Laughing over dinner with a man more than twice his age was the first time I saw the old Brody I knew. The sixteen-year-old boy who was filled with cocky arrogance, yet unlike most boys his age, had everything to back up that arrogance. Even more so today.

I watched as Brody swallowed a bit of his meal, mesmerized by the squareness of his jawline. The angles had become even more prominent over the years, turning a boy with some softness in his features to a man with hard, chiseled lines. The start of a five o’clock shadow ran along his tanned jaw, bringing a darker shade to his skin that made his pale green eyes appear even more startling.

He caught me staring and furrowed his brows, then gave me a hint of a smile that made me feel like we were the only two in on a secret before he went back to talking to Grouper.

I was quiet while we finished our meal. As the seconds ticked by, I became acutely aware that we had only hours left. After tonight, there was really no reason for us to see each other. Marlene had been the only thing that bound us together at this point. And she was gone. The thought created a physical ache in my chest.

“You okay?” After we had said goodbye to Grouper and Shannon, Brody and I walked to the elevator bank together.

I nodded.

He pushed the seven button for me and thirty-three for him. When we reached my floor, I stepped out, and Brody held one arm up against the top of the sliding doors, stopping them from closing. “I have practice at nine. Coach has been good about my missing and being late the last week. But if I’m not back on time tomorrow, he’s gonna have my ass. I’ll meet you for breakfast at seven and drop you on my way?”

Uptown wasn’t on his way at all, but I agreed anyway. I’d take whatever I could get.

My hotel room was quiet. I’d always hated the quiet—it left nothing to drown out my thoughts. More so now that I was sober. That was the most difficult part of sobriety—the inability to escape my own thoughts.

Over the last few years, I’d thought of Brody almost daily. But over the last few weeks, I’d found myself constantly wondering what things would’ve been like for us if I had never disappeared that last time. If my life hadn’t spiraled out of control. Would we still be together? Be married? My thoughts were always filled with what if.

I showered and flicked on the TV for company, burying myself under the covers in an attempt to get lost in a show. The first channel I landed on, a couple was in the throes of a passionate kiss. Brody was an amazing kisser. So dominant and controlling, he didn’t kiss gently. There was always a rawness to the way his mouth consumed mine. I reached up and ran my fingers over my lips, letting my eyes flutter closed in memory.

What if . . . 

I flipped the channel. FX was replaying a series that had wrapped up last year, Sons of Anarchy, an inside look at motorcycle gangs. It was filled with guns and violence. Perfect.

I watched for a few minutes. Then suddenly the scene of a group of leather-vest-wearing bikers in a clubhouse was over, and I was staring at the tattooed back of a naked blond man. The camera panned down to the man’s taut ass as he furiously pumped inside of a woman. She moaned. Brody was so good with that incredible body. God, it had been a long time since a man had made me moan.

What if . . . 

I flipped the channel again.

ESPN was showing highlights from last weekend’s football games. The Philadelphia quarterback sailed the ball into the end zone and into the hands of a wide receiver. He pumped his fist and celebrated the game win. Brody and I used to celebrate game wins in his bedroom. I literally shook the thought from my head and clicked the remote.

What if . . . 

I needed to clear my head of Brody. Flipping back to the hotel’s information channel, I gave up on television and clicked on music. The screen displayed choices like Top 40, Classic Rock, Hip Hop, and Country. I picked Classic Rock. Bad Company’s “Feel Like Making Love” streamed through the television.

God, I really did . . . 

I listened to Paul Rodgers sing about golden dreams of yesterday for as long as I could. When I couldn’t take it anymore, I flipped to Country Music. Alan Jackson’s “Remember When” blared about remembering your first time.

Brody was my first.

The universe was completely out to get me.

Or . . . 

Maybe it was a sign.

What if . . . 

There were dozens of songs on my playlist that reminded me of Brody. I always skipped over them but never deleted any.

What if . . . 

After tomorrow, there would be nothing keeping us connected.

I didn’t want to spend a lifetime hitting skip.

Always wondering . . . 

What if . . . 

It was time I deleted them all and moved on, or let the songs play.

My life was filled with so many regrets. In that moment, I knew if I didn’t at least try, it would be the decision I regretted the most. I ripped the covers back, got out of bed and dressed, my mind jumping all over the place. The chances of Brody still having any feelings other than disdain and hatred for me were practically nonexistent. But . . . 

What if . . . 

I had forgotten to give Brody his elevator key card back the other day. He wouldn’t even know I was coming up to his suite until he opened the door. Not giving myself enough time to think about all the reasons I shouldn’t, I took the elevator to the penthouse. I had no idea what I was going to say or do. I only knew it was my last chance, and I didn’t want to live wondering what if.

Brody answered on the first knock. He was still wearing the slacks from his suit, but his dress shirt and belt were unbuttoned. God, he’s magnificent.

“Willow?” I still hadn’t said a word. “Everything okay?”

I shook my head, and we stared at each other for a long moment. “Can I come in?”

For a second, I thought he might turn me away. He closed his eyes, but when he reopened them, he stepped aside for me to enter.