Hell, he loved her, and he wasn’t even sure he knew who she was. Because the woman he’d believed her to be would never have done something so awful. But he’d never been a good judge of character when it came to his romantic life, had he? Maybe he had her all wrong.
He’d give her one thing though—she was a damned good liar.
Brooke looked up, searching the crowd, and he stepped further back, out of sight. He’d been here for her. He’d done the right thing. But he couldn’t handle talking to her now, or pretending everything was okay. Not when she’d ripped his heart from his chest and fucking shredded it.
He turned and walked away.
24
“Where have you been?” Brooke demanded, glaring at Jack across the sparsely occupied pub. The patrons either stared at her, or became fascinated by their drinks. She was causing a scene, but she didn’t care. After weeks of training together and dating, he hadn’t bothered hanging around to congratulate her. And what had been so urgent that he’d had to leave? The need to drink beer and glower? She’d been frantic, worried for him, and he’d been here all along.
“Please tell me there was a legitimate reason why you ditched me.” She’d meant the words to sound snarky, but they were leaning toward the pathetic end of the spectrum. She pulled herself together. She wasn’t the one in the wrong here, and it wasn’t unreasonable to have expected him to be there for her. They were a team now. Partners. Only she didn’t have a clue what was going through his head.
Jack didn’t reply, just sipped his drink in sullen silence.
“Brooke,” Logan said, from behind the bar. “Think you could take this outside?”
“I’d be happy to, but he doesn’t look like he’s planning to move anytime soon.”
“Mate.” Logan turned to him. “I think you’ve had enough.” He gestured to the wall. “Sign says I can’t serve you if you’re inebriated.”
“I’m not fucking drunk,” Jack snapped, “and I don’t want to air my dirty laundry in front of half the town. Mind if we use your apartment?”
Logan rubbed his temples and sighed. “Fine.” He tossed him the key. “But no kinky make-up sex on the sofa.”
Jack shoved his stool back and stalked to the private living area without waiting to see if Brooke would follow. Out of sheer stubbornness, she didn’t want to go after him, but she needed to know what she’d done to make him so angry he’d desert her on their big day. If something important had come up, he could have called. Texted. Sent her an email, so she’d know not to worry. Instead, she’d come up with all kinds of awful scenarios to justify his absence.
One of his parents had died.
He’d been in an accident.
A terrible illness had struck him down.
The last possibility had tormented her most. How typical would it have been if she were in the best shape of her life and the man she was falling in love with became ill.
But no. Instead, he seemed to have decided to go to the pub, for no good reason that she could see. She climbed the stairs, her legs protesting. The door at the top was ajar and she let herself in, looking around. She’d never been in Logan’s apartment before, but she didn’t get much chance to appreciate the décor because Jack shut the door behind her and folded his arms over his chest, his brows lowered in a scowl.
“What’s your problem?” she demanded, mimicking his stance. “I was worried sick about you. I thought something was wrong. But you’re here, having a drink. Please tell me there’s more to the story. Something I’m not seeing. Because at the moment, it looks like you’re a bastard.”
The lines around his mouth deepened and his gaze became flinty. “All of your adoring fans were there.” He said “adoring” as if it were a synonym for slimy and disgusting. “Why would you need me?”
She flinched. Did he actually believe he was superfluous? She turned over the possibility in her mind. Had she done anything to give him that impression? Taken him for granted, perhaps?
No, she didn’t think so. She never took anything for granted.
Damn, this was unfair. Today should be a celebration. An evening of happiness. She’d passed the test, achieved something she’d never dreamed she could, and the future was falling into place. But she couldn’t enjoy her success if he wasn’t with her.
She gentled her tone. “I would never have gotten so far if it weren’t for you. Of course I wanted to be with you after, and it hurt that you weren’t there.”
Jack scoffed. “You know what hurts? Finding out that the woman you care about has been manipulating you as some kind of revenge plot, and that hundreds of people are in on it.”
He’d lost her. “What do you mean?”
“I read your blog,” he said meaningfully. “Parts of it were very enlightening.”
She winced, recalling the way she’d moped online about him not contacting her after their kiss, and then ranted when she’d realized he didn’t remember who she was. Her face heated, but she resisted the urge to shrink into herself. Yeah, she’d vented, but she’d also never said anything untrue, and he had to know that. Besides, she’d been singing his praises lately. A number of her readers had asked about their relationship, wanting to meet him at the race. She’d had to tell them he was unwell.
“Did you read all of it?” she asked.
“I read enough. I saw you agree with some girl who said you should string me along, humiliate me and break my heart. What were you planning to do? Dump me as soon as I got you to Everest? Were you going to crush me and blog all about it?” He laughed bitterly. “That’d teach me for forgetting you, huh.”
She stared, mouth agape. How could he think so little of her? They knew each other. Or, at least, she’d thought they did. And while she recalled the comment he was referring to, she’d never agreed, just thanked the girl for being supportive. If he’d read the very next post, surely he’d know that.
“I would never do the things you’re saying,” she told him. “Didn’t you see—”
“Don’t try to explain yourself away,” he interrupted. “Whatever you’re about to say, it won’t change the fact you put the private details of our relationship on the goddamned internet and made me public enemy number one with your doting fans.”
Her self-righteous anger fled and she deflated, her arms falling to her sides. He was right. She had done that, without even thinking. Who cared if it had been a mistake, or if she’d tried to smooth it over as soon as possible? She couldn’t go back in time and erase her actions. She’d behaved childishly, and he was calling her on it.
“I’m so sorry.”
“Sorry doesn’t cut it.” Sighing, he scraped a hand through his hair. The grooves etched between his brows had lessened, but he looked weary. “It all comes down to one simple truth. You’re exactly like my ex.”
She flinched, as the words struck with the precision of a slap.
“Did I ever tell you why we broke up?” he asked. When she shook her head, her lips wobbling dangerously, he continued. “She was—is—an Instagram model. Quite a successful one. We met at a photo shoot at the outdoor equipment shop where I worked. They’d made an endorsement deal with her. It was instant attraction between us. We were different people—she was all about high society and art gallery exhibitions whereas I preferred the outdoors and my own company—but I thought we loved each other anyway.” He laughed bitterly. “More fool me. I found out I was one of her projects. She was trying to turn me into the perfect boyfriend to hang off her arm at fucking brunches and shit, and chronicling it all for her Instagram audience.” God, he’d been furious when he found out none of it had been real, and that he’d been reduced to entertainment for a bunch of wannabe socialites. “The worst part is, it was working. I’d actually cancelled an annual hiking trip with an old buddy of mine to go to some stupid gala with her. It was there I overheard her talking about it.”