Page 13 of Before We Break Again
“Let’s go, then.”
I grab my purse, stuffing it with the essentials—phone, laptop, keys—while Dusty pulls on his jacket, moving like this is a routine for him.I wave goodbye to Roni before closing the door.She says something back, but I don’t pay much attention to her.
We walk toward the elevator in silence, but the air around us crackles with tension, tightening like a knot in my chest.It’s making me dizzy, disorienting me more than I want to admit.The space between us feels charged, like everything might just explode if one of us says the wrong thing—or nothing at all.
We step into the elevator, and the silence stretches, thicker now, tense but no longer uncertain.Dusty pulls his hair back into a messy bun, then casually slides a baseball cap over it, all while avoiding my eyes.Without a word, he slips on a pair of sunglasses, like he’s preparing for something monumental.And here I am, standing next to him, trying to figure out what exactly I’ve agreed to.What the hell have I just signed up for?
“We can talk here,” I say.I’m trying to sound composed, but the truth is, I feel anything but.
He shakes his head, that familiar, stubborn silence surrounding him.And then, without warning, he reaches into his jacket pocket, pulls out a fake mustache, and sticks it on, completely straight-faced, still not saying a damn word.
I blink, half-expecting him to crack a joke, but no.He stays serious, and all I can do is stare at him, wondering how is this my life right now?
“Are you going to tell me why we’re playing dress-up?”I raise an eyebrow, trying to understand what the hell this is.
Another shake of his head.This time it’s barely noticeable, but there’s a glimmer in his eyes now, a spark I haven’t seen in years.Something that says maybe he’s still the same Dusty underneath all that frustration and anger.It’s the same look he used to get right before he’d suggest something reckless—something that always felt like diving headfirst off a cliff with no safety net.
The elevator doors slide open, and we step out into the parking lot.Dusty finally speaks as we reach my car.“Drive us to your apartment.”
I cross my arms, trying to hold onto the last bit of control I have left.“That’ll take longer than five minutes.”
He shrugs, completely unfazed.“I won’t start building my case until we’re there.”
“Why don’t you drive yourself, since you seem to know everything about me?”I snap, hoping to provoke him, to shake some answers loose from that infuriating calm.
“Not everything,” he dares to say, and the audacity of it—of him—leaves me momentarily speechless.
I barely have time to process the nerve of it before he throws me off completely with his next question.“Are you still with ...Carson, right?The finance guy?”
I freeze, staring at him, flabbergasted.How does he even know about Carson?And more importantly, why does he care?
I don’t answer his question.Instead, I fire back with something that’s been gnawing at me since I saw him again.“How was the orgy a couple of weeks ago?”
He scoffs, rolling his eyes behind the sunglasses.“You shouldn’t believe everything you read about me, Hals.If you must know, I was at my grandparents’ house, celebrating Grandma’s birthday.I’m too old to spend a night having unprotected sex with a bunch of strangers.”
“Did you?”I ask, my curiosity slipping through before I can stop it.
He tilts his head slightly, his voice softening, like we’re the only two people in the world.“What are we asking, Hals?”
I shouldn’t care.I shouldn’t even be asking.But something inside me snaps.“Have unprotected sex with a lot of strangers?”
He doesn’t answer right away, just watches me with that same intensity that used to undo me when we were younger.The kind that made me feel like I was the only person in the world who really knew him.“I’ve done several stupid things,” he finally admits, walking around to the passenger side of the car.“I probably forgot to wrap my dick a time or two in the past few years.Can’t confirm or deny, since I was too high or drunk to remember.”He pauses, his voice gentler now, softer.“But ...I’d like to think I’m not that stupid kid anymore.”
I sigh as I unlock the car, not thrilled about where this conversation is heading.But at this point, I’m in too deep to back out.
“How do you know about Carson?”I ask, sliding into the driver’s seat.“Or where I work?Or ...what else do you know about me?”
Dusty climbs in beside me, and as I pull out of the parking lot, I can feel his gaze on me, heavy with things left unsaid.
“I know you did your undergrad at Stanford—Pre-Med, right?Focused on biology and sports physiology,” he says, his voice steady but soft.
My grip tightens on the wheel, my knuckles white.I don’t respond.The way he’s listing off details about my life, like it’s some kind of checklist, feels too intimate, too invasive.
“You went to Johns Hopkins for med school.Orthopedic surgery, specializing in sports medicine.”
I swallow hard, forcing myself to keep my eyes on the road.
“You did your residency at the Hospital for Special Surgery.Fast-tracked through it.Then you did a fellowship at Steadman Philippon.Soft tissue injuries, Achilles tendons, things like that.”
