Advice from a Jilted Bride
Page 14
He closes his eyes and the pinball sinks to the pit of my stomach. “We need to talk. There’s something you need to know before this goes any further.”
A shiver—not the good kind—spreads over my skin. “What?”
His hand slides off my cheek, grazing down my arm until my hand is in his. “Let’s go inside. We’ll both need a drink for this.”
He opens the door to the building and my hand remains in his. As we round each level of the stairs, adrenaline courses faster and faster through my veins. What is happening? What could he possibly have to tell me? Part of me is cursing myself for getting the ball rolling on this conversation in the first place. Suddenly, it’s all moving so fast, but I don’t want it to stop.
I want to know if Wyatt’s lips are as soft as they look. I want to know the feel of his hands as they explore my body. Will he be just as gentle with his physical touch as he’s been with me in regard to the business? Does he like it hard and fast or soft and languid?
He glances at me over his shoulder after we reach the third floor and I’m pretty sure I see the same questions in his eyes. Whatever he has to tell me won’t change how I feel. I’ll want him regardless.
His head falls into the nook of my neck. “I really want to kiss you right now,” he whispers. A shiver of goose bumps scatter up my spine—the good kind this time.
“Then do it,” I whisper.
He shakes his head, placing his lips right under my earlobe. “Not until you know everything.”
Bang!
Both of our heads shoot up, staring in the direction the sound came from. It’s then that I realize my apartment door is open.
“Stay here,” Wyatt says and slowly walks over to my door then disappears inside.
He’s crazy if he thinks I’m staying here.
“Who are you?” I hear Wyatt ask.
“I should ask you the same thing.” I recognize the other voice and those shivers now chill my body bone deep.
I round the corner and all the exhilaration coursing through my body dies.
“Jeff?”
Wyatt turns around, something akin to disappointment in his eyes.
“Hi, Brooklyn. We need to talk.”
Twenty-Four
Wyatt
The guy standing in front of me is Jeff?
I guess the black eye should’ve clued me in. But he’s not someone I would picture Brooklyn with and I struggle to understand how she was engaged to him. He’s… for lack of a better word, and I’m not trying to sound like some high school hierarchy bullshit, dorky. Who buttons the top button of their shirt if they aren’t wearing a tie? He appears so clean shaven I can’t help but wonder if he can even grow facial hair. His hair is big and unkept and unstyled. This guy’s never met a bottle of gel in his life.
I ignore the ping of jealousy in my chest and turn my attention to Brooklyn.
The pink flush from minutes earlier in the hallway has paled. Her mouth hangs slightly ajar and her arms weigh limp at her sides like a gorilla.
“Should I go?” I ask her.
She says nothing.
Jeff steps over the small box at his feet. “I thought you’d be at Sunday family dinner?” He stops walking before passing me. “Not on a date.”
That he has the nerve to try to make Brooklyn feel guilty for anything has my head rearing back.
“Get the rest of your stuff, though Joel has majority of it.” Brooklyn drops her purse on the table and busies herself in the kitchen. “Do you want coffee or tea, Wyatt?”
Um… what?
“Why does Joel have my stuff?” Jeff asks.
“Well I don’t know, Jeff, maybe because you left me at the altar, and I was pissed off and before I knew what happened your shit was on the lawn outside. Oops.” She smiles sweetly, busying herself with the coffee pot. “Coffee or tea, Wyatt?” She asks like I’m a child who’s purposely ignoring her while playing his video game.
“Coffee is fine,” I answer.
I’d rather have three fingers of whiskey, but I’m not arguing with her.
“I’ll just come back another time,” Jeff grumbles.
Brooklyn opens the cabinet with the coffee mugs and sets them hard on the counter. Anyone can tell she’s trying to control her emotions, but it’s coming off as slightly psychotic. “NO! You get your shit now or never.”
I step back to leave the apartment. Clearly this is between them, but then again, I feel protective over Brooklyn.
“Cream or sugar?” she asks and I’m processing so much in the moment I don’t immediately answer. “WYATT?” she yells.
“Sugar,” I answer, although I take my coffee black. Why did I say sugar?
Jeff raises his eyebrows at me like ‘see why I dumped the bitch?’ My fists clench at my sides and even though I thought for a split second I should be protecting him from Brooklyn, I’m back to wanting to kick his ass.
“Go about your business, Jeff. Wyatt and I have to talk about something.” She shoos him away with her hand just like her grandma did to us a half hour ago at her apartment.
A laugh bubbles up in my throat and I swallow it.
“Well, since most of my stuff is at Joel’s I should be done quick.” Jeff walks back down the hall.
“And you’ll be leaving the key! This is not your apartment!” Brooklyn calls out after him.
“Let’s not forget that I paid for first and last and the deposit,” Jeff responds.
He clearly has a death wish.
“Well let’s square everything away then. You owe my family fifty grand for the wedding!” she leans over the counter and yells down the hall.
“Should I go?” I whisper.
“What?” Her head whips in my direction, her eyes narrowed.
These past couple of months, I’ve never seen this side of her.
“It doesn’t matter, I’m moving to San Francisco.” Jeff’s voice sounds from down the hall.
“To sell that great app,” Brooklyn mocks him with a dopey tone.
Jeff stomps back down the hall. “I did sell the app.”
Brooklyn’s face falls.
Jeff stares down at the kitchen table, littered with Brooklyn’s supplies for making her oils. “I see you’re back to your magic healing powers.”
“Okay, I was giving you some leeway but—” I place my hand in the air, stepping in front of him.
“Are you dating him?” Jeff ignores me.
“What business is it of yours?” I ask.
I glance out the side of my eye to see Brooklyn slowly shutting down—the fight is leaving her.
You know what? Fuck this. I’m taking charge.
I place my hand on the back of Jeff’s neck, squeezing enough to grab his attention. “Let’s pack your shit and get you out of here.”
Once we’re at the closet, I take everything that looks manly and drop it in the box.
“Hey, that’s my fishing stuff.”
The tackle box breaks open and the contents spill out into the box. “Sorry.”
I slide Brooklyn’s coats over, finding fishing rods. “These yours?” I ask.
Brooklyn could be in to fishing. I don’t know.
“Yeah.” He holds out his hand.
I break them over my knee and shove them in the box.
“What the?” Jeff asks, but I ignore him, putting down the flaps of the box so I don’t need tape.
“There’s one. Anything else yours?” I ask, looking around the room.
“No.” Jeff doesn’t say anything because anyone can see that he’s not a confrontational guy. I kind of wish he’d throw a punch, so I’d have an excuse to beat the shit out of him.
“Then let’s go.” I pick up the box, push it into his arms, which he fumbles with at first.
We walk down the hall and Brooklyn’s waiting for us, her hands on her hips. “We’re going to talk,” she says to Jeff.
The box slips from Jeff’s hands because he’s either a complete weakling or she’s taken him by surprise.
Brooklyn’s sharp blue eyes pierce mine making me think I should sink down behind Jeff and be invisible. This side of her. The side where she’s not taking any shit. I knew he hit a nerve when he mentioned her oils, but I love that she picked herself up, dusted herself off and is ready to get the answers she deserves.
“Wyatt, do you mind leaving us alone for a while?”
I want to answer yes, I do mind. But Brooklyn doesn’t belong to me.
“I’ll be across the hall if you need me.” I slide out from behind Jeff and squeeze her forearm in an act I hope portrays that I’m here for her.
Nothing more is said, and I leave her apartment, shutting the door behind me, wanting only to be on the other side with her.
Then it dawns on me.
What if Brooklyn wants Jeff back?
I rub my chest. Damn, something from dinner must’ve given me heartburn.
I guess it doesn’t matter if I confess the truth to her because what’s transpiring on the other side of that door might stop whatever was starting between Brooklyn and me anyway.
Twenty-Five
Brooklyn
When the door clicks shut with Wyatt’s departure, I signal to the couch. “Sit.”
“Brooklyn, I get that you’re upset, and I wish I had more answers. Don’t worry, I’m leaving, and you’ll never hear from me again.”
He sits down on the couch and I sit in the chair adjacent so I can clearly see his facial expressions. Jeff isn’t one to talk about feelings, but he can’t mask what he’s thinking either. And I have questions I need answers to before I can move on completely. Although I wasn’t expecting it to happen tonight, I’m not letting the opportunity go.
“Why didn’t you talk to me?” I ask, crossing my legs, sitting on the edge of the chair.
He slides back and lays his arm along the back of the couch, looking anywhere but at me.
“It all just snowballed.”
“That’s what happens with a big wedding.”
He rolls his eyes. “I get it. I pushed the big wedding.”
“Yeah, you did and then left me responsible for telling our guests that it wasn’t going to happen.”
“I knew you wouldn’t have to do it. I mean your family’s like The Brady Bunch.”
I inhale what I hope is a calming breath because my palm is getting itchy and it wants to smack Jeff across the face again.
“Did you ever love me?” I ask and brace myself for the answer.
His eyes meet mine and it’s there. At least something is. “I still love you, Brook, but I don’t want to live in Lake Starlight forever. We want such different things.”
“Why didn’t you talk to me about that then? Maybe we could’ve compromised.”
He blows out a breath and his head falls back. “Come on. You know as well as I do that you’re never leaving here.”
“Well, you could’ve at least broached the subject with me.”
“It’s more than that. I mean…. don’t you ever feel like maybe we were just great friends?”
“No, I thought you were my future husband. I was in love with you and I thought we had a future. I know you wanted to move to San Francisco, but after everything that happened with my parents, it’s hard to leave here. Don’t you get that?”
“Think hard. Do you think you were in love with me? I mean when’s the last time you wanted me? Like, couldn’t keep your hands off me?” He sits forward on the couch more.
This is where his decision about stepping out on our wedding came from? I didn’t give him enough sex?
“That’s what happens when you’re together a long time.”
“It happened after two months. And it’s not just the physical stuff. I don’t even know how to explain it. You became so accommodating.”
“You ran out of our wedding because I gave you your way too many times?” I throw my hands in the air.
“When I first met you in college, I remember thinking this girl takes on life like she wants everything it has to offer. But once we got back here and started talking about marriage and kids, you let me have my way all the time. Why do you think I pushed you on all the wedding stuff? I was hoping you’d push back.”
I stand and head to the kitchen, grabbing a beer that Wyatt brought over the other night.
“Let me get this straight, you broke up with me because I gave you your way?” I tip back the beer and guzzle a large amount.
“I didn’t want my way, I wanted you to fight me on it. I wanted the Brooklyn I met at that bar who made me go on five dates before I could kiss her. The one who blew me off because she had an exam in three days. The one who always did what she loved.”
The memories of Jeff and I in college run through my mind like photographs scattered on a table. I was different back then and these last couple of months I’ve felt so much like the person I used to be.
“You were okay with working in housekeeping. Which is fine. But when I met you, you had all these plans. You were the girl who would move to San Francisco with me.”
I look down at the ground. I’m almost ashamed of how I was then. I was more than willing to leave my family behind because being around them was too painful. The memories of my parents sliced me whenever I walked into our house. But now that more time has passed, I draw comfort from being around the rest of my family.
“You’re right, I was different.” I lift my eyes and see the lavender I picked yesterday at the family house on the table in front of me. “But you were the one who always made me feel like the essential oils business was just a hobby and not worth my time.”
He chuckles. “Because it’s just that—a waste of time. You aren’t going to make any money playing with herbs and scents. You have a degree in Art History. You should be doing something with that.”
“Why?”
“Because you spent a shit-ton of money getting the degree. That’s why we should’ve gone to San Francisco. You could’ve found a gallery or taught a class, but here there’s nothing for you.”
I gulp down another sip. “There’s my family.”
“And there you have it. Listen, I’m not sure what to say. I know I handled it wrong, but in the end, I think the decision was the right one.”
“Who was the brunette?” Our gazes lock. He doesn’t deserve the right to psychoanalyze who I was then or now.
He runs his fingers through his uncombed hair and looks at the corner of the room. “Just someone I met at a bar in Sunset Bay. No one serious.”
“You took her on our honeymoon,” I get out between clenched teeth.
He nods.
“Is she moving with you?”
He nods again, still not looking at me.
“It’s serious enough that you’re moving in with her? Did you cheat on me?”
He nods.
“Look at me,” I snip, and his head slowly raises until his eyes are set on mine. “Say it.”
“I cheated on you,” he says in a defeated voice.
“When?”
“A month or so before the wedding. I don’t remember.”
I set the beer bottle down on the coffee table. “You can’t remember the day you cheated on me?”
My anger is boiling again and soon it’s going to spill over. I’m not sure if I’ll be able to control myself.
“Jesus, I don’t remember, okay?”
“Because it wasn’t important to you,” I whisper. Which means he was never as invested in this relationship as I was because if he was, he’d remember the day he decided to ruin us.
“What?” he asks.
I shake my head. This conversation is pointless. I have all the answers I need—the ones that really matter.
“Leave.” I point to the door.
“I thought you wanted to talk?”
“I’m done.”
“You’re done?”
I close my eyes, my hands gripping the side of the chair. “Yes.�
� I pick up my head, hoping my eyes reflect the feeling of finality inside me. “Have a great life.”
“I’m sorry—”
I raise my hand to cut him off. “It’s over.”
He stands, rounds the couch, and picks up his box. I get up and walk over to the door before him and open it up. He stops right before leaving. “I hope I didn’t ruin your belief in love. You always loved the fairy tale.”
“Well, you know the saying.”
He tilts his head.
Lord, please forgive me for this.
I kick him in the ass and push him out the door. He loses his footing and the box flies out of his hands while he lands face first on the carpeting in the hallway.
“You have to kiss a lot of frogs before you find your prince.” I slam the door and inhale a cleansing breath.
I don’t feel better about how things ended between us, but I do feel a sense of closure and that’s what I’ve needed to really move on.
Twenty-Six
Brooklyn
There’s a knock at my door and although I’m sure it’s not Jeff, I look through the peephole anyway. Wyatt stands on the other side with a bottle under his arm and two glasses in hand.
I open the door, and he walks in without asking.
“Saw him leave and I figured you might need this.” He pours two shots full of Jack Daniels and hands one off to me. “So, is it good riddance or congratulations?”
I scrunch my forehead. “Congratulations?”
He shrugs. “I’ve seen couples work out after much worse.” He clinks my glass and downs his own shot.
“Not us. We’re done—put a stamp on it and mail it to Siberia.” I down the whiskey with a grimace.
“Interesting comparison.” He pours another shot for both of us, clinking and we each down them. “You feel good?”
“Like I could sleep for ten hours.”
“That’s good?” He picks up our glasses and heads to the couch. I guess he’s not leaving anytime soon.
No complaints on my part.
“It’s good. It means no stress, I got closure.”