He’d watched her leave. Known she was gone. Felt her absence down to his bones. What the hell had he done?

He listened intently to the tick of the second hand on his watch, waiting for the moment he’d feel like he’d done the right thing. It didn’t come. Pushing back from his desk, he slammed his laptop shut and grabbed his coat.

“Nadia.” Her name tasted like gravel in his mouth.

She looked up from her desk with an expression that said she knew she was in trouble.

“Have you made an appointment with the doctor yet?”

Guilt crossed over her face, and she pushed her lips out in a pout then drew them in and opened her mouth as if to speak.

He cut her off, completely uninterested in whatever excuse she had. “Make the appointment. Today. You can’t just blow this off. I’ll be working from home. Send anything urgent to my cell.”

She nodded.

“And the stunt you pulled with January?” His tone left no room for doubt. “Pull that shit again, and I’ll fire you.”

He walked away without waiting for her response.

* * *

Brecken turned the journal over in his hand, seriously considering opening it and devouring each word for answers about what he should do. Fitting that, in his darkest moment, he’d finally turned to the man he hated the most. He’d found his personal hell.

He slammed a fist down on the book, wishing he’d left the damn thing at January’s apartment last weekend, but he hadn’t been able to say no to her then when she’d looked up at him as if he were someone who deserved happiness and answers to the questions he sought. He doubted he would ever see that look from her again.

The hurt expression on her perfect face as she’d left was burned into his retinas. He’d just stood there. Just fucking stood there.

In the five days since January walked out of his office, his apartment had become his sanctuary, his hiding spot from Nadia and decisions he didn’t feel capable of making. Pressing silent on his cell, he sent Tina’s third call to voice mail—just like the others. He was in no shape to talk to her or anyone else. He’d tackled the pile of work that came in each day with a singular focus to drown out the rest of the world, but if it couldn’t be handled via email or text, then he wasn’t interested. Tipping back the amber liquid, he welcomed the burn of the first drink as it coated his insides.

He opened the journal, flipping through the pages for a second before he stopped on a random page. With a deep breath, he started reading, hoping like hell there was something to be learned from re-opening the wounds he’d bandaged years ago.

Brecken tossed the journal onto the floor, where it landed with a thud.

He really was no better than his father. After everything he’d done, he’d found himself in the same situation as his father had years ago with an impossible decision. Love or responsibility?

His father had chosen love, which had ended with him losing everyone.

That left only one choice that made any sense.

Responsibility.

His cell rang again, and he sighed loudly into the empty apartment.

“What’s up, Martin?” Brecken answered into the phone.

“Good, you’re alive. Now open the front door.”

He stared at the door of his apartment for a beat before he heard Martin’s voice from the other side. “Open the damn door, Brecken.”

Crossing the room, he flipped the lock and let the door swing open as he returned to the couch.

Martin tossed a folded newspaper in his lap and took a seat on the opposite end of the couch. “You look like shit.”

“I feel like shit,” Brecken said, eyeing the Wall Street Journal in front of him.

“Tina’s worried.”

“The business is fine. Hell, I’ve worked more in the last few days than I have over the past month.

“She isn’t worried about the company. She’s worried about you. Anyway, I’ll save you the lectures. That’s only partly why I’m here.” He pointed to the newspaper. “Get your head out of your ass and turn to page two.”

Shooting him an annoyed glare, Brecken flipped through the pages. The crinkling of the paper grated on his nerves, and his pulse pounded against his temples. No more drinking.

“An old friend of mine has stepped down from his job at a large agricultural company. He’s looking for something new. Something fresh.”

Brecken scanned the article as his heart rate accelerated and the adrenaline pumped through his veins like it had when he was starting out and landing deals.

“This looks too good to be true.”

“It would be if I hadn’t called him and sang your praises. He’s coming into town next week. I got you a meeting—don’t screw it up.”

Brecken nodded. “Thank you.”

“No need to thank me. You’re great at what you do. He’d be crazy not to make a deal.” Martin stood and Brecken followed suit, walking him to the door. He shoved his hands in his pockets and hung his head.

“Either way. I appreciate it. It’s the best news I’ve had all week.”

Martin studied him carefully for a moment and then laid a hand on his shoulder. “Take a shower, clean yourself up, and go see her.”

“I don’t think I’m going to be welcome.”

“So, let her yell at you a bit, throw you out, and then slam the door. Then, you need to go back the next day and try again. Women love putting us in our place.” With a friendly pat, he was gone.

Running a hand over the scruff that had taken residence on his face, Brecken looked at the state of his apartment and groaned. His laptop and papers were strewn on the coffee table, empty beer bottles and takeout boxes littered the counter of his kitchen.

He’d accepted his fate, but he hadn’t been brave enough to face it yet. He couldn’t go to the office and see Nadia. Seeing her would remind him of what he lost, and that wasn’t fair to her.

He picked up a few empty food containers and tossed them in the trash. God, he missed January. Martin said to go see her, but what could he possibly say?

He showered, shaved, and dressed to see her even while telling himself he couldn’t. That he wouldn’t be welcome. That he was doing exactly what his father had done. That he’d made up his mind to do the responsible thing, which was to let January go.

But he had to see her one last time.