I went through the motions the next week.

Every day, I woke up and hoped that Dean’s last visit had been a dream. That he would be here, heart beating evenly underneath my ear, legs intertwined with mine—I hoped that at work he would call me into his office and laugh at the whole mess of a joke. He would explain that he had been sick, been crazy, been joking—been anything but serious about not wanting me.

I shouldn’t have been surprised. Really, Dean wanting anything to do with me had been a shock to the system since the first day we woke up together. Pretending like I was anywhere near his league had been a mistake.

My whole body hurt.

I texted him twice on Saturday. I called once. He never answered.

On Monday, I snapped at Clark so many times he didn’t say a word to me after lunch. Tuesday, I ran into Dean in the elevator—my chest hurt so bad, I thought I was going to pass out. I took the stairs after that. On Wednesday, I hesitated after the weekly meeting, wondering if he would finally talk to me. He strode out of the meeting before anyone else, and told Cheryl he'd be busy on calls all afternoon.

By Friday, the incredible, painful ache had become familiar enough that even though every breath felt ragged, I could stomach doing work and taking a shower. As the pain started to hurt a little less, the anger came. It brewing beneath my skin, a bit like the way my body would curl around sickness, as desperate to throw it out as I was to get rid of it.

I cared deeply about Dean. A week of hurt and anger couldn’t take that away but it was soothed a little, the ache of missing him, by the ache of near-fury boiling through me most days.

I managed to get through the whole day, finally talking to Clark and Cheryl and even Tom at lunch. I found that getting out of the office helped with the urge to storm into Dean’s with a list of reasons that he was an asshole. It was true, of course, but hardly work-place appropriate. We were heading back into the office when my phone rang. I jolted but relaxed a little to see Joey’s name appearing on the screen.

“Joey,” I answered, gesturing for my colleagues to go ahead inside while I took the call. “I’m at work.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” Joey sounded out of breath and he cursed at someone. “Hey, fuck off, jackass!”

I frowned. “Joey, what are you doing?”

“Running,” he panted.

I let out a sigh but the corners of my lisp were twitching. As ridiculous as he was, I had missed my brother. We hadn’t seen each other since—that night and I could barely remember most of it.

“Anyway,” Joey said after a minute, as if he’d stopped running finally. He was still out of breath but the background was clearer. “I meant to call you like a week ago but got busy. You have plans tonight?”

My chest pinged. I rubbed at it absently. “No,” I said. “Why?”

“Dinner, tonight. My best friend has been wanting to meet you since you came into town.”

I titled my head, trying to remember who that could be. Joey had a lot of friends but they were rarely mentioned more than once. I didn’t even know my brother had a best friend. “I—why?”

“Okay, fine, you caught me.” Joey huffed. “I want you guys to meet because you’re both workaholic assholes who don’t have any friends beside me.”

“Hey!” I would have been offended but he wasn’t technically wrong. Even before Dean had—broken up with me, it was still only him and my brother.

“Listen, you come, you embarrass me in front of my best friend, I buy dinner, you leave. No harm, no foul.”

I almost turned him down before realizing I was being unfair. It wasn’t like I had a reason not to go. I had no plans for the evening outside of wallowing by myself on my couch. I had been doing that for a week.

Dean was an asshole. I shouldn’t refuse my brother a small favor for no reason other than being a little bit heartbroken—besides, it could be good to get Dean out of my head for an evening.

“Okay,” I agreed. “I’ll be there. Text me the address and time, but I really do have to go, Joey.”

Joey let out a little whooping sound. “Aw, hell yeah. See you tonight, baby bro.”

I shook my head, hanging up the phone, and going back into the office.

The rest of the day passed quickly. I sent Dean a few emails with my weekly reports and recaps, assuming that he would respect my reason for not going into his office—namely, that I would likely punch him and jeopardize my job security in the process.

Joey sent me the locations for the restaurant, what appeared to be a pretty nice Italian place, and said we’d meet at seven-thirty.

I left at five on the dot, surprising Clark so much he just gaped at me. I explained that I had plans with my brother but his wide-eyed expression didn’t adjust at all for the news.

I sighed and drove home, took a quick shower, and changed into something more appropriate. The drive would be a bit long since the streets would still be busy when I needed to leave. I dawdled around my house, shaving slowly to make sure that I didn’t look like the sleep-deprived, heartbroken guy I was currently.

Finally, it was time to head to the restaurant. I felt jittery, nervous, as if Joey would be able to smell the sadness on me. Technically, he was the one who introduced me to Dean. He would probably ask how it went, try to tease me, to get the details of the encounter, and I would break and start weeping at the table and then we’d have to tip so much to cover the emotional trauma the waiter would go through and—

I made it the restaurant and, despite the fact that I was sweating, managed to find an okay parking spot.

I texted Joey that I was on my way inside and he told me to give his name to the hostess.

When I threw the door open, I slammed straight into a wall.

I bounced off of it and nearly fell, until two strong hands reached out and grabbed ahold of me. Oh, I thought dumbly, not a wall.

“No,” said Dean, “I’m not a wall.”

My head shot up. Dean was here. Dean was at my Italian restaurant. Well, it wasn’t my restaurant, but it was good enough as. I closed my eyes, feeling defeat coat me.

He was inescapable.

I had known from the few weeks that Dean and I were together that he was going to be my future. Just because he decided that I wasn’t his didn’t mean that fate was going to take it easy on me. Of course we’d keep bumping into each other.

The ache in my heart I had been carefully ignoring came rearing back, loud and angry, and my veins were too full. Sorrow and wrath warred inside of me, threatening me with each breath.

I let my eyes peel open. Dean was staring down at me with wide eyes.

He looked—

I looked away. It didn’t matter how he looked.

“Let go of me,” I said through clenched teeth.

His hands let go so fast it burned. The heat surged through my arms and into my bones. It wasn’t the same kind of heat that he used to inspire in me—this was the fire that burned down homes. This was the kind of fire that destroyed to survive.

I shoved past him, ignoring the way he let out a strangled Jimmy and went straight to the hostess. “Joey Swan, please.”

“Ah, you’re the second one to arrive, please, right this way.” She smiled brightly at me and gestured toward the small steps leading into the restaurant.

A hand on my shoulder froze me in my spot. “Jim, can we talk, please?”

The anger melted my frozen stance. “No,” I said harshly, shrugging away from him. “Where is my brother?” I asked at the hostess who winced a little at my tone.

Guilt surged in me and I followed her sheepishly. When she walked away, it was with a thin-lipped, anger-concealing smile.

Joey stood when I got to the table. We hugged briefly, clapping each other on the back. “We have to overtip the hostess,” I whispered to him.

He laughed when we pulled away and I slid in the chair. “Why?”

“Ran into someone,” I said, waving a hand vaguely. “Doesn’t matter. Where’s this friend of yours?”

“I don’t know,” Joey said, frowning. He looked around the room, then down at his phone. “Should be here. Said he was here around the same time as you.”

I looked around, even though I knew I’d never recognize him. I gave up after a second and grabbed a roll from the center of the table, plucking a piece off and tossing it into my mouth. Joey sighed and stood up.

“One sec, Jim. I’m going to go see if he’s stuck.”

I shrugged and shoved more of the roll in my mouth. It was probably rude but seeing Dean, when the whole point was to get away from Dean, was really souring my mood. I just wanted to forget for one night that I had so stupidly, so easily, offered Dean my heart—and that he hadn’t wanted it.

“Bro! Meet my best friend.” My head snapped up at Joey’s voice.

My jaw dropped.

Taking in Joey’s huge grin and Dean’s shocked, open-mouthed expression, I let out a groan and dropped my head into my hands. Lord, I prayed, fuck me.

Slowly, I lifted my head. Joey was still grinning, looking between us, but his smile slipped when Dean’s expression didn’t change and I glared up at him.

“Joey,” I said at the same time that Dean said, “J?”

I looked between them. The anger that I had been trying so hard to swallow down all week came furiously down on them. “Dean,” I said from between my clenched teeth. My jaw ached from the tight hold I had on it. “May I speak with you? Joey—order alcohol.”

My brother nodded, sitting in his chair quickly. At least he seemed to realize that something was up.

I turned on my heel and marched toward the bathroom. I pushed open the men’s single use and grabbed Dean by the collar, throwing him in it. He stumbled and cursed. When I closed and locked the door behind us, he crossed his arms in defense while I jabbed a finger at him.

“Are you fucking kidding me? Did you know? Did you do this? For God’s sake, Dean, I can’t keep doing this with you—”

“Hey, I didn’t know anything!” Dean’s cool facade broke and he glared down at me. My skin was on fire. I was on fire. I was going to burn up completely. “J just asked me to meet his kid brother and—how was I supposed to know it was you?”

“I told you about my family!”

“J doesn’t talk about his family all that much! I only knew a little about you. Not enough to—” he waved his hands around. “Not enough to guess any of this.”

I looked at him, hard.

Dean looked—rough. His amber eyes were wide and bright, but the dark circles underneath were heavier than I had ever seen before. He was sporting a beard—at least a week’s worth, and did that send my heart into overdrive. His clothes were disheveled, as if they were the ones he wore to work today. He looked exhausted, burnt up.

“Okay,” I said, deflating. “Okay. Just—just, fuck, Dean, that’s my brother so can you just—”

“Hey,” he reached out, but froze halfway to me. His arm fell down to his side in an abandoned effort to comfort me. “I get it. I won’t—say anything. You take the reins.”

It was almost laughable, considering how quickly Dean had snatched the reins out from my hands last week.

I sighed and ran my hands down my face. A headache throbbed, my whole body felt the heaviness of the week.

I unlocked the bathroom door and left, heading back to the table. I slid into my seat and a few seconds later, Dean sat between my brother and I.

Joey looked between us and frowned. “I—missed something.”

I smiled tightly and took the glass of whiskey that Joey had ordered for me. “No, of course not.”

Joey rolled his eyes. “Dean?” he asked, prompting.

Dean made the motion of locking his lips and throwing away a key. I downed half my drink.

The burn was distracting. I wished he’d ordered a whole bottle.

“I—thought this would be a fun reunion,” Joey said, looking between us again. “You know, I thought, you know—”

“You knew it was me at the bar,” Dean said suddenly. My head snapped up.

“Dean!”

“Sorry,” Dean shot me an apologetic look, then looked back at Joey. “But—why? Why would you not say anything?”

Joey looked up helplessly. “I don’t know! I thought it was funny?”

Joey pulling a prank and giving me the worst heartache of my life was funny.

I was furious at my brother. It wasn’t his fault.

“I can’t be here,” I said, downing the rest of my drink. “I’m sorry, Joey. I—let’s get together later. Sunday, maybe? I’m sorry. Dean, I—I—see you at work.”

“At work?” Joey asked, incredulous. I grabbed my coat and didn’t pay him any mind, heading out of the restaurant.

My body was buzzing. My head was swimming. I wanted to scream or cry or punch someone or—

Dean’s hand wrapped around my upper arm, spinning me around to face him. He looked a little wild eyed, a little desperate. “Jimmy.”

Each beat of my heart hurt. It hurt like it was never meant to beat—like Dean was making it work extra hard just by being here. My eyes stung with unshed tears. “What? What, Dean?”

Dean dropped his hand. His lips parted and he stared at me. It was a devastated look—or maybe it was that it was devastating, and I was painting my heartache on his face. Dean left me. Dean left me. Dean didn’t want me. I wasn’t good for Dean.

I couldn’t do this.

I miss you, I miss you, I miss you.

“I can’t be here,” I said again, quieter. I was being crushed under the pressure. Under the hopefully and maybe and never. “I can’t be near you.”

“I—Jim, I just—I’m so—”

“Don’t,” I held out a hand. I closed my eyes and took a steadying breath. “I—understand that you don’t want me, and I’m trying to respect that, but I need—space.”

“Right,” Dean whispered. I looked back at him. There was no way I was imagining his broken expression.

It was confusing, the conflicted way he treated me and what he said. I wanted to kiss him more than I had ever wanted anything.

I took a stumbling step backward. “Goodbye, Dean.”

I raced to my car, barely managing to get the door unlocked before I fell apart.

I held my head in my hands, letting the tears stream down my face, and wished to God that I had never moved to Chicago.