by Sierra Hill
“And not only that, but she’s still involved with the ownership of the company. I mean, it’s just too hard. I couldn’t be there after Brody lied to me like that. I just hope they’ll still give me a good letter of recommendation. I did work hard for Jensen’s while I was there and hope they’ll consider that instead of my job abandonment.”
“Who are you talking about?” Garrett asks, his head popping up from the Legos scattered across the floor that he and Caleb have been playing with together.
Brooklyn places her spoon down on a napkin and rubs her belly in a satisfying swirl and gives her fiancé a hard time.
“Remember? I told you this. Peyton’s been in L.A. this summer for her internship with Jensen’s, a men’s clothing design company. That’s why she hasn’t been around lately. Duh.”
“You’re fucking kidding me. I know Brody Jensen personally.”
Brooklyn and I wear the same incredulous look as Caleb nudges his dad in the arm. “Dad, bad word.”
Brooklyn and I exchange looks as Garrett apologizes and gives Caleb a dollar from his pocket for the Swear Jar they’ve created. Apparently, Garrett, the former trash-talking NBA player has had a hard time letting go of his former ways. As Caleb hobbles into the kitchen, Garrett gets up, gingerly stepping over a landmine of Legos and sits down at the table with us.
“You’ve been talking about Brody Jensen all this time? He was the boss that broke your heart?”
I slap a hand over my forehead, completely embarrassed over what he’s overheard with his eavesdropping, although we weren’t exactly discreet about it sitting out here in the open. I just didn’t think Garrett would be listening to our girl talk and stories of heartbreak.
“Yes, Brody. How in the world do you know him?”
Garrett tips his head to the side, nudging his chin in the direction of the wall behind him.
“His mom owns the house next to us. And he and his designers used to make special suits for me when I was playing ball. Crazy.” He shakes his head as if he can’t believe it. “That’s just bizarre. And wait…are you the woman he got my lawyer’s name and number for?”
Garrett looks between me and Brooklyn, his brow scrunching up, clearly confused by the strange seven degrees of separation we have going on.
Brooklyn changes the subject. “You mean the nice lady next door is Mrs. Jensen, Brody’s mother? Oh my God, Peyton. She is so nice! Whenever we’re out in the cul-de-sac and Caleb is riding his trike, she’ll come out and watch. I had no idea…and hold up, I think I’ve met Brody before.”
She turns to Garrett for confirmation. He nods. “Yeah, last winter he was down for a visit and came to one of the ball games. I introduced you to him and you said he was hot.”
Brooklyn giggles and covers her mouth with her hand with a guilty glint in her eye. Then she winks at me with a shrug of her tanned shoulder.
“Sorry, girl. But he is. And he was very nice.”
“Yeah, he is.” I agree and pick at the chocolate chip on the edge of the bowl, flicking it in my mouth. “But he’s a liar.”
It’s been a few days now since I packed up and left Los Angeles. Brody has texted and called, left me several long-winded voicemails asking me to call him back and even sent me a dozen roses, which I promptly threw in the trash after breathing in their breathtaking scent. Kyler thought I was being a complete bitch for not responding to Brody, but I asked him to remember his own breakup with his ex and how he handled it. That quieted Kyler right down.
“Sorry for butting in like this, but I can’t imagine the Brody Jensen that I know ever being dishonest or dishonorable in any way. He’s always been on the up-and-up and a very respected businessman. What did he lie about?”
My eyes gravitate toward the table as I try to hide my pain. Brooklyn swings an arm over my shoulder and locks me in a side hug.
“He failed to tell her about his previous marriage and also about a woman he had an affair with.”
Garrett goes quiet for a moment, possibly trying to put all the pieces together that might make sense to him. “Um, okay. Not to be an insensitive guy or anything, but was he cheating on you?”
I shake my head. “No.”
He pinches his lips together. “Is he still with his ex-wife in any way?”
“No, not that I know of. Only through her connection with the business. I guess she might own shares or something.”
Garrett scratches his head, his short, sandy brown hair ruffled with the movement.
“Mmm-kay. So, what am I missing here? I’m obviously being a dumb guy, but I don’t honestly get it.”
Brooklyn sighs and rolls her eyes. “Garrett, baby, I love you, but you are being dense. Brody and Peyton met the night before she started her internship. She told him she was me and then left him with a fake number. When he found out she wasn’t me, he was mad because she was dishonest and didn’t tell him the truth. And now the tables are turned, and he wasn’t truthful with her. Don’t you get it?”
A loud sigh of exasperation leaves Garrett’s chest and he stands up, grabs the spoon Brooklyn was using and digs in for a big bite. With his mouth full, he grins and says, “I get Legos. Not relationships.”
We laugh as he plants a kiss on top Brooklyn’s head and leaves the table to go back to helping his son on the floor. I smile at the gentle nature he exhibits with both my best friend and her soon-to-be stepson. And it makes me long for a love like theirs.
Love doesn’t have to be explained and doesn’t always have to make sense. But it does need to be honored. It’s like a garden planted in the spring. As it grows, it requires cultivating and TLC. If you don’t deadhead the flowers, picking off the old to allow for the growth of the new, it will all die.
And that’s why Brody’s lie hurts so much.
It felt like he didn’t want me to know because he didn’t care enough to see this relationship grow any further. Had he deadheaded this thing by sharing his past with me, it would have made room for more.
But now there’s nothing. A dead patch of garden where my heart had once been in full bloom.
Chapter 36
Brody
It’s Saturday night, a week after the New York conference and my night with Peyton. It’s been four days since she left and hasn’t returned any of my calls or messages. Had there not been an event here in L.A. that I was committed to attending, once again scheduled as the keynote speaker, I would’ve taken the first flight out this morning and gone straight to Peyton to work things out.
Instead, I moped around the house and gave Boss extra love and attention. At one point he’d had enough of me and went into the guest bedroom to get away from my neediness.
I was thinking about taking him on a hike, but he’d hurt his paw at doggie daycare earlier this week and it was best that he stay off of it to rest. Anyway, going on a hike only made me think of Peyton and carrying her down the hillside. Which led me to thinking about holding her, touching her, and making love to her.
This really sucks. I can’t remember a time in my love life where I ever felt this way about a woman. Not even when I was married to Tiffany did I have this overwhelming sense that I was a half to a whole. Missing Peyton was like missing a part of me.
I’m sitting out on my patio overlooking my pool when my phone rings.
Glancing over at the table, I see the caller ID reads G Man.
I answer it. “Garrett? What’s up, bro?”
From time to time he’ll call me as a neighborly duty to let me know I should take care of something with my mom’s house. Like the time she fired her landscaper but didn’t replace him and was trying to do the yard work herself. Stubborn woman. Garrett saw her outside with a leaf blower and called me immediately.
Garrett chuckles on the other end of the line. “Hey man, Lord help me. I cannot believe I’m getting into the fucking middle of this.”
I pinch my brows together as I try to piece together what he’s saying. I feel like I’ve missed something important.
>
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“Peyton.”
That one word. The slip of her name from his tongue and the images it evokes sends a bolt of lightning to my stomach, the contents of my belly churning and stirring with an uneasy stormy sensation.
“You’ve lost me. What does this have to do with Peyton? Are you talking about my Peyton?”
The possessiveness of my question speaks volumes but it’s still not clear why he would even know her name.
I hear a grunt and an exasperated sigh. “Yes, apparently your Peyton was at my house today. She happens to be Brooklyn’s best friend. And you need to get off your ass and fix this.”
He pauses and I let that sink in for a second. Peyton. Brooklyn. Best friends. And then I recall the fake name she gave me the first night we met. It just so happened to be Brooklyn.
And Brooklyn is Garrett’s fiancée’s name. Holy shit. It’s like a goddamn soap opera.
I stammer at this new development, raking a hand through my hair and grabbing a fistful as I pace around my living room. Boss seems to notice my distress and lumbers over to my side, pushing against my leg reassuringly. I drop my hand and pat his soft block head and he whimpers his gratitude.
“I-I don’t understand. You mean, you’ve known Peyton Burke, the design school student and my intern, all this time?”
Garrett snorts. “I guess I did. Weird coincidence, right? But damn man, you’ve got to come here and fix this with her. She seems very upset over the fact you didn’t mention anything about your ex. I mean, even I wasn’t stupid enough to do that with Brooklyn.”
There’s a beat of silence and I let him resolve his error himself.
“Okay, whatever. I was stupid. It happens,” he chortles self-deprecatingly. “But don’t make the same mistakes I did. Get your ass on a plane and get out here now. She’s torn up and upset over losing this internship and more importantly, your sorry ass.”
Indignation cuts through my chest like a sword. “I’ve tried to make amends. She wouldn’t hear me out. I tried explaining why I failed to mention Tiffany. It didn’t seem relevant. And she did not lose anything! She walked away from it on her own, goddammit.”
I take a breath, Boss clearly upset by my outburst. I’m usually calm and cool in situations that frustrate me, but Peyton has gotten under my skin and I don’t appreciate Garrett’s implications that I haven’t tried to make it right.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa…sorry, man. Calm your shit. Just hear me out on this. I don’t know Peyton all that well, only hung out with her on occasion, but Brooklyn has confided some things to me about Peyton’s past. About her stepdad.” He stops, probably wondering if he should go on any further or whether he’s divulging details shared with him in confidence.
“I know about her dad being in prison and her mother.”
“Yeah, that. But it caused a lot of emotional trauma for her. I think she’s done a good job of hiding it, but she’s fought tooth and nail to conquer her eating disorder. Or so I’ve heard from Brooklyn. She mentioned she’s worried about her spiraling right now, though, and wants to keep an eye on her.”
Okay, this is news. Eating disorder? That part I did not know, which means Garrett is correct and she has done a damn good job of keeping that part of her past trauma a secret. Except for the night at the gala, I haven’t noticed anything unusual about her eating habits. We devoured a pizza together the other night.
Stomping over to the kitchen, I pluck the laptop off the counter and return to the couch, setting it in my lap as I open up my travel site.
“G, man. Thank you for letting me know. I’m booking a flight and will be there soon. I appreciate it.”
“Anytime, man.” And then in a more serious tone he adds, “I hope it works out for you both. You’d be good together.”
Ending the call, I sit there for a minute catching my breath and wonder what I’ll say or do when I get to Peyton’s apartment. Will she even let me in so I can explain things to her? Will she come back to me? Or at the very least, the internship?
And why is this the second time I’ve chased after this woman when I’ve never done anything remotely like this in the past?
The answer hits me in the solar plexus. So hard the wind is knocked out of me.
Because I love her.
Chapter 37
Peyton
Although most of modern-day design techniques use technology and online design programs, there is nothing better than the feel of a pencil in my hand as I draw my fashion ideas on my sketch pad. The shading and highlighting techniques I use to brush the pencil head over the paper, adding the perfect amount of pressure and strokes, is soothing to my overactive and hyper mind.
I keep rehashing my decision to leave L.A. It was impulsive and driven by pure emotion. This is exactly the type of thing that I have had to learn to control through my years of therapy. It is those rash and hasty decisions that lead me down the wrong path.
The pencil slips from my fingers and falls to the table. I drop my head in my hands and groan, slapping the top of my head with my fingers in displeasure and frustration.
Irritation at myself boils over in my belly, spewing over like hot water in an untended pot. Why did I have to act so impetuously and leave the only good thing – and a good man – behind after all he did for me?
Disgraceful and harmful thoughts flicker through my head: you’re stupid; you’re a loser who was never worthy of a man like Brody, don’t fool yourself.
I fight hard to push those self-sabotaging thoughts away knowing they will only lead me right down the rabbit hole until I hit the bottom and revert into old ways that I will regret.
Unfortunately, I know I can’t go it alone. I need help.
Pushing the sketchbook away, I replace it with my laptop and type in a search for a local support group, hoping to find one nearby that is meeting tonight. Typing the words Overeaters Anonymous in the search field, a list of meetings in my area pops up and I click the link for the nearest one. There’s a meeting at seven tonight at a church right near campus. Perfect.
Kyler is at his bartending job at the club he works at, a gay bar in downtown Phoenix, so the apartment is quiet here without him. I’d pick up the phone and call Brooklyn, but I was just with her all last night and I’m sure she needs a break from my woes and issues. And she mentioned they were going to be leaving out of town for a short break.
I stare down at the phone that I’d placed to the side of the table and see a new text notification from Brody.
It breaks me into a thousand pieces every time I think about him and what we started together. The images of the nights we spent together, the laughter and the stories we shared. But then I’m flooded with the reminder of his lies – or at least, his lies of omission.
Returning to my laptop and the search engine, I type in Charlotte Blankenship. Although I know it will tear me apart to read anything about her and Brody, I need to know the truth. I’m sure there has to be something online addressing her lawsuit and harassment case.
A quick search pops up a slew of articles and social media posts. I scan over the first few, the first being her company profile, LinkedIn and Facebook.
And then an article entitled “Designing Women: Top Designer CEO Accused of Sexual Misconduct” written by Tanner Ferguson.
I click and hold my breath as it loads. Scared to see what it will say about Brody and the legal suit Charlotte threw at him.
Ads play across my screen and I have to click the X on a video pop-up as the story begins to appear on my screen.
My gaze flies across the article, my fingertip poised over my mouse, scrolling through to find Brody’s name.
But it’s not there.
There is brief mention of Jensen’s Men’s Fine Clothing and Design, but only as an aspect of Charlotte’s work history, where she began as an intern and worked until she left the company and started with a competitor.
Charles McAlister.
An
d that’s where the story developed.
Oh my God. My stomach revolts with a sharp pain as I clutch my arm over my belly and double over. Repulsion and disgust lodge in my throat as I swallow down the lump that tastes bitter like regret.
I was wrong.
I was so, so very wrong.
I jumped to a malicious conclusion that led me to walk away from possibly the best man I’ve ever known. What have I done?
Panic rises like the flood waters of a crested river and I jump to my feet, scaring Kyler’s crazy cat, Prissy, who also jumps to her feet and scampers away down the hallway to his bedroom.
This is bad. So, awfully bad. And I need to resolve it immediately. Even if it requires driving overnight back to Brody’s in L.A. to beg him for his forgiveness.
Regardless of whether I return to work for him or not, I need to apologize and plead for his mercy and absolution over my rush to judgment and my wrongful accusation.
As for the part of him not telling me about his ex-wife and previous marriage, I can forgive him for that mistake. Of course, it hurt to find out in the manner in which I did, but he was right. It was an oversight that in the grand scheme of things isn’t the worst thing that could ever happen between us.
It feels like I’m slogging through sludge as I try to dress and pack in haste. All I want is to get on the road to return to Los Angeles and get back into Brody’s good graces. Or, better yet, back in his arms.
I toss a bunch of shorts, shoes, and shirts in a bag when I hear a knock on the door.
Strange.
I look at the clock and it’s just past nine p.m. Kyler should just be starting his shift, but maybe he forgot something here. And it wouldn’t be Brooklyn because she and Garrett left this afternoon to some exclusive resort in Mexico on a babymoon. Or it could be my mother.
Without thinking twice or checking the peephole, I swing the door open and immediately regret my decision.
His slurring speech and devious, grotesque smile give away the fact that he’s drunk. Even without it, I can smell the alcohol mixed with cigarettes on his breath.
