Love Harder

BROOKLYN

What could happen next is an expected turn of events.

But are we surprised?

No, we are not.

With his blue eyes, dark hair, ink, and smart mouth, I didn’t stand a chance. And his name, his name is Brooklyn. He’s from New York originally, and I met him on yet another app. You’d think I’d learn my lesson by now.

But nope, and you want to know why?

Insanity?

Glutton for punishment?

Yes, but the crux of it all is that I am a hopeless romantic and still want to believe in love.

I still like to believe that my Mr. Right is out there, regardless of all the Mr. Wrongs I’ve dated. I refuse to let bad luck, bad choices, break me because I am too stubborn for that. What I can say, however, is that these experiences have made me even more cautious and leaves the overthinker in me rocking in a corner and wishing this nightmare would be over soon.

I can honestly say that I wish I never met Brooklyn. He promised he was different…only to yell SURPRISE, I AM A LYING A-HOLE.

But let’s take a trip down memory lane, shall we?

Like most events in my life, I was not looking for Brooklyn. Nor did I see him coming. He caught me completely unawares. I was in the US for work, and as one does, bored one night, I was scrolling through my matches and saw him.

By now, I’m sure you know what I like. That I look for that something, something, and Brooklyn had it.

Our original conversation was nothing spectacular. So much so that I forgot we had connected and left the US without giving him a second thought. A few days later, however, when I fell back into scrolling instead of writing, I saw that he had messaged, and I hadn’t replied. I decided to rectify that, something I wish I hadn’t because, well, you can guess why.

But as I always say, hindsight is fucking useless.

He seemed very upfront, and I liked his laid-back vibe. He was honest, and his communication was incredible. We added one another on socials and spoke incessantly every single day.

I woke to a good morning message. Only to send him a good night message back.

We made the time difference work.

Who said long distance doesn’t work?

A wise mothertrucker, that’s who.

During the weeks of us getting to know one another, we spoke nonstop for hours. The first time I called him, it honestly felt as though I had known him for years. There were no awkward silences or pauses. We spoke for about four hours, something which soon became our norm.

We literally spoke from sunrise to sunset, and it just felt…normal.

I never had this with the other men I was seeing. Yes, the past men and I talked a lot too, but I think I spoke more to Brooklyn than I conversed to my husband in the twelve years we were married.

Brooklyn made time for me and made me feel as though I was someone special.

He called when he needed to vent or needed advice. He called just to say hi. It was so incredibly refreshing because there were no games. Brooklyn made clear he liked me, and I liked him.

Our talk never really delved into the “heavy breathing, what are you wearing” kinda vibe. We discussed what we liked in the bedroom, and I was relieved to hear we were on the same page.

It was a match made in fuckery heaven.

Brooklyn and I got to know one another inside and out for weeks, and I honestly can say he is the first guy to ever do that. He was different.

I thought Ghost was a good communicator. But Brooklyn ran circles around any man I was with prior. But my heart was perpetually scarred due to being obliterated by men who promised they were different, only proving to be worse than their predecessors.

So I was wary.

I wanted to believe he was everything he said he was, but there was a catch.

There had to be.

So…I waited.

And waited.

But each day, Brooklyn was there, just how he said he was going to be.

My heart and brain were forever battling the other because this was unheard of, a man who actually was who he said he was.

My bestie and cosmic sister M?tley, who was by my side throughout every relationship, liked Brooklyn. She knew my ex-husband. She knew MR. J. She was there when I cried over Ghost. She had snacks and a bottle of wine in hand when Switzerland left.

It was she and I and then Dimples, as she often said, we had to remember he acted the way he did when things went wrong. It was never you have to remember; it was always we. And I love that regardless of her troubles, she always opened her heart to comfort me when I sank low.

She helped me wade through the tears to find my laughter again. We would play voice message ping-pong, consisting of nothing but laughter. The type of laughter where no sound comes out ’cause you’re laughing so hard.

No one would understand the stuff we laughed about and that’s the best kind of laughter. When just a look can trigger an onslaught of laughter where words are replaced with pure hysteria, that’s the best kind of medicine for the soul.

I highly recommend it because laughter with my besties is what saved me from drowning in the sea of tears.

So it goes without saying, M?tley approving of Brooklyn had me falling deeper and deeper down the rabbit hole. He spoke to my friends, humoring them because they are my friends after all.

He edged his way into my world, and for once, I wasn’t scared. I wasn’t guessing if or when he would reply. I knew that he would because he proved himself time and time again.

When he didn’t, he would apologize and explain why.

Once upon a married time, I had this. I had a man who made me feel safe. A man who delivered on his promises. A man who didn’t play games. So I knew what it felt like. I knew what it felt like to like someone and have them like you back.

Brooklyn’s messages soon became such a normal part of my days that we fell into this “situationship” without even really discussing it.

I made it no secret that moving to the US wasn’t a pipeline dream. He asked where I wanted to move. I told him California. He was happy with my choice, and it was decided he would move with me.

Things were simple with Brooklyn, and after having complicated for the last…forever, it was a nice change.

He wasn’t a romantic or a sweet talker. He was a realist. He was also extremely intelligent. He had a bit of a temper which I liked because he didn’t take shit. He was old-fashioned in a lot of ways. But he also admitted he was a little brat.

He sent me a reel one day about people who get angry quickly. It really touched me because it detailed that beneath their fiery exterior was a soul filled with compassion that was quite sensitive to emotions. They feel both highs and lows intensely, so their anger is a protective shield. They love wholeheartedly. They invest so much emotion in their relationships that they can feel frustrated when they feel undervalued or overlooked.

I fell a little bit harder for him because no man had ever sent me something like that before.

Was he attempting to allude that this explained him? If so, I was hooked.

He didn’t shy away from conversation and shared so much with me about his past.

The good.

The bad.

He told me everything.

We grew close.

As did my feelings.

I tried to stop them. But it was hard to defuse something that only continued to burn bright and be the light when you were lost in the darkness for so long.

Brooklyn was the surprise I did not see coming…but did I mention I fucking hate surprises?

Things were solid for a long time.

I knew his routine.

He knew mine.

We grew closer and closer, so it was inevitable that my original plans to stay for three days extended to six. He knew all along I was returning to America, so when the time came, I was both excited and nervous.

Before I boarded, he called, wishing me a safe flight.

When I landed, I had a missed call and a message from him.

I called him back, and it was surreal that we were finally talking in the same time zone. He expressed his excitement to see me. We had a week of work to get through before I would go down to see him.

It was a relief that things were still the same. That he didn’t get cold feet. He was still the same man I had developed an attachment to.

But my guard was still up. History hasn’t been kind to me and my heart. It had a photographic memory, and the pain associated with the memories was a reminder to be cautious because if something is too good to be true, then most times, it is.

But it’s not all doom and gloom regarding my bad choices in love. My friends are to thank for that.

And cocktails.

My experiences with love have had me having some very interesting conversations as well as meeting some exceptional people. One of which I wrote about previously, and her name is Psychic.

Always putting my faith in the universe, I believe there is no such thing as coincidences, which is why when a year ago, I stumbled across a neon green palm reading sign in Times Square, I knew this was the universe speaking to me, and as I always say, when the universe speaks…listen.

And I am so glad that I did.

It was here I met Psychic.

Whether you’re a believer or not, faith speaks to many in different ways, and for me, Psychic spoke to me when I needed guidance. She spoke to me during a time when no matter how many times I assured myself it would be okay, my heart wouldn’t listen.

I fought against myself every day, and I was doubtful I would ever see the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel. The harder I tried to be “normal,” the harder it got to breathe.

So when I stumbled across Psychic on that snowy night in New York, something inside me shifted, and I felt like me again. I wish I could explain it better. But sometimes there are no words to explain something that shouldn’t make sense but does.

A year later, I walked the same street but with a different mind frame.

I felt “better.”

Although I had experienced some really shitty things, I was a lot more centered. When I saw Psychic a year prior, I felt like a baby bird who had just learned how to fly. Now, I had taken flight and seen what was out there, and I needed her to undo something that continued to clip my wings.

Again, it doesn’t make sense. But I couldn’t help but feel that whatever Psychic had done with MR. J, I needed her to undo ASAP because I constantly felt as though my bad luck with men seemed to stem from that meeting.

It was as if MR. J was a huge roadblock, and whenever I made some sort of progress with men, something would happen and the last man standing was always MR. J.

Do we need a recap on who MR. J is?

My first love, the guy who broke my heart, only for me to go back a billion years later and for him to break it all over again.

Don’t shake your head at me. I know what a dumbass I am.

Alas, me all but breaking down Psychic’s door to help lift this voodoo love spell so I could find my Prince Charming and live happily ever after.

I suppose I did leave a huge part out of the story. Yes, I was coming to the US for work, but my pit stop was simply to undo the pact I made with the universe because she had made me bleed, and I was done.

I had mentioned to Brooklyn I was going to New York before seeing him. He had asked why. I was apprehensive at first to share why because what I was doing wasn’t everyone’s cup of tea. He began to worry, however, and asked if I was going there to see another man.

I liked there was a little possessiveness to his tone.

When I told him the reason, he simply laughed and said he wasn’t a believer but was interested in hearing what she said.

I pressed the buzzer, and the glass door opened. When I climbed those familiar stairs, a sense of peace and calm settled over me.

I knew I made the right choice.

Pizza place on the lower level.

Tattoo studio on the second.

And on the third was Psychic’s home.

I didn’t even have a chance to knock on her door. She opened it and said, “You were supposed to call me.”

I was supposed to do a lot of things…but here we are.

I was impressed that she remembered me. But she is psychic, after all. She went about spraying down my hands and shoes just like last time and then welcomed me into her home. Everything was the same. And again, that sense of peace wrapped me in a tight embrace.

I didn’t regret this detour one bit.

I sat in the chair across from her, and she sighed. Could she sense the shit I was in?

Her silence made me nervous, so I blurted out, “I need you to undo whatever you did with Mr. J and I. Please.”

She leaned back in her seat and looked at me with those knowledgeable eyes. “I warned you.”

“I know, and I’m an idiot who didn’t listen. Now please help.”

She nodded, and I noticed when deep in thought, she rocked slightly, nodding. It’s not unnerving. It’s actually beyond fascinating to watch.

“I didn’t do anything,” she finally says.

“Um…”

“If you think I did some love spell or coercion, then you’re mistaken. I don’t make people fall in love. All I did was open you up to the universe. The rest is your fate.”

I sat for a moment, unsure how I felt about what she had revealed.

For one year, I believed that whatever was done here, in this very room, was the cause of my bad luck with men.

Turns out I was wrong.

I didn’t know whether to be disappointed or relieved. It was easy to believe that my luck was because of some voodoo love spell I signed in blood with the universe, but that wasn’t the case.

My choices were the reason. Every action has a consequence, and this was mine.

And that also meant that what Mr. J felt was real.

Well, that was a plot twist I did not see coming.

Psychic read my disbelief and desperation and nodded. “Lean back and close your eyes.”

I did as she asked.

She told me to go to my happy place.

That was easy—the beach.

Water has always calmed me, which is ironic because I can’t swim. I’ve almost drowned twice. But regardless, I have always felt at peace near water.

So in my mind, I went to the beach.

I sat on the sand and peered out into the vastness and just…breathed.

“Open your eyes.”

When I did, I felt…different.

Perhaps like a weight had been lifted from my chest. Whether this was my mind playing tricks or Psychic, in fact, undid whatever I forged with the universe, it didn’t matter because I felt better. I was happy I did something, no matter how crazy to some, which made me happy.

And I am all about self-love these days.

Then Psychic asked me to say the name of the man I was interested in three times.

I did.

Brooklyn.

Brooklyn.

Brooklyn.

And I waited with bated breath.

“He’s not for you.”

Well, that was as anticlimactic as they come.

Psychic doesn’t believe in sugarcoating anything, and that’s okay. But I can’t deny I felt my stomach drop in disappointment.

Look what happened the last time I didn’t listen to her.

But a small part of me knew she was right.

Where had this traitorous part come from?

The moment I said his name, it felt wrong. I suddenly felt like a love impostor.

“You’ve not met him yet. Or been intimate.”

Again, I need to reiterate, these are not questions she asked, but rather statements she made because she knew.

All I could do was nod.

For the next twenty minutes, she told me things that no one but the two people involved in the relationship should know. But Psychic summed up Brooklyn so accurately that I was gobsmacked.

She detailed that he wasn’t very open about his past relationship, and that was because he got his heart broken. He had walls up.

This was starting to sound all too familiar.

She said he suffered from depression and anxiety, which he did.

“He uses you as a counselor.”

“Yes. He calls when something is wrong, or he’s anxious.”

She raised a brow. “You do not want that in a partner. You need someone who will support you. You’re not his mother. You’ve done enough of that in the past with partners. No more. Stop putting others before your own needs.

“It’s bad energy transfer. They suck all they can from you before there’s nothing left but a husk of who you once were.”

I couldn’t have said it better myself.

“You’re moving to America. Have you met the older man with money?”

This was a lot to digest.

I just stared at her, mouth agape.

“I know you like men younger than you. You like the ones who are pretty on the outside. They know it, and they act on it.”

Meaning they were usually fuckboys, or fuckboys with training wheels.

She was right.

But how do you stop something which you know is going to burn you, but you want to touch…so…damn…badly.

“Show me a photo of the younger one you like.”

Dimples.

When I did, she shook her head once again. “He sleeps around. Please use protection with him. He likes you, but he is young. Don’t expect much from him.”

Which I already knew.

“Show me a picture of Brooklyn and Mr. J.”

I did.

She sighed.

By this stage, I was pretty sure she wished I never stumbled across her sign at midnight. But I knew that wasn’t the case.

I could see the compassion in her eyes, and all I could think was you won’t heal by going back to what broke you.

I don’t know where this came from. But the proverbial “epiphany” hit at that moment.

Whatever happened, I needed to remember the reason I left. The reason the men in my life were no longer an integral part of my narrative.

“Brooklyn is not in your future.” She didn’t elaborate, but I knew she meant business. “Mr. J…hmm…”

Hmm is never good.

“A blood tie binds you to him.”

I had no idea what that meant.

“Soulmate, twin flame, these are good things. A blood tie is not.”

No surprise there.

She went on to ask about his family history, and I was amazed when I answered yes to most things she queried about. She said our bond was strong, and sometimes, we’re fated to the wrong people. But that doesn’t mean they’re bad.

It just means that sometimes, shit happens, and life doesn’t work out the way you want.

I’ve learned to accept that.

But the tie I had with Mr. J, it did make me think that there is a reason we keep coming back to one another. I never wish to paint him in a bad light. He just didn’t want what I did. Yes, he is frustrating, but one cannot condone him for feeling the way he does.

He never intentionally set out to hurt me. Unlike Ghost, who had a chance to make things right. But he chose to be a chickenshit about it. Mr. J just didn’t want a relationship. How could I be mad at him for that?

We gravitated back to one another because our connection, our chemistry, wasn’t the issue—it was all the other stuff in-between.

And now that Psychic mentioned some supernatural tie as such, I felt like he and I were always meant to be in each other’s lives in one way or another.

I spent two hours with Psychic. She said some things that are too personal to share. I believed what she said because she just knew too much. She spoke about a trauma in my childhood that I only recently faced. She then spoke about my work and then the inevitable—the bad luck I have with men and why that is so.

We also spoke about my latest book. She congratulated me for being so vulnerable. She knew what it was like for people to look at you funny because you’re one of the “weird” ones. We really connected.

We spoke like old friends, and in the end, she told me a lot about her past. Of how she came about to where she was.

Her mother was Bruce Springsteen’s spiritual adviser. You can look this up. It’s all true. She told me about her family history, and it read like a novel. I was so intrigued by her. I like to think that when we meet someone, we take a piece of knowledge away from that meeting; something that we didn’t know, perhaps.

And with Psychic, I felt nothing but love and warmth from this exceptional woman.

I don’t know why we met, but I’m so thankful for it.

She had another client, so it was time to say goodbye. But she asked me to come back tomorrow. Our time together wasn’t done.

When I’ve told others this story, the first thing they’ll say is how much did she charge? They instantly assume that Psychic was in it for the money. She wasn’t. What she charged me is less than what I’ve spent on lunch.

She hugged me and promised that good things are ahead.

Those things, however, didn’t include Brooklyn.

I went for a long walk after seeing Psychic. I needed to decompress. It was…a lot.

Brooklyn called. He wanted to know how things went with Psychic because although he wasn’t a believer, it seemed curiosity got the better of him.

I couldn’t stop thinking about what she had said about him. Were our days numbered? When would be the precise moment things turned?

I decided to leave out those details but told him the rest. I could hear he was impressed. He then asked where I was. I told him Central Park and that I was going to go for a run tomorrow morning.

He was horrified and concerned for my safety because it was dangerous to be running by myself in the dark. I was touched by his concern. He reiterated he didn’t want me doing it because he was worried.

I swooned.

We spoke for hours as I explored. Although I have been to Central Park many times before, I always find something new. And I loved exploring Brooklyn’s home ground while talking to him. Being with Brooklyn was effortless. There never was an uncomfortable silence. We always found something to talk about.

But in the back of my mind, Psychic’s words played over and over. Not to believe her meant all the other things she had predicted were wrong.

I was so torn.

But what’s new?

New York City is my spirit animal.

I’m convinced I lived here once upon a time. I never feel like a stranger when walking the streets, and I always find my way to where I want to go. To someone who gets lost regularly, this is something.

I caught up with friends.

I ate some really good food.

And I saw Psychic one last time.

She gave me a blessing and bid me good luck.

But we both knew this wouldn’t be the last time we spoke.

Ironically, the same night I saw her, Dimples sent me a long-winded message, professing his undying “love” for me. It was reflective of all the other love bombs he had sent. But damn, he opened up and sent a thesis on his “feelings” for me.

I replied with a cordial thanks for being so open and left it at that. Our time had come and gone. But I did find it interesting that after weeks of radio silence, he sent me a message such as that.

I asked Psychic, and she said during her blessing, all she did was open me up to the universe. What will be, will be. So perhaps Dimples did mean everything he sent.

But it was all too little, too late.

Psychic hugged me one last time, and I felt nothing but kindness emanating from her heart.

“Call me any time. You have so much happiness waiting for you. The universe is ready.”

But the question was, was I?

“Life is about luck. As well as chance. Numerology plays a big part in everything.”

At this precise moment, I thought of my lucky numbers.

“Your lucky numbers are three and seven.”

My mouth dropped open because they are indeed my lucky digits.

“How did you know that?” I stupidly asked.

Psychic looked at me like, are you serious right now?

Her parting words will stay with me always. “Because I’m psychic.”

Silence…before I burst into laughter.

She smiled, shaking her head.

Seems that Psychic is my spirit animal too.

I left her studio with a happiness in my heart.

I believe that we meet every person for a reason. Whatever the reason, I’m still attempting to figure that out. But I never take a moment for granted because life is made up of beautiful snippets in time that make up your past.

And that had me thinking about what Psychic said about Brooklyn.

I put my faith in her, so to hear her say he wasn’t in my future left me out of sorts. What she said about him didn’t reflect the person he was. Of course I don’t take every word she says as gospel, but she’s been accurate about a lot of things.

I confided in M?tley about what she said.

Being the forever bright light in a withering storm, M?tley said perhaps it was because we hadn’t met and our energies hadn’t mixed yet. Which is what Psychic said. She forever tries to see the positive in everything. Even when her world is shrouded in darkness, she always has time to calm my manic; being around her calms the chaos.

She reminded me that this was Brooklyn, the guy who had been nothing but honest, responsive, and reliable. He didn’t play games. He was habitual in a way that I liked. She had read his messages. Heard his voice notes. She was as part of this “relationship” as I was.

She assured me that when we met, things would be fine because the connection we had was real.

She was right, but it’s nice to hear it from a friend to confirm that what you’re feeling isn’t just made up in your head.

Brooklyn and I spoke like normal, and I pushed aside Psychic’s words of warning.

But I really shouldn’t have.

It was the day before I was flying out to another state for two days. Then after this, I was coming to see Brooklyn. It was a beautiful day in New York, and as always, I was walking the streets with no real place to go.

I was on the phone with Brooklyn, and he was telling me about his day like always. He asked when I was arriving again, and I jokingly commented that this was the tenth time I had told him.

Things took a turn.

He responded in a way that I didn’t appreciate. He was rather abrupt, and his tone quite blunt. I ended the call and decided to take the night off from speaking to him.

The following morning, on the way to the airport, he texted me.

I guess you don’t like me anymore.

I didn’t want to make a big deal about this, which I sent back, and I just explained that I didn’t like how he spoke to me.

He replied gruffly, saying he wasn’t going to pretend he knew what I was talking about and that he didn’t say anything disrespectful. I didn’t have a chance to reply before he said if I felt disrespected for whatever reason, then maybe it’s a good idea that we don’t hang out.

My stomach dropped, and I instantly began doubting myself.

Had I overreacted?

Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything?

But then, I remembered all the times I didn’t say anything and how those relationships ended. No, I wasn’t second-guessing my decision.

I replied that his tone wasn’t appreciated, and I also never said I felt disrespected. But if he didn’t want to hang out, then that’s fine.

I wasn’t going to beg for anyone’s time because if you take anything away from this tale, it’s this: we don’t chase, we attract.

His attitude changed drastically.

He said he wasn’t making fun of me and was only joking. That I had misunderstood, and he wasn’t that type of person. But he said that I literally ghosted him last night, and he thought I was looking for an excuse not to talk to him anymore.

Reading these texts back, I can’t help but see the irony in them—you’ll soon see why.

He said that if I wanted to play games, he was not the guy for me. It was all a misunderstanding, and he wasn’t being nasty. I would know if he was.

We made peace, but I couldn’t help but feel that something had shifted. I saw a side to him I didn’t like. I understand people have bad days and can be misunderstood, but Brooklyn’s tone was mean. And I don’t like mean people.

Things went back to normal, but something didn’t sit right in the pit of my stomach, and we know what that is, right?

Gut instinct.

Never ignore it because it is rarely wrong.

The day had come.

I was a nervous bundle of excited energy.

I boarded the plane with no real expectations.

Frankie, a friend, was picking me up from the airport. We were spending the week together, as she lived not too far from Brooklyn. Our meeting at the airport was filled with hugs and smiles. Frankie is my girl. She knew about Brooklyn and was excited to meet him too.

I settled in and texted him.

He said he was running some errands but would come later. He also made clear that he wanted to stay the week if it was okay with Frankie, which of course it was.

It helped to have a friend there, but I realized it might be daunting for him, so I suggested we meet at the beach to ensure we didn’t hate one another first.

Frankie and I caught up, and like always, it was like no time had passed since the last time we saw one another, which was over a year ago. Frankie’s heart is so big and kind. I feel blessed to be in her presence because I love, admire, and respect her so much.

So her opinion of Brooklyn meant something to me.

We were drinking cocktails by the pool when Brooklyn called.

This was it.

The time had come…or not.

“My cat hasn’t come back, so I can’t come.”

Okay, being an owner of three cats, I get this. I too would be a mess if they didn’t come home when they’re supposed to.

This wasn’t an excuse, I assured myself, because I knew how much his cat meant to him. He loved all animals, which was one of the many things I liked about him.

I said it was okay and to come see me when it suited him.

We hung up, and I told Frankie and some other friends who had arrived, all of whom were like what the fuck?

Really?

His cat…

I couldn’t help but feel that perhaps this was an excuse, after all, but I didn’t want to believe that it was.

What will be, will be, and I enjoyed the night with my friends.

The following morning, Brooklyn texted.

He was definitely coming after work and staying.

And I believed him.

Frankie had the cure to my nerves—cocktails, of course.

Another friend was flying in to spend time with us. Pinkie.

Pinkie’s heart is too big for this world. She is nothing but smiles and love. I can tell her anything and know she will listen for as long as I need to vent. And vice versa because she has the best stories. She offers the best advice, and being in her presence just makes me so happy. There is a warmth about her that is so contagious.

I told her about Brooklyn and the other boys I had tragic romances with. It was nice to catch up. Through thick and thin, my friendships are forever present, reminding me that no matter what happens, those relationships are real.

A few cocktails in, Brooklyn called and said he would be at the house in an hour.

It was happening—like really happening.

And us three friends did what any good friends would do—we frantically moved my things to the third floor. I think back on this with such fondness. It was a flurry of excitement as we giggled about all the things friends giggle about.

My friends carried all my things, thrilled that I could potentially meet “the one.”

They knew about the non-ones, so they were rooting for me.

We made the bed in the prettiest linens and I threw a bunch of clothes at them, asking for their opinion on which they liked best. This also applied to lingerie and sleepwear.

Nothing is off-limits when it comes to my friends.

With everything settled, I showered and got ready.

Brooklyn texted and said he was ten minutes away. Okay, now I was just damn nervous.

I texted M?tley, who, as always, made me feel better. She wanted hourly updates, regardless of the time difference.

Talking to her always calms me.

I could do this.

If we didn’t vibe, then we didn’t. I was happy I was courageous enough to put myself out there because you’ve read my tragic past.

Frankie waited for Brooklyn in the driveway, sipping her cocktail; god, I love that woman.

His truck pulled in, and I died.

This was it…there’s no turning back now.

I waited by the pool as Frankie greeted him. I could see by her face that she approved. The time had come.

It’s all a little surreal, and no matter how many positive affirmations you recite, nothing really prepares you for this.

Brooklyn was moving his truck, and Frankie ran over, saying he was cuter than his pictures and it was really him. I wasn’t being catfished. He was taller than I thought, and he was nervous.

I got the rundown in ten seconds.

That’s all I needed to hear.

I waited for him, and the moment he stepped from his truck, the first thing I noticed was how blue his eyes were.

And yes, he was taller than I thought.

He said hello in that deep New York accent that had become my soundtrack for weeks, and then he kissed me.

Did I feel the proverbial butterflies?

Was it love at first sight?

No.

Not the answer I was expecting either. But I had that with men prior, and we all know how those ended.

So I didn’t read too much into it because when we hugged, it warmed every part of me from head to toe. And that, to me, is just as important as feeling that spark when you first kiss.

Brooklyn met my friends and was very polite.

I watched him engage and liked that he held eye contact and was confident but not arrogant. He held his own and was the alpha he claimed to be.

I could see he was exhausted from work, so we went upstairs. The entire time, I was waiting for that something, something. The cute-meet moment.

But it never came.

It was just…weird.

I don’t know what I was expecting, but I guess because we had spoken for so long, I thought we might bypass any weirdness.

But something was missing.

He made some calls for work, and I sat across from him, watching him.

This was the guy who had tackled me out of nowhere and made me feel things I didn’t want to experience again. And now that he was here, my head and my heart battled.

My head screamed at me to listen to my gut, but my heart only wished to remember all the beautiful things we shared.

Yes, he was gorgeous, but I learned that looks are the most minuscule part of liking someone. Looks faded, but the connection didn’t, and I wasn’t feeling it.

I scolded myself for being so negative. I always try to be positive and see the best in every circumstance.

I could see he was nervous. The silence was also noticeable by him.

“Are you mad at me?” he asked, which caught me off guard.

“Of course I’m not.”

He was becoming frustrated with something not going his way, and his anxiety kicked in.

I sat by him and gave him a hug.

Hardly how I envisioned our first meeting going, but throughout my life, I have come to learn not to expect anything as this stops one from being disappointed. A bleak way to view things and people, but it’s a realistic slap to stop me from getting my heart broken—again.

We went into the bedroom and decided to watch some TV.

This is always an awkward moment for me, and it seemed like it was for Brooklyn too because we lay as far away from one another as possible. I was so far on the edge, I may as well have been back in Australia.

But as the sun surrendered to the moon, Brooklyn moved closer and closer.

I liked the way he smelled. A mixture of bubble gum and something else I couldn’t quite distinguish. His natural scent, perhaps.

When he grabbed me by the waist and dragged me toward him, I finally felt it.

That something, something. But it was diluted. I ignored it when I shouldn’t have.

He kissed me; soft at first.

But I didn’t travel halfway across the world for soft.

So I did what I said I would; I pulled his hair and kissed him hard.

And then it was game on.

We made out for a very long time, familiarizing ourselves with the other.

This is one of my favorite moments with the guy I like.

It’s new and exciting, and the promise of this turning into something more fills my heart with faith.

Things got hot and heavy, and my body liked everything Brooklyn had to give. The passion was there, but was it like with Switzerland or Dimples?

No.

It definitely didn’t hold a candle to Ghost.

But I took that as a good thing because where had those relationships left me?

Crying for weeks, that’s where.

We didn’t have sex because Brooklyn didn’t bring any condoms. I liked that he hadn’t assumed. Or that he hadn’t had them on hand. We were on the same page when it came to safe sex.

He also realized he left his boots and medication at home.

He asked if it was okay if he didn’t stay over as originally planned.

I said of course. I don’t want anyone doing something they don’t want to do.

He kissed me on the forehead and left.

Two nights had passed, and Brooklyn wasn’t in my bed.

Did I think it was a little sus?

Yes, I sure did.

M?tley, once again my saving grace, counseled me from the other side of the world, but we both knew something wasn’t right.

The next day, Brooklyn assured me he was staying over.

His bags were packed.

My friends told me they liked him. They thought he was polite and keen on me. He didn’t shy away from answering their questions and was more than open and honest.

He was who he said he was.

I was happy, but there was this niggling little feeling in the pit of my stomach. I wished it would go away, but it didn’t.

Brooklyn came over after work, and he looked gorgeous. He kissed me hello, and it amazed me that it felt so normal.

So what was the issue, then?

We spent the night with my friends who approved more so than ever. He was making an impression on them. And on me too.

So when we went upstairs, the inevitable was looming.

This was it.

Clothes were thrown off in haste, and when the moment came, the sex was…okay.

Was it earth-shattering?

No.

Was I disappointed?

Yes.

Sex is important in any relationship and I just wasn’t feeling it.

This was bad.

This was so bad that I couldn’t remember the last time I had sex that was this lukewarm.

How could this happen? Things were so hot between us on the phone. But in person, I may as well have been freezing my ass off in the North Pole because that’s how fucking cold things were between us.

But that didn’t sway my feelings because I couldn’t deny that I liked Brooklyn.

And he told me he felt the same.

But was that enough?

It was the first night he slept over.

In some ways, I wish he hadn’t because sharing a bed with a new partner should be exciting. But in the middle of the night, I awoke to rustling.

Had a mouse snuck into the room?

The mouse was in fact Brooklyn eating Reese’s Butter Cups like he was preparing for a zombie apocalypse.

I got the ick.

This early on…this wasn’t good.

He then slurped his McDonald’s soda.

Surely, this was done.

Nope.

More rustling.

More eating.

More slurping.

There is no coming back from the ick…

I woke up to his alarm.

He wished me a good day and said that he would see me later.

The ick has subsided a little, but when I saw the empty candy and chocolate wrappers thrown around the room like confetti, it returned because the little bish never goes once the ick has been had.

I told Frankie the deets as friends do, and she was happy for me. But she could see I wasn’t goo goo gaga over this man.

He came over for dinner, and again, it was comfortable and relaxed.

He stayed again that night.

I was terrified of what loomed.

Please, for the love of god, please do not let it be a repeat of the previous evening.

We had sex, and it was a little better than the night before. But the ick was sitting on the sidelines, eating popcorn and shaking her head.

Was he the alpha he said he was?

No.

Did he live up to talks of his big game?

No.

But again, it didn’t matter because I enjoyed our time together.

And so did he.

He texted me that day to tell me that in case I didn’t know. I liked that he reassured me, as he knew what an overthinker I am.

He laid a kiss on my forehead that morning he left and told me he’d miss me.

That was the last night he would stay.

It was my last night before I left for another state.

I expected Brooklyn would stay.

So did Frankie.

As did my friends back home.

So when he called and said he wasn’t staying, I felt like I had missed the memo.

When I asked why, he said his back hurt because of the bed, and I could understand why. But when he added that he needed to mow his lawn, I thought that was a euphemism for something other than cutting his grass.

But I felt rather stupid when I realized this wasn’t an analogy for him being married or that I wasn’t lost in translation.

It was my last night, and he wasn’t going to spend it with me.

Frankie was just as confused as I was. She had seen us together. She said if he didn’t stay the nights prior, then okay, but to decide not to stay on my last night was fucking pathetic. Another reason I love her; she tells it as it is.

I couldn’t agree more.

Brooklyn, always the conundrum, said he’d come over after work because he still wanted to see me, regardless of him not staying.

He came over, and again, that weirdness between us lingered.

I didn’t know why it was there. I didn’t understand it. We got along so well on the phone, but in person, we were strangers.

We spent a few hours together.

I realized sex wasn’t a motivator for Brooklyn, and it wasn’t for me either.

He spoke about work and didn’t really ask anything about the rest of my trip. It was then I remembered what Psychic had said.

“They suck all they can from you before there’s nothing left but a husk of who you once were.”

I realized that the conversations we had were very one-sided. When I spoke up or didn’t agree with something, we didn’t get along as well as I thought we did.

How did I miss this?

And when he said he needed to go home and cut his grass, I realized that I was actually okay with him not staying.

I walked him to the door, and he kissed me goodbye and said he would take me to the airport tomorrow.

I waved goodbye…and that was the last time I ever saw him.

Frankie listened to me ramble on about him and agreed his excuse was pathetic. I felt it was pointless him taking me to the airport. He should be here, and he wasn’t.

I was sticking to my guns of not allowing another man to walk all over me.

He texted me an hour later, apologizing for not staying. This showed me that he was aware of his choices. I was honest and said I was disappointed he didn’t stay.

Silence…

I didn’t receive a reply until later in the morning I was leaving.

He said it should have counted for something that he came over after work.

I told him that it did, but I wasn’t coming back for a very long time. Yes, I came to see Frankie too, but he was a big reason I flew here.

We exchanged messages back and forth. Neither of us backed down. He said he didn’t mean to hurt my feelings and that he had a lot going on. He then said something that kicked me in the guts.

You were fun to hang out with, but it sucks you don’t live here.

Fun? Really?

My response went along the lines of:

I was here all week, which is why I wanted to spend ample time with you to see if we vibed. If so, I would have come back sooner rather than later. I want someone who wants to be with me as much as I want to be with them. Telling me I’m fun to hang out with isn’t an incentive for me to come back.

I wasn’t going to do this again.

His reply was heartfelt and like the Brooklyn I thought I knew.

He said he understood where I was coming from and apologized for making it seem he didn’t want to spend time with me. He enjoyed our time together, and it was nice meeting my friends.

He then added I deserve somebody who wants to spend time with me, which wasn’t the case with him. He was just mentally exhausted and didn’t handle stress well. He wished me a safe trip.

And that was it.

He assured me we could still talk, but it just equated to silence.

Two days passed, and he decided to text me back. His message was curt and blunt, reminiscent of our phone call.

Was that a sign I should have paid attention to?

He said he wasn’t ignoring me. He had a lot of things “popping off” the last two days and needed a break from his phone to decompress, and I’ve literally been complaining to him for days. And needless to say, he couldn’t deal with that at the moment.

Well, fuck him too.

I had asked him what was going on as I didn’t understand his silence. I wasn’t complaining. I simply asked why the silence. His whole “I needed to decompress” was a load of shit because he was posting on his socials a lot, something which he rarely did, so his excuse of staying off his phone was total bullshit.

I answered the only way I could.

With silence because silence speaks volumes.

He texted me a few days later, which I really appreciated.

I just wanted to apologize for how I responded and acted the other day. You didn’t deserve that, and I’m sure you probably aren’t happy with me, and I respect that, but I just wanted you to know that I think you’re a really wonderful woman, and I enjoyed chilling with you. I’m sure you’ve felt like I was ignoring you, and I should have texted you back. I was just really angry. I found out I owe a lot of money on some stupid things, so yeah, hope you’ve made it home safely.

My heart felt better because I felt the void of not speaking. To go from speaking every day to nothing was hard, cold turkey in a sense.

I was upset he didn’t even check to see if I arrived home safely when I landed. But regardless, he texted me, so I felt that perhaps we could move on.

We exchanged a few messages, but the vibe was off, and the inevitable loomed.

He wasn’t feeling it anymore, and I honestly just went into self-preservation mode again.

I had been home for about a week and thought I would try one last time.

Good morning. I miss you in my bed.

It took him a day to reply.

Aw sorry I thought I replied to this. I hate this. All texted out.

And that was the last thing he ever said to me, that he was all texted out.

I didn’t reply, torn with what an appropriate response would even be.

I decided to be honest. It was a short message.

Hi. Miss you. Hope you’re okay x

Silence to the text, but he posted to his stories that good times make weak men and hard times make tough men or something like that.

The next day was my final attempt to salvage something dead and buried.

Is everything okay? Going from talking every day to not knowing if you’re going to reply or not really messes with my head. If you don’t wanna talk anymore, I respect that. Just let me know. I hope you’re okay x

And that’s where our story ends.

Brooklyn ghosted me.

He didn’t reply.

He didn’t unfriend or block me, but he hasn’t made any contact either.

I can read between the lines because sadly, this has happened before. And because of that, I began to think that perhaps it wasn’t the men I chose, but rather, perhaps the issue was me.

Those familiar feelings of not being good enough for anyone rose like wildfire, and I couldn’t breathe. There was a common denominator, and that was me.

Bossman’s words echoed loudly: You had to go and create drama because you thrive on it. You self-sabotage your happiness because nothing is ever good enough for you!

I questioned myself, just how I did when he said those words to me.

Maybe he was, god forbid, right.

But I didn’t think I did that. I wanted simple. All I wanted was to find my person. How could it be this hard?

I know anything in life that is worth doing isn’t easy, I’ve accepted that and am not afraid of hard work. But finding my person was bordering on being impossible.

What was wrong with me? Am I the problem here?

I asked my besties M?tley and Angel this very question. Regardless of my actions, my friends would always have my back. But I wanted—I needed—honesty because I just didn’t understand what I was doing “wrong.”

But what they said helped heal my soul.

We’ve read the messages, we’ve heard the voice notes and calls, so these men fooled us too. We believed, like you did, they meant everything they said to you. We’ve read your replies. You are not the problem here because if you are, then so are we.

Perhaps we’re as delirious as the other, but it made me feel better.

We’re so quick to judge others.

They’re abundant in life.

Successful. Social.

Pretty.

They must have it all.

But we don’t know anyone’s struggles. Regardless of what one might portray on the outside, every person has their own struggles and demons.

And mine threatened to choke me, and for good this time.

Writing has always been an escapism for me, and I never take it for granted. I know what an extraordinary life I live, and I have every single one of you who is reading this to thank for that.

When I write, I leave pieces of myself throughout the pages, hoping to connect with you in some way. That is the reason I wrote this book.

LOVE HARD was an introduction, but LOVE HARDER is just that…if you’re here for the second round, then it seems I was able to connect with you in some way.

Love isn’t easy, and most times, it hurts, but we’re still here, and that counts for something, right?

This was my mind frame when trying to deal with yet another heartbreak.

I tried not to let yet another failed attempt at love get me down, but it was fucking hard.

Brooklyn was supposed to be different, and again, I felt so incredibly stupid for believing in “love.”

So for me, when trauma occurs, I can either write or I can’t. And for months after my divorce, I couldn’t write a single word. I was terrified I was about to face the same fate.

But alas, besties, what you hold in your hands is what happens when someone’s heart gets broken. Words saved me, and perhaps, I wrote this for me. I wanted to print it to look back on a time in my life when I wanted to give up, but I didn’t.

And I hope LOVE HARDER can provide the same comfort for you.

Never give up because life is full of lessons, good and bad. Just remember, those scars we all have, we’re braver than what tried to break us.

Be fucking proud.

So, Brooklyn, I thank you for being a chapter I didn’t see coming. Thanks for the memories…regardless of the fact you did what you promised you said you’d never do.

Now, let me revisit what I just said because something incredible has happened… But alas, besties, what you hold in your hands is what happens when someone’s heart gets broken. But it’s also what happens when someone’s heart gets healed.