“Okay,” Liza eventually murmured, slipping her arms away but still standing close to him. “Okay. I’ll take care of it. I’ll take care of her.” She bracketed her arms around her middle and looked up at him, her throat working like she was trying swallow her remaining tears. “Maybe, um…maybe do call Connor. And the guys. Y’all should go do something.”
Brennan nodded. “Yeah.”
“Yeah.” She nodded back, lifting her chin so she could meet his gaze better.
She just stared at him for a long time until she lowered her face and turned back to the table. She picked up the envelope and the key, stuffed them into her purse, and then slung the straps over her shoulder. Turning back to him, she met his eyes briefly before she lifted higher on her toes and kissed his cheek. She flattened her palms on his shirt, giving his chest a quick rub and pat before stepping away and waiting next to the curb.
“Mind flagging a cab for me again?”
Brennan rubbed his sternum as though he could wipe away the ache in his heart and joined her at the curb. He lifted two fingers to his lips and unleashed a quick, high-pitched whistle.
Flag a cab for me again.
The last time he’d flagged down a cab for her was when he’d given them the nicknames and accidentally punched her arm too hard. The first day he met her.
Que será, será.
A cab eased up in front of them, and Brennan opened the door for her, holding out his palm for her if she chose to accept it. She did, and she held on until she slid into the backseat. She stared at her lap, and her lips were pursed tight. As soon as he closed the door, she was going to break down into sobs, and that was just going to have to be that.
Brennan ducked his head inside the car to address the driver. “Algiers Point. Verret Street.” He slipped out his wallet to pull out a hundred-dollar bill and passed it to the middle-aged man. “Take care of this woman like she’s your daughter.”
The cabbie took the cash and saluted Brennan with it. “You got it, buddy.”
Liza was still staring at her lap.
He leaned against the open door for another beat and then pushed away from it. “Thanks for everything, L.”
She nodded but didn’t look up.
Que será, será.
He stepped back and shut the door, looking at her through the window. She still didn’t look up. The cab pulled away from the curb and started slowly rolling down Royal Street away from him.
Brennan stood on the sidewalk, alone in a massive crowd of people.
That stilted goodbye was a good thing. Because if life had taught Brennan anything, it was that if you really loved someone…truly, honestly, earnestlylovedsomeone…you had to be willing to let them go if that’s what was best for them. On Liza’s very first day here, he’d both fallen in love with her and also realized that it wasn’t meant to be. He let go of hope, but he didn’t let go of her. And that left him with nothing but a shitty, hollow feeling.
If he lived through the nightmare waiting for him in only a few days, he was going to deal with this nagging heartache over her. This had gone on long enough, and he needed to make it go away, even if it meant putting some distance between he and Liza. Even if it meant putting some distance between he and Connor. Even if it meant leaving town for a while.
Actually, since Skye was about to leave him with a new gaping wound in his heart, maybe the Liza heartache would just meld into the Skye heartache. And then maybe his cruel mistress, Madame Fate would send along yet another remarkable woman for him to fall for and lose.
A man who fucked often, but rarely loved, and always lost.
Brennan drew in a deep breath and exhaled through a quick puff of air while he watched the cab disappear around the corner.
And that was just fucking that.
If he ever saw her again, it was going to be different. And that made something inside him start to hurt. But, then again, everything about life seemed to hurt. It was time to just get used to that and figure out how to ignore it.
Brennan turned away from watching the cab as it drove away, started up the street toward his house, and didn’t look back. He slipped out his phone and dialed Carson.
“What’s up, Riley?” he answered. “What can I do for you?”
“I actually need some help with my house.”
Carson chuckled. “Like home repairs? I think you might need to call Gabe for that.”
“Not repairs,” he said, approaching the steps of the iconic French Quarter home that had been in his family for generations, but wouldn’t be for much longer. “The property deed.”
