“I’m gonna head to bed,” Reagan says.

Drew doesn’t look at me as he sweeps past me to help Reagan to her feet. He tosses her blanket to the side and guides her to the bedroom with a soft hand on her lower back.

I give them their privacy for a few moments while I move for my phone tucked inside my purse, eager to text Connor.

The battery is dead. Because of course it is. Dammit.

I toss my purse and good-for-nothing phone to the far end of the couch as I sit back down, steeling myself for this conversation. The hours since he stormed off and my conversation with Reagan have somewhat tempered my rage, so maybe that’s for the best.

Reagan and Drew share a few whispered words before the bedroom door closes and my brother slowly turns to face me.

“I don’t wanna do this right now, Gretch.”

I rub my lips together and cross my arms over my chest. “We have to talk about it, Drew.”

He shakes his head, jaw clenched so I know the anger is still there, but more than anything he looks tired.