As Brett hurriedly slipped into her socks and shoes, Karen stood up, too. “But you just got here,” she said stiffly.
“I know, I’m sorry.” AJ couldn’t even muster up an apologetic smile. “But we have to go.”
There were no hugs good-bye. No kisses. No assurances that he’d be back soon. He simply whisked Brett into the house, then out of the house, then into the Jeep.
He hadn’t felt anger like this in years. His entire body trembled from it, his blood bubbled with it. His fingers were so stiff it was a miracle he managed to turn the key in the ignition. The temptation to storm back inside and force his folks to apologize to Brett was so overpowering that he fumbled for the gearshift, needing to get the hell away from the house before he did or said something he’d regret.
Before he could put the car in drive, Brett reached for the door handle. “I forgot my cardigan,” she said flatly.
He reached for his own door. “I’ll get it.”
“No.” The response was swift, hard. “I’ll do it. You wait here.”
AJ watched as she ran back to the house, her black hair whipping around her head like a storm cloud. Christ. She was pissed. So was he. He couldn’t believe his mother had brought up Tamara like that. Merrily, deliberately, as if she’d wanted nothing more than to drive a wedge between him and Brett.
He wasn’t going to let that stand. No way in hell. But he needed to take Brett home first. He needed to explain and apologize and get on his frickin’ knees to beg her forgiveness.
Brett was gone for much longer than he liked, but just as AJ was about to go after her, the front door swung open and she reappeared. Her cheeks were flushed, and she had her cardigan draped over one arm.
She slid into the passenger seat without a word. AJ stepped on the gas and drove away without sparing even a peek in the rearview mirror.
“Brett—” he started.
“Not now.” She turned toward the window. “I just…I need a moment to think, okay?”
Frustration shot through him as she avoided his gaze. “I’m so sorry about that Tamara bullshit,” he said softly. “My mom ran into her at the supermarket last month and decided to play matchmaker. I wasn’t interested then, and I’m not interested now. I swear.”
Brett shot him a sidelong glance. “Then why did you take her number?”
He faltered.
“You didn’t use it, so your mother took matters into her own hands, but you did take it, didn’t you?”
He let out a breath. Nodded.
Brett nodded in return. “Of course you did.”
“I never, ever planned on calling her, Brett.”
“I know that, too.” A chord of sorrow clung to her voice. “You took the number to appease your parents. Because Tamara is exactly the type of woman they want you to marry and have kids with. We are talking about Ms. Perfect Cheerleader, right? Tamara from high school?”
He nodded again.
“Yeah, I can see why your mom is so eager for you to end up with her.” Brett mumbled something AJ couldn’t fully make out, but it sounded like “perfect.”
After that, she went quiet again, and this time, when he tried to offer another apology, she simply shifted her eyes back to the passenger window. And there it was—the biting of her bottom lip, the groove in her forehead. She was deep in thought, and AJ sensed that he wasn’t going to like it when she finally clued him in to her thoughts.
It wasn’t until he pulled up in front of the Kims’ general store that Brett looked over again.
“AJ…”
Agony twisted in his heart. He knew what she was going to say.
“It’s over.”
Fuck. Fuck.
Knowing it and hearing it were two very different things. His heart was no longer clenching, but shattering. Splintering into pieces as those dark, beautiful eyes looked at him with such sadness and regret that his throat closed up.
“Don’t say that,” he said roughly. “At least let me apo—”
“Apologize?” she finished. “I don’t need an apology, AJ. I’m not mad about the way your mom acted, or the fact that you got some other woman’s number. Actually, I’m not mad at all.”
She leaned in and touched his cheek, so gently it brought another painful squeeze to his chest.
“I can’t be with you.” Brett shook her head. “I tried to hide myself from your parents today by covering up my tattoos, but you’ve been hiding yourself from them for years. I’ve been watching you fight since I met you—not them, but yourself. You’re trying so hard to be who you think you should be, instead of being who you are.”
A denial rose in his throat, but it got stuck there.