Advice from a Jilted Bride

by Rayne, Piper

  I stand my ground. “No. I mean… there’s a bug problem in her apartment.”

  “EW!” the blonde says.

  Rome inhales a deep breath through his nose and stares at me like he’s about to rip off my head. Just when I expect them to leave, he turns to the blonde. “Stay here for a second.” He kisses her cheek and whispers something in her ear that has her giggling and losing her balance.

  He motions with his hand for me to move again and I really don’t have another choice.

  I’m sorry Brooklyn.

  “How did you get a key?” I ask.

  The devil’s glint shines in his eyes. “I have my magic ways.”

  The woman makes an audible sound like she agrees.

  “Joel said not to go in. That it’s really bad,” I say in a last-ditch effort to get him to leave.

  He glares at me while opening the door. “You were just in there.” He steps inside and peers into the small kitchen before heading to the living room.

  I watch from the doorway while his shoulders falter and his eyes close when he sees his sister tucked in, asleep on the couch.

  I like to think Haylee and I are close. I mean, she’s a little more high-society than me, but if I was in Rome’s position, I’d be putting up a Want Ad with the bastard’s picture on it. Even though I know nothing about him, the heartbreak on his face is evident. He’s hurting because she is.

  He turns and looks at me, points to the hallway and walks past. I lock the door from the inside again and turn to face him.

  Rome turns his attention to the woman first. “Sorry babe, another night. Something’s come up.”

  “But you said—”

  His hand molds to her hip and I look away, not interested in playing the role of Peeping Tom.

  “Sorry.”

  She huffs and turns to walk down the stairs. Rome bites his fist as he watches her go. Once she’s out of view, he snaps his fingers and points to my door.

  I’m not about to argue since he probably thinks the worst of me already. I’m sneaking out of his heartbroken sister’s apartment and he knows I lied to him about her being there.

  “What’s going on?” Rome blurts out the minute my door shuts. He crosses his arms over his chest and presses his lips into a thin line.

  “You have the wrong idea about me. I was just making sure she ate, and I tried to help keep her mind off what happened.”

  He huffs. “I’m a red-blooded male, too. Don’t bullshit a bullshitter.”

  I raise my hands in front of me. “Like I said, you’re seeing this all wrong.”

  “Then enlighten me because right now I see a scumbag taking advantage of my sister who just had her heart shattered.”

  I go to my fridge, grabbing a beer and offering one to Rome. He shakes his head.

  “I found her at the front door of the apartment complex in shambles last week. She was crying, devastated.”

  “She’s supposed to be in Hawaii. She’s been messaging my sisters.”

  He hasn’t moved yet, his arms still crossed showcasing just how much muscle will be behind a punch if he decides to go that route.

  “She’s lying. She’s been here the entire time. She said she needed the two weeks to herself.” I take a pull from my beer.

  He shakes his head and stuffs his hands into his pockets. “Fucking shit. Why wouldn’t she come to us?”

  I say nothing because if roles were reversed, I wouldn’t give one shit what some guy who knows nothing about my sister thinks.

  “Why didn’t she take the honeymoon? Do you know?” His eyes narrow on me.

  Fuck. Having a sister means I also know what Rome’s going to do when I tell him this next bit.

  “He went on the honeymoon. Canceled her ticket and…” How did I find myself in the middle of this family’s drama?

  “What?” Rome takes a step forward, eyes narrowed.

  “Took another woman with him. He essentially traded Brooklyn’s ticket for another woman.”

  Rome’s mouth hangs open.

  Okay, this isn’t bad. I thought for sure I’d be handing over my security deposit to Joel because of smashed drywall and broken glass.

  “That son of a bitch,” he whispers.

  The longer the silence carries on in my apartment, the redder his face grows, hands clenched in fists at his side.

  “Let’s go.” He stomps over to my apartment door and opens it.

  “Uh… where?”

  “We’re going to Lucky’s.”

  “Listen, I shouldn’t have told you. Don’t tell her I said anything.”

  He picks up my jacket off the hook near the front door and tosses it over to me. “Probably because I might get arrested when I fly to Hawaii and beat the shit out of him.”

  “Don’t do anything hasty.”

  “Hasty?” he scoffs and steps out into the hall.

  I lock up my apartment and follow him down the stairs.

  “Don’t worry, I keep a shitload of secrets in this family. Hell, I knew Austin was fucking Holly forever before anyone else.”

  We take the stairs two at a time down and he pushes open the main door to the building. I follow him down the pathway into the parking lot.

  “Do you have a sister?” he asks, climbing into his Bronco.

  “I do.” I buckle my seat belt while he throws the car into reverse.

  “Then you know how hot my blood is right now.” The tires squeal out of the parking lot as “The Phoenix” by Fall Out Boy streams out of his speakers.

  He’s got good taste in music. Not sure this is the right song for this moment, but the hell if I’ll say anything.

  “I can imagine.” If Bradley stood Haylee up at the altar, I’m not sure what I would do.

  We arrive outside Lucky’s Tavern shortly after getting into the vehicle, thanks to Rome’s driving. He appears to be on a mission as he slams his door and heads into the bar without waiting for me.

  What the hell did I get myself into?

  Following Rome, I enter the tavern which turns out to be exactly what I would picture an Alaskan bar looking like. Lacquered wood is everywhere, but it’s more welcoming than the dark clubs I usually go to in New York.

  He waves me over to where he’s talking to his twin Denver and some other guy at a table, then signals to the bartender with two fingers up in the air.

  “So, this is Wyatt,” Rome says to the other two.

  Denver holds out his hand. “G’ma D’s eye candy.” He squeezes hard like I assumed he would.

  I take the dig, I just hope he can take it back when I send one his way.

  “Thank fuck, someone took my spot.” The bigger guy with a sleeve of tats on both arms and a scruffy beard sticks his hand out toward me. “Liam.”

  I shake his hand.

  Rome sits in one of the empty chairs, so I sit in the other. A few seconds later the waiter sets a beer down in front of each of us.

  “Thanks, Nate.”

  “No problem.” He nods and heads back to his post behind the bar.

  “I thought you were with Sasha or Cindy or whatever her name is.” Denver tips his beer back, smirking.

  “I was.”

  “Then you realized you had to take her to your childhood bedroom with Austin and Holly down the hallway?” Liam laughs and Denver joins in.

  “No, idiot. I went to Brooklyn’s.”

  Denver tilts his head. “You weaseled a key out of her landlord, didn’t you?”

  Rome just smiles holding the top of the beer bottle to his lips.

  I guess it’s true that twins share a brain.

  “I told you that you can use my place anytime,” Liam says. “Hell, I even offered for you to move in.”

  “Yeah, he’s sitting in a four-bedroom house like some suburbanite dad,” Denver says and clamps his hand on Liam’s shoulder, laughing.

  Liam narrows his eyes at his friend.

  I feel like I’m peering through a window into their life. A life that doesn’t re
semble mine in the slightest, but their friendship, I hate to admit it, I’m slightly jealous of.

  Not that I don’t have friends in New York, I do, but what these guys have is different, less superficial.

  “I’m good, man.” Rome sips his beer. “Anyway, you’ll never guess what good ol’ Wyatt told me.”

  Denver must sense something in Rome’s tone because he puts all four chair legs on the floor and leans forward on the table. Liam does the same. The lighthearted vibe at the table vanishes like a big wind just came through and swept it out the back door.

  “Jeff went on their honeymoon.”

  Denver’s fist slams on the table.

  “With another woman.”

  Denver raises his hand like he’s going to throw the beer bottle, but Liam clamps his hand down on Denver’s wrist.

  “I know. I know.” Rome waves his brother’s temper off. “We have to be smart about this.” He leans forward, lowering his voice. “He’s in Hawaii for another week, which he should be thanking his lucky fucking sac of balls that’s the case because I’m pretty sure we’d kill him if he was reachable today.”

  I lean back in my chair, not interested in having any part of this conversation because I’m in this town with a fake name as it is. I definitely don’t need to draw attention to myself and an assault arrest would definitely do that.

  “Truth,” Denver says, clicking his beer bottle to Rome’s.

  As they make up some elaborate plan for payback, I sit there feeling like I’m in some mafia movie with the way these three can scheme.

  And though I’m trying to figure out a way to extricate myself from this situation, I have to wonder if I really want to.

  Twelve

  Brooklyn

  I’m not sure if it’s the morning light or the fact I ate an actual meal last night thanks to Wyatt, but regardless, I woke up a little less depressed and with a little more energy.

  I pull my phone out and dial Reagan’s number. It’s time I spoke to my bestie.

  She answers on the first ring. “Okay, we really need to discuss where I fit in your life.”

  A sad chuckle leaves my lips. “Are you at work?”

  “No. I’m at the nursing home. Mom’s becoming combative.”

  I sit down on the couch. “I’m sorry,” I say.

  “I know you are. I just hope I don’t get fired. I mean Mr. Clayton always understood but he’s from Lake Starlight and knows Mom. This new guy, although he’s so cute I could eat him up with a spoon, he seems stricter. He’s constantly jotting notes down in his phone.”

  “Anyone would understand what you’re going through.”

  At least anyone in Lake Starlight would. When Reagan’s mom was diagnosed with early dementia, it was a shock to everyone. Eventually Reagan had to put her in a nursing home, but she’s still getting used to the new surroundings. Reagan gets called there all the time, which means she’s missed time at work. The rest of our staff covers for her as much as we can, but with a new boss in the mix, it might change things.

  “Well, we’ll see. I can’t afford to lose my job. I’m barely surviving now with all the missed hours.”

  Silence commences as it usually does when we talk about this. I wish I had a magic potion to fix the entire situation for her. I listen and offer advice when I can, but I have no idea what she’s going through. Not really. My parents were here one day and gone the next after a snowmobile accident. I do what any friend would, which is clean her rooms and sneak money into her purse when she’s not looking.

  “Forget me. Brook, I’m so sorry. I thought Jeff was the real deal.”

  I laugh. “No, you didn’t.”

  She doesn’t deny it.

  We both know the truth. When I really dissect my relationship with Jeff, I realize no one really cared for him.

  “I’m still sorry he did what he did. And FYI, your family is like the secret service. I couldn’t have gotten to you if I’d tried.”

  I lean forward, picking pieces of dried fried rice off the coffee table. For the first time in a week, my mind isn’t solely on Jeff. Wyatt seems like a good guy. I mean, he doesn’t even know me, and he brought me dinner out of concern.

  “Hello?”

  “Sorry.” I shake the memory of the feeling of his strong shoulder on my cheek last night away.

  You’re a week off being dumped, the last thing you need is a rebound.

  “What were you saying?” I ask.

  “Nothing. I almost gut-punched Colton for not telling me what was going on, but Father Steve interrupted us.”

  “Probably a good thing.”

  She laughs. “For Colton’s sake.”

  “It wasn’t his fault. I’m sure Savannah directed everyone to their jobs and…” I let the topic trail off because I really don’t want to talk about it. I just want to forget it ever happened. “How is work? I kind of miss it.”

  “You’re insane. It’s okay. Like I said the bellhop, AKA manager guy is nice to look at but other than him everything else is the same. Oh, there is one thing though.”

  “What?”

  She blows out a breath like it’s depleting all her energy to tell me. “Devon asked me out.”

  “That’s great news! Why do you sound like your cat died?” My forehead scrunches.

  “Because this could not come at a worse time. Hello, my mom has dementia and threatens her nurses with a comb she thinks is a switchblade on the daily, I barely have enough money for Frosted Flakes, and if I did happen to get lucky, there’s no sexy lingerie waiting under my ripped jeans and t-shirt.”

  “Slight exaggeration,” I say, the truest smile I’ve had in days on my face.

  Reagan has a way about her—she can bring humor out on the worst of days.

  “Still. I just don’t have the energy for a relationship right now. The thought of dressing to impress is exhausting. And trying to decipher all the man code shit he’s inevitably going to say sounds less than thrilling.”

  “It would be a good distraction from all those things you just mentioned.”

  She sighs. “True, but… I don’t know.”

  “What did you tell him?”

  God, it feels so good to talk about someone else’s issues.

  Thank you, Reagan.

  “I told him that I’d think about it.”

  “And he said?”

  “He said he’s got the rest of his life.”

  I smile and look through my patio door out to the lake. “Cute.”

  “I don’t like lines, but the pink tint of his cheeks has me thinking he meant it.”

  “Of course, he did.”

  “Again, you keep twisting this conversation back my way. I want to talk about you.”

  I stand from the couch and walk over to the balcony door, open it and step outside. The fresh air feels amazing in my lungs after inhaling the stale oxygen of my apartment for the last week.

  “I’m healing. He went on our honeymoon with someone else, but I don’t want to talk about it or him or anything regarding him. I just want to forget him and move on. Dwelling on it isn’t going to do any good.”

  “You need to grieve, Brook.”

  Surely, I can tell Reagan. “I’ll let you in on a secret, I’ve holed myself up in the apartment for the last week. I’m done grieving.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me? I would’ve brought over wine and junk food.”

  “The only person who knows is my neighbor.”

  “I completely forgot you moved. So, are you staying there?”

  “Yeah. I can’t get out of my lease. Even Sav tried and failed.”

  “Wow. How will you afford it?”

  I shouldn’t be surprised she’s asking. We make the same amount on our paychecks. The apartment is pricier because it’s on the lake, and newly renovated.

  “I haven’t figured that part out yet. I’m thinking about starting a side business with all the oils I make.”

  “Oh. My. God. You just reminded me of somethi
ng. There was this woman who was staying in the penthouse. We all had bets on who she was. Mac swore she was a celebrity. Neil said he saw her on a reality show. Anyway, she kept asking everyone who made the lavender oil that was in her room. She said she’s never slept so soundly before.”

  “That’s nice.”

  “Nice? Brooklyn, you’re thinking of starting a company and here’s this super rich lady who loves it. This should be your ‘take the bull by the horns’ or ‘the horn of the bulls.’ Agh. Whatever. You know everyone raves about your stuff. Heck, your tea tree shoe deodorizer helped Mac out. When you gave me the orange for my cramps last month it made a huge difference.”

  I glance back inside at the hallway that leads to the closet where Jeff insisted I put all my herbal stuff because he said they weren’t an everyday item. He always hated going to the garden behind my family home where I grow my own lavender and chamomile. Always complained about the bugs or the smell of all the plants.

  “I think it’s a great idea. Go for it, girl. Take the plunge.”

  “Would you?” I ask. Lots of people think that because I have the Bailey name, I must have the Bailey money behind me, but I don’t. Yes, we all had money set aside for college, but Savannah and Austin will not bail me out if I fail. Sure, the family home is always open, but I’m twenty-six now and I alone have to make a future for myself now.

  “If I had your talent? Yes. At some point in your life you have to take a chance.”

  A woman’s scream rings through the receiver.

  “Sorry, Brook, Mom woke up. I’ll call you later.”

  The line dies and I hang up, my heart sinking for what Reagan is going through. I need to volunteer to be on call for her mom and make sure she goes on that date with Devon. Her sanity needs it and he’s liked her for so long. He’ll be good to her.

  I go back inside the apartment and open my closet door, the box marked Brooklyn’s oils and stuff sits at the bottom, shoved behind our coats. This is the only place I never checked when I was cleansing Jeff from my space.

  There sits his parka and his ski gear. His boots and hats and gloves.

  Shoving it aside, I sit down on the hardwood floors and pull the box out. The mixture of smells pulls a smile from deep within me as I open the cardboard box and see evidence of the one thing I’ve always been good at—creating mixes to benefit people in their daily life.