by Lexi Ryan
How am I supposed to be okay with this? Do I just swallow my pride and pretend it doesn’t tear me apart? What am I supposed to do when she gets home?
I must be a masochist, because I play the video again. And again. I listen, as if the sounds she makes might tell me why she was with him when she had me. The useless clunking thing in my chest fractures more and more each time I watch that door close. Each time I hear those moans.
But the third time—the fourth?—I notice a glitch in the video between the moment the door closes and the moment the sounds start.
Maybe Austin trimmed the middle out to give the full effect in the short clip . . . but I listen again, turning the volume as loud as it’ll go until I can almost make out the murmurs on the other side of the door. I know those sounds and those whispered pleas. I have them imprinted on my brain.
And then I hear it. My name.
“Brayden,” she says. “Brayden, please. Oh my God . . .”
This isn’t audio from her and Jason at all. It’s audio from when I sat Molly on her desk, spread her thighs, and made her come through her panties. We were supposed to be alone, everyone done for the day, but when we came out of the office, Austin was in the hall playing on his phone. Or so I thought.
The sonofabitch was recording us.
He spliced together two different videos to hurt her, and it worked. He used her old reputation against her, against us, and I bought it. She believes she’s not good enough for a real relationship, and tonight I let her think I believe that too.
Molly
I sit in my car for fifteen minutes after parking in Brayden’s driveway.
I don’t want to go inside. I don’t want to see Brayden, because I’m sure if I do, I’ll fall apart. And I don’t want to see that he never came home, because I know if he went somewhere else to avoid me, that’ll kill me too.
I’m going to stay at my mom’s—Noah has the couch, so I can handle the floor for a night—but I need to get a few things first. Maybe even find the courage to tell Brayden the video is fake. Not that it matters.
Taking a deep breath, I climb out of my car and head inside.
Brayden’s sitting in the living room with a glass of amber liquid—bourbon, if I know him like I think I do.
I want to rush past him. If I could get my things and go without talking to him, maybe I could survive this crushing in my chest, this awful pain that’s so bad it steals my breath.
I make myself stop.
“I wasn’t sure you’d come home,” he says softly, standing.
Home. This isn’t my home. It can’t be. Even if I’d begun to imagine . . .
“We should talk.”
I nod and take a breath. “I know you have no reason to believe me, but I didn’t do anything with Jason that day I took him in my office.”
“I know.”
I jerk my head up, meeting his eyes. “You do?”
“The video looks bad.” He drags a hand through his hair, his frustration evident in every jerky moment. “But I watched it, and now I can see he spliced two clips together.”
I nod. I knew that the moment I saw it, and I planned to tell Brayden, but when he just accepted it as it was and assumed I’d let Jason touch me . . . Well, given what happened at the Christmas party, I couldn’t blame him for assuming anything. “I know.”
He lifts his hand to my face but drops it before he touches me. “Then why are you looking at me like this is over?”
“It was just a matter of time before something like this happened,” I say, reciting the speech I planned on my drive home. “I try to teach Noah that we have to be held accountable for our actions, and that’s all this is . . . me being held accountable for who I was.”
“Don’t let Austin off the hook like that. This was wrong and conniving and deceitful. You didn’t deserve any of this.”
I shrug. “But that doesn’t change anything. And you and I . . .” My whole body is shaking with the words I have to say. I don’t want to, but I don’t see an alternative. “This was a bad idea anyway.” I hardly recognize my own voice. The words come out too tight; I’m trying to push past the lump in my throat. “I really have to think of Noah first, and—”
“Cut the shit, Molly.”
I blink at him. “What?”
“I know you believe it—this line you feed me and everybody else about trying to protect your son—but it’s such bullshit. Noah and I are going to have a relationship no matter what happens to us. If you never give us a chance—if you walk away tonight and never speak another word to me—that won’t change the way I feel about that kid. He’s already part of my family, and if someday I fuck something up and hurt his feelings, I’ll hate it. But you and I both know that’s life. Sometimes the people we love make mistakes. But I’d never, never hurt him on purpose, no matter how much you hurt me. So please stop insulting me by pretending otherwise.”
I straighten my spine and wrap my arms around myself. “You have no idea what it’s like—”
“Don’t I?”
My eyes go wide. “To be a single mom? To scrape by, paycheck to paycheck? To not know if your decisions are going to hurt the most precious gift that’s ever been put into your care?” My heart races just thinking about it. Christmas. Our promises to Noah. How excited he is to spend Christmas morning with Brayden. I’ve already messed up. “With all due respect, Brayden, you don’t know.”
“I know what it’s like to be terrified of being hurt again. I know what it’s like to worry—deep down—that every fucked-up thing that’s happened in your life is your fault, that if you’d just been better, if you’d just been worthy, then maybe things wouldn’t have unfolded the way they did.” He takes a step closer, and this time I stay still. I let him press against me, let him lower his mouth to my ear when he whispers, “And I know you. I see you. You’re even more scared than I am, because he hurt you—betrayed you—in the worst way possible.”
That’s when I stumble back. At the he Brayden doesn’t need to name. At that ugly, secret history I wish Brayden had never known. “You don’t see me. You look at me and see a girl who was raped by her stepfather. You think you want me, but you really just want to save me.” The words are so raw that bile rises in my throat. “I already know you think I’m broken, and I’ll never be able to change what happened to me. I’ll never know what it’s like to have you look at me and see . . .” I turn my head and stare at the window and into the darkness, wishing I didn’t have to say more, wishing I could hide from him—from today and all of this.
“See what?” he asks softly. “What do you want me to see when I look at you?”
“Me,” I whisper, my attention still on the night beyond the window, because I might break if I look at him. “I just want you to see me.”
He takes a step closer and takes my hand. I let him, and watch as he toys with our fingers. “You think I want to save you because you’re broken?” Gently, he nudges my chin with his thumb until I lift my eyes to meet his.
“I heard you say it. I heard you tell Ethan.”
“I know you did. And I’m sorry I used that word.”
“Don’t pretend. Don’t take it back and pretend you didn’t mean it.” I can take a lot, can survive a lot, but I don’t know if I can handle lies from Brayden. “I know I’m damaged goods. I’m ruined, and that’s why I can’t do this.”
He opens his mouth, but I race for the door. There’s nothing I need as much as I need to get away from this conversation and those beautiful, dark eyes so full of pity.
Brayden
I flinch as I listen to the door click shut behind her. Each one of her words was another twist of the knife in my gut. Damaged goods. Ruined. Broken. To her, it’s all the same.
And now she’s gone, and I feel like something inside me is indeed broken beyond repair.
Molly
Two days until Christmas, and who’s sleep-deprived, heartbroken, and dragging her ass through the mall to finish her shopping? Thi
s girl.
Luckily, I have two friends who called me bright and early and asked to join me.
“How’s the situation with Brayden?” Shay asks.
I groan. Unluckily, one of them shares blood with the guy I broke up with last night.
Teagan elbows her. “We agreed we weren’t going to talk about it.”
Shay scowls at Teagan. “It’s almost Christmas. We can’t very well give them time to figure it out on their own if we want a happy ending before Santa comes.”
The words happy ending remind me of Brayden’s flirting, and I bite my lip. Until heartache lances through me, and I have to close my eyes.
“See?” Teagan waves a hand in my direction. “See what you’ve done?”
I take the girls by the wrists and lead them into the chain restaurant off the hall to our left. “If you two are going to bicker, I need a drink.” And maybe lunch. I haven’t eaten since breakfast yesterday. I wasn’t up for risking it on my stressed belly this morning.
Teagan lights up. “Ooh! I like that plan.”
After we’re seated and give our drink and lunch orders to the waitress, Shay says, “We missed you and Noah at brunch this morning.”
I frown. “Sorry. I guess my Jackson family brunch days are behind me.”
“You don’t think you’re going to get out of it just because you move out, do you?” Shay asks. “Mom would never hear of it. She’s already attached to you and Noah.”
Teagan nods. She may not be a Jackson, but she’s around them enough to be an authority on the family.
“But Brayden and I aren’t—”
Shay waves a hand. “Doesn’t matter. Mom’s like a bad mob boss. Once you’re in, there’s no escaping.”
“That’s . . . weirdly comforting.” I smile at the thought of sweet Kathleen as a mob boss and almost laugh. “I’m sorry about this mess, though. I knew better than to get involved with Brayden, and I did it anyway.”
Teagan and Shay exchange a look, then Teagan clears her throat and says, “I need to step out and make a call.” She slides out of the booth and heads for the door.
I cringe in Shay’s direction. “Did she just leave so Brayden’s overprotective sister can beat me up?”
Shay shrugs, but her face lights up as the waitress returns with our drinks. “You’re my personal savior today,” she says.
The waitress grins. “I get that a lot. Your food should be up soon.”
Shay takes a sip of her beer and sighs happily.
“Thanks,” I tell the waitress, but I wait until she goes before turning to Shay. “If you’re going to give me a speech about how amazing your brother is, you can save yourself the trouble. I already know that. I’ve seen it for myself. This isn’t about him.”
“Are you sure about that?”
Nodding, I drag my finger down the condensation on the side of my pint glass. The beer snob in me wants to point out they’re serving this stout way too cold, but judging by the way my stomach keeps flip-flopping, I won’t be drinking it anyway. I already miss him so much it hurts. “I’ve always been the problem. Not him. If anything, I wish he weren’t so great. Because then maybe . . .” I sigh. I can’t even imagine a Brayden I’d be worthy of.
“I was in love once.” Shay turns to the window and the busy parking lot beyond. “He took my breath away and made me smile, and I never believed I was worthy of him. As long as I believed I didn’t deserve him, it was easy to walk away. Then one day I did, and my excuses were so convincing that he didn’t come after me.”
I swallow. “I’m sorry.”
“It was no one’s fault but mine. I thought I was so noble to walk away, and all I did was hurt us both.” She squeezes her bare ring finger in a way that makes me wonder if she once wore a piece of jewelry there. Or if she only wanted to. “I can’t take that back.”
“That video is an embarrassment to the whole family,” I say softly. “You’re all so important to this community and so rock solid, but I’ve come along and tarnished that. I’m not being petty. This stuff is awful, and I don’t want it to affect you guys.”
She shrugs. “What about letting us decide if we’re embarrassed?”
“Aren’t you?”
Her grin stretches across her beautiful face and shows all her straight white teeth. “Nah. But I work out with Austin’s mom sometimes, so I gave her a call this morning. She was so pissed at him—embarrassed that he’d post such a thing—that she shut down his social media and took away his phone and car. He deserves worse, but it’s a start.”
“Thank you, Shay.” I pick up my beer, then put it back down before I take a drink. I’m not foolish enough to think that means the video is gone forever, but it feels good to know Austin’s not getting away with it.
“Are you still doing Christmas morning at Brayden’s?”
This time I do take a drink. “If he’ll let me, I’d like to.” I take another sip and sigh. “For Noah, and because Brayden made him a promise that’s important to them both.”
“Then Christmas at the family cabin after?” she asks. “It’s a blast. We do a Nerf gun fight and stuff ourselves. Between Nic and Jake’s cooking, it’s the culinary event of the year.”
“I have no doubt.” I look up from my beer, search my friend’s eyes, and only see sincerity there. “It feels selfish to show up to your family Christmas.”
She shrugs. “So be selfish.”
The waitress returns with our food, and Teagan emerges from the hallway and slides into her spot next to Shay.
I poke at my salad and recall what Brayden told me about Sara. She left because she thought it was the best thing for him, but he said he wanted to be loved enough that she’d dare to be selfish. Isn’t that what he said about his feelings for me, too? That he was selfish when it came to me? I wonder if he might ever wish I was selfish enough to hold on to him.
When I think of the Instagram video, I know I don’t deserve to ask any such thing, but the selfish devil on my shoulder folds her arms and tells me I should ask anyway.
Brayden
Molly: Are you okay with Noah and I coming back to the house tonight and staying until after Christmas? I understand if you’d rather we didn’t, but I want to leave that choice to you.
The text is a kick in the nuts. On the one hand, she’s going to let me fulfill my promise to her son. On the other hand, there’s nothing in that text that makes me believe she didn’t mean it when she broke things off last night. But at least if she’s here, I’ll have a chance to speak to her.
Me: You and Noah are always welcome here. Thank you for letting me make good on my promise.
I have to run around town finishing my Christmas shopping Sunday evening, but when I get home, Molly and Noah are back, and it looks like a bag of flour has exploded in my kitchen.
“You have to roll it flat, remember?” Molly tells Noah. She has flour on her nose, her cheeks, and even smeared across her red Rudolph T-shirt. My steps falter. She looks like she belongs here, like she’s home, and today is only one of many days she’ll spend making cookies with Noah in this kitchen.
This is happiness for her—spending time with her son, making a mess and laughing—and the joy it brings her is so bright that it outshines the lights on the tree in the family room and fills the room more than the Christmas music playing on the stereo.
I swallow back the lump of emotion in my throat. “It smells amazing in here.”
When she lifts her eyes to meet mine, the smile she was giving Noah is replaced by a cautious one. “Sorry about the mess.”
I shake my head, surveying their progress. A dozen sugar cookies cut in various Christmas shapes fill the cooling rack, and a fresh cookie sheet is half filled with another batch. “It smells delicious. Noah must be making me dinner.”
Noah’s eyes flash to mine, and he releases a delighted screech. “You can’t eat cookies for dinner!” His eyes widen as he turns to his mom and lowers his voice. “Can we?”
Molly shakes
her head. “Nope. Even Brayden needs to have real food for dinner.” She points to me over Noah’s shoulder. “His muscles will shrivel up and disappear if he doesn’t eat healthy foods.”
Noah curls his arm to flex his bicep. “I have muscles too, Rayden.”
I grin. “I see that. You must be really strong.”
Noah nods solemnly and offers me a candy-cane-shaped cookie cutter. “You want a turn?”
I arch a brow. “Are you sure?”
Noah nods. “I got to make the rest. You can help.”
Rolling up my sleeves, I go to the sink and wash my hands, and when I turn back to the mother and son, there’s a look on Molly’s face I can’t read. I’m aware of her eyes on me with every move—as Noah gives me the cookie cutter and shows me how to press it into the dough, and as we work together to put the cookie on the sheet with the others.
“I used to make cookies with my mom every Christmas,” I tell Noah. “She’d make dozens and dozens of cookies of all kinds.”
Noah’s jaw drops. “Did you get to eat them all?”
“Not too many. Mom made them as gifts for every family we knew, so my brothers and Shay and I had to fight over what was left. My favorites were the thumbprint cookies with the jam in the middle.” I hand Noah the cookie cutter and watch him cut several more candy canes. I’m impressed with his fine motor skills. When Lilly was his age, she’d tear up the dough trying to move it onto the cookie sheet, and she’d always get frustrated. Now, however, she’s become quite the little chef. She and Noah would probably have a blast making cookies together, if Noah could deal with her bossing him around.
“My favorite is the frosting kind,” he says, transferring the cookies carefully. “Mom said we can’t frost these till tomorrow, but then I can eat one.”
“After dinner,” she says.
Noah scowls and mumbles, “After dinner,” like he was hoping she’d forget that part.
