All Chapters of Resisting The Playboy's Charm: Chapter 91 - Chapter 100

CarolinaEvans and I break apart instantly at the sound of the loud wail, turning toward the sound on pure instinct. My heart lurches.Brandon is on the ground next to a tree, writhing and howling in pain. His face is red from crying, and there are tears on his cheeks, visible even from here.Evans and I both start running without saying a word. Others rush toward Brandon as well, a few parents operating on their impulses to help any hurt child.When we reach Brandon, Evans leans over him, kneeling beside him. There's worry evident in his features, his frantic eyes and creased forehead. I remember how he was when Brandon had the stomach bug, and realize that he must be panicking right now."Brandon," I say, kneeling on the other side of him. "What's wrong, kiddo?"Brandon can't seem to speak—the wind is knocked out of him. He's crying, and his sobs are taking up all of his air.After a few seconds, he manages to talk in hiccuping gasps. "I—just wanted t-to hide in the t-tree like Just

CarolinaBy the time we get to the car, I'm feeling like absolute shit, and I know that it can only get worse from here.When we arrive home, Evans immediately takes Brandon upstairs. I linger in the foyer, uncertain as to whether I should follow them up and wish Brandon a good night. Ultimately, I decide that I should probably avoid Evans if I can help it.I sit in the kitchen, at the granite island, staring at my own hands until Evans reappears in the doorway.Immediately, I sit upright. "Is Brandon okay? Is he in bed?"Evans nods, but says nothing. He strides past me without looking at me, and my heart sinks into my stomach."Evans?" I get up from the counter, hesitantly taking a step after him.He walks to the dining room table, picks up his laptop, and balls up the charging cable. He tucks the device under one arm and stalks back toward the foyer, still not meeting my gaze. There's a hard set to his jaw.I want to reach out and stop him, to put myself in the path of his determine

CarolinaI try to read Evans's face, searching for any trace of hurt or disappointment, any sign of the same emotions that are tearing a hole in my chest, but his expression is indecipherable."I can't... I can't work for you anymore," I add, shaking my head. "It would be too hard, and too awkward."Evans's jaw clenches, a hint of emotion breaking through his veneer of indifference. For a moment, I expect him to argue, but he merely inclines his head. "I know. You can consider your resignation accepted immediately."My chest aches, and I press my palm to my sternum despite knowing that it's useless; my broken heart isn't a physical pain. I swallow, trying to keep myself together. I want to be strong in front of him.If he gets to be this composed, then so do I. He hasn't earned the right to see me break down."Can I say goodbye to Brandon?" I ask.A shadow passes over his face, a flash of unmistakable anguish. Then he marshals his expression back into order, nodding. "Yes. Of course."

EvansI pull the car up to the curb at Brandon's pre-K just as the kids come running out of the front doors. Most of them dart straight to their parents, talking animatedly about their days as they climb into the cars.Brandon is usually just as exuberant at the end of a long day, but for the past few weeks, he's been noticeably downcast. Instead of running up to the car, he trudges over with his head down and his eyes glued to the pavement. I almost wish I didn't know why.Ever since Carolina left, I've been juggling things like I was before I hired her. Trying to get back into the swing of it, doing everything myself. It's been difficult, but every once in a while, I can almost convince myself it's doable.Almost. Until the next emergency strikes.As Brandon climbs into the backseat, I lean over to greet him. "Hey, bud. How was school?"He shrugs. "Okay, I guess."His neon green cast lays across his chest, adorned with Sharpie scribbles from all of his classmates. Some of them wrote

CarolinaQuiet music plays in my apartment from a little speaker sitting on my bedside table. The unpacking process proved difficult to tackle, and Olivia, in an attempt to help me, put together a playlist—the certified breakup playlist, she explained, made up of songs that have gotten her through rough times.Unfortunately, the music only manages to fill the emptiness of the room, not the hollow space inside me. It does provide background noise while I fold and put away my clothes, though, which is at least something.I've been making progress on my belongings—slow progress, but progress nonetheless. It's enough to make me feel like I live here again, instead of in Evans's house. Granted, that feeling comes with its own bitter flavor, but it feels like a step in the right direction.As I tuck a stack of shirts into my top drawer, the music is interrupted, and my phone's ringtone plays over the speaker at top volume. Wincing at the sudden, jarring sound, I grab the speaker and turn th