When We're Thirty, Casey Dembowski [best reads of all time txt] 📗

It had been Will’s words, his insistence, that led them here. He could’ve heard her out. But her words that afternoon had spread through him like venom, poisoning the faith he’d had in their reconciliation. He clicked, starting the countdown to destruction. His vision blurred—it couldn’t be a goodbye.

I wrote this email, deleted it, wrote it again, and deleted it again. There’s so much I could say, so many explanations—excuses—I could give. But I won’t. You were right to walk away. You—we—deserved better than that cruel tirade. I’m more sorry than I know how to express. I do want to make this work.

If you believe nothing else, believe that I love you.

Will leaned back against the couch, a small smile loosening the tightness in his jaw. If you believe anything I said, believe that nothing is going on with Madison. She’d called back to his own sentiments from when he’d been at fault—when she’d had to take him at his word. Hannah was asking him to do the same. Except he didn’t doubt that she loved him. He doubted whether she loved him outside the confines of the pact. Those were fears he’d created himself the moment he initiated the pact instead of simply asking her out on a date. They were fears he hadn’t anticipated—there was so much he hadn’t anticipated. Her loving him at all had been wholly unexpected. There was only one fix, but putting it into motion risked the fragile equilibrium of their relationship. It was the only way to save their friendship.

He clicked on the second email, curiosity getting the better of him. What could Hannah possibly have had to add to that first email?

Jonathan funded the Boston project. I know things are a mess, and we have so much else to talk about, but I had to tell you. I didn’t think... I was afraid you wouldn’t answer, or you would, and we’d get sidetracked on other things. Important things, but not this. I don’t know what to do with this information or if it even matters anymore. You left Wellington Thorne, and Riley assures me my assignment had nothing to do with the name of the backer. Do with this information whatever you must, or do nothing. I just thought you needed to know.

Will closed the email. Fucking Jonathan. The man never stopped. Will had thought, for the briefest of time, that the party and Christmas had assuaged his father. But no. Their unfailing love merely caused him to find a new way to get her out of the picture. It had been his father’s last attempt after she’d refused to walk away. Whatever he invested in Deafening Silence was certainly less than Hannah would get in a divorce without a prenuptial agreement, and if she had been the one to leave Will, there’d be no money going her way. It was quite the move on his father’s part. How perfect it would’ve been if Hannah had turned down the position as she’d intended. If that weekend in the Hamptons hadn’t ruined everything, Jonathan would’ve funded someone else’s future. God, he wished he could’ve seen that play out.

He hit the Call button, resolve building in him.

“Will?”

“Hey.” The sound of her voice was a balm to the scorch marks she’d left on him. He could just say he loved her and everything between them was okay. It would be so easy. But no, he had to do this.

“I’m so glad you called,” she said, her words tentative but her tone hopeful. “I’m sorry about your fa—”

“I want to dissolve the pact.”

Chapter 50Hannah

“I want to dissolve the pact.”

“What? No. That’s not what I want,” she said, alarmed. He couldn’t mean he wanted to end things—to get divorced?

Hannah turned to face the ongoing photo shoot. Panic was setting in at Will’s words, but a portion of her mind still needed to pay attention to her crew. Everything seemed to be in order. No expense had been spared—thanks, Dad. She picked at the fruit she’d skimmed from the catering cart. Leonard didn’t have much of a rider, so they’d had to improvise. Fortunately, Hannah had read enough Wilderness Weekend interviews and attended enough shows to have gleaned some idea of Leonard’s foods of choice—at least she hoped. The shoot was wrapping up, and Leonard chatted with the photographer.

Hannah turned away from the scene, wishing there was somewhere more private to have this conversation. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because I meant every word of our vows. And I’m afraid that the pact is all that’s keeping you in our relationship. You’re stuck with me for a year, and it helps pass the time if you’re in love with me. Added bonus that the sex is great.”

“You wrote that clause in the rules, not me,” she said, agitated. How could he throw that in her face?

“Exactly,” he said. “I wrote in that we could date. You wrote in that our friendship was the most important thing. I may have needed to get married to get my family to take me seriously, to save my career, but I chose you because for me, there was no one else. I chose you, Hannah. I need you to choose me now.”

Behind her, the sounds of equipment being put away grew louder. She stepped further away, noting that Leonard was still talking to the photographer. Choose Will? She’d chosen him when she’d suggested they share a bed. Then she’d almost turned down Boston for him. She’d even said she loved him first. “That’s not fair.”

“Maybe it’s not,” Will said softly. At least breaking her heart didn’t seem easy for him. “But this is your out. Choose me or don’t. The pact has been this safety net keeping us together, and if we’re going to have any chance of abiding by Rule 5, it needs to end.”

She hadn’t thought of the pact as a failsafe, not once. Falling in love negated the one-year clause—at least, it had for her.  “Rule