Finally My Happy Ending (Meant for Me Book 3)

by St. James, Brooke

  "I knew it was finished," I said stubbornly.

  He smiled again, which only infuriated me more. I thought about the torturous date I had just been on. I thought about all of the ridiculous dates I had been on since I broke up with his brother, and all he could do was stand there and stare at me with that smug smile on his face. Before I knew what had happened, I reared back and slapped him across the face. It was a good, hard slap that hit him just perfectly on the cheek, causing a loud clapping noise that sounded much like the crack of a whip.

  I had never slapped anyone before, and I was shocked at the accuracy and strength I somehow had. The next few seconds seemed like an eternity. Brock's face had turned when I slapped him, and the first thing he did was put a hand to his cheek as if he couldn’t believe it. He slowly turned to face me again, wearing a look of complete shock that must have matched my own. My heart was beating a million miles an hour, and I had just begun to register that my hand was stinging from the impact. We stared at each other for several seconds with matching perplexed expressions.

  "Are you seriously that mad that I put the pump back for you?"

  "No."

  "What was that, then?" he asked, still confused.

  Everything I had been thinking as I slapped him returned to my mind, and before I could stop it, the words were spilling out of my mouth. "That was a slap across the face!" I quietly yelled, trying not to cause a complete scene. "That's what you get for taking my grandmother's ring. It was the only thing I had with any value in this world, and the only thing she left me before she died." I narrowed my eyes and poked at his chest causing his look of shock to become even more exaggerated. "And it's because of you, mister, that I broke up with the only good guy I've dated in years!" I paused, breathing heavily from the angry tirade. He didn't speak during the few seconds of silence, so I continued. "So if you'll excuse me, I'll take care of my own gas pump, thank you very much!"

  He had dropped the hand that had been holding his cheek, and I glanced at him to see that it was extremely red. The sight of it made a nervous smile touch my lips. I had never done anything like that before.

  "Oh, so now you think it's funny?" he asked.

  "No," I said, still unable to wipe that smile off my face. I finally managed to stare at him with a straight face. "It's not funny. I've just never done anything like that before, and I had no idea there would literally be a handprint on the side of your face." I risked another glance at it. His left cheek was at least eight shades redder than his right.

  He lifted a hand to touch it again. "That's what happens when someone slaps me as hard as they can."

  "Well you deserved it," I said, stubbornly crossing my arms in front of my chest.

  "No I didn't," he said, sounding sure of himself. "For one, I didn't touch your precious ring. And second, it was better for everyone that things turned out the way they did with you and Shane. I'm just leaving his engagement party, and there's no doubt he and Emily were meant to be together."

  I was still connected with Shane's new fiancé, Emily, and her family, so tonight's engagement wasn't news to me. I was still flabbergasted, however, that Brock had the nerve to bring it up and say that it was better for everyone that I broke up with his brother. I stared at him with a disbelieving, angry expression. "I should slap you again for saying that you big butthole!"

  His eyebrows rose and he smiled slightly as if he was amused by my statement. "Did you just call me butthole?"

  "You are a butthole, Brock Rollins. You're the biggest butthole I've ever met. And to top it all off, you're a thief. You know you and your friend stole my grandmother's ring, so you should just admit it. I've had a really crappy night that you've just managed to make worse. Congratulations!" I poked his chest again before turning to sit in my car. "You're a bad person and a thief, and I hope I never have to lay eyes on you again."

  I sat in my car, and shut the door without pausing to see if he'd try to respond. I started the engine, and planned on driving off right away, but he stood next to my window and knocked on it with his knuckle. I shook my head without looking at him, telling him that I would not look his way. I wanted to drive off, but he was standing so close, I was afraid I'd run over his toes. He knocked again, and again, I shook my head.

  "You left your receipt," he said, loudly enough for me to hear through the closed window.

  "It doesn't matter," I said, without looking at him. "Just throw it in the trash."

  He knocked again, but I ignored him.

  "I'm leaving," I said. "Please move so I don't run over your feet."

  "I didn't take your ring," he said. "You must have lost it."

  That made me look at him. I gazed through the driver's side window of my car with narrowed eyes. "I didn't lose it!" I yelled through the closed glass. "One of you guys took it. You probably took it during one of those episodes where you freak out and stare off into space. I suppose I should blame the military for messing you up so bad that you don't even realize what a thief you are!"

  He leaned over to speak closer to my window with a serious, but otherwise unreadable expression. "My episodes, as you call them, have nothing to do with you or your grandmother's ring."

  I didn’t know what else to say. I didn't really feel in the mood to stay there and continue yelling through the window. This conversation was going nowhere anyway. I let out a frustrated groan. "Just move so I can leave."

  "I'm sorry you had a bad night," he said, taking a step back.

  I rolled my eyes at him before driving off. I wanted to leave without glancing back, but I couldn’t make myself do it. I was too curious. I got stuck behind another car while waiting to pull onto the street, so I adjusted the rearview mirror to get one last glance. I watched as Brock got into his truck.

  On my way home, I laughed at the whole outrageous encounter, remembering how I'd been checking him out at the pumps before I realized who he was—then the recognition, and the slap, and the reprimand, followed by him saying Shane was meant to be with Emily anyway. I groaned again as I remembered that bit of the conversation—some nerve he had saying that.

  I spent the rest of the ride home reliving the entire stupid evening from my absurd date with Sean to my even more absurd encounter with Brock.

  My roommate (and also one of my best friends), Ryan, was home when I arrived. We had two other roommates, Annie and Isaac, but they were both out. I told Ryan the whole story, and we laughed about it, which made me feel much better.

  Ryan was great at that. He and I had been roommates for more than two years, and he always knew what to say to make me forget a bad day. He had dated a few girls during the time we lived together, but nothing ever got serious, which was fine with me since I loved having him around. We hung out a lot, and people often asked if we were dating, but it just wasn't like that with us. He was handsome and everything, but for whatever reason, we didn't see each other that way. We were great friends and nothing more.

  We stayed up late that night, talking about Sean and Brock, and everything else under the sun till we both got exhausted and went to bed.

  Chapter 3

  A trip with Brock

  Brock Rollins left the gas station with his cheek stinging from being slapped. He had run into his brother's ex girlfriend who was not at all happy to see him.

  During the short time he had gotten to know Trish while she and his brother were dating, he thought of her as a sweet, funny, kind person, so the wrath she unleashed on him at the gas station was unexpected to say the least.

  He had no idea Trish harbored such hard feelings toward him, and it caused worry and regret to nag at him. The encounter stayed on his mind for an hour or so after it happened, so he finally decided to call his brother. Shane had just gotten engaged, and the timing probably wasn't perfect, but Brock had a few questions that needed answering.

  He dialed his brother's number.

  "What's up?" Shane asked answering the phone after two rings.

  "Hey, do you have a s
econd?"

  "Yeah, we're at Emily's parents' house, but she's in there talking to her mom."

  "Can we talk for a second?" Brock asked.

  "I'll step outside."

  Brock listened as Shane walked.

  "What's up?" Shane repeated.

  "Trish," Brock said. "I ran into her at a gas station tonight and she was still really mad about that jewelry she lost."

  There was a few seconds of silence before Shane said, "So she just walked up to you and brought it up?"

  "She was really upset about it," Brock said. "I didn't know she still thought I took it." He paused and thought for a second before continuing. "I assumed you worked everything out with her. I thought you guys were still friends or whatever."

  "Well, she's still friends with Emily and Carly and all them because they all volunteer at the Happy House, but nothing was ever really worked out."

  "Obviously not," Brock said, "because she still thinks I took it."

  "I don't know what to tell you, Brock. That was a long time ago. I tried to tell her back when it happened that you didn't do it, but she didn't believe me."

  "Well, I don’t like being accused of something I didn't do."

  Shane laughed.

  "It's not funny," Brock said. "She hates me."

  "What's it matter? It's not like you ever have to see her."

  "Yeah, but I hate knowing she feels like that even if I don't have to see her. She was hurt. I think that ring meant a lot to her."

  "Well, did Tyler take it?" Shane asked.

  Brock had forgotten until Trish mentioned it at the gas station that his friend and crewmate Tyler was visiting when that all went down.

  Tyler was with Brock when the tragic military incident happened resulting in both of their discharge. They were in the Navy together, and were both a part of an elite EOD crew that worked with the disposal of explosives. They were on what should have been a routine operation, clearing a highway for IED's—Improvised Explosive Devices (or basically homemade bombs).

  There were several devises sitting in a pile in the middle of the highway, and one of them, which they learned too late, was operated by remote, detonated at the perfect time when most of the crew was close by. The initial explosion caused a chain reaction with the other IED's, killing five out of eight of them and severely injuring the remaining three.

  Brock and Tyler were two of the "fortunate" ones that made it. They witnessed their best friends and crewmates die painful, unexpected deaths. The three survivors went through extensive recovery before being honorably discharged from the Navy. They would no doubt remain friends for life after going through something like that together.

  Tyler had grown up in Austin, but had come to San Antonio to visit for a few weeks when they first got out of rehab. Brock had some problems dealing with flashbacks and PTSD, but Tyler seemed to be struggling with it even more. He considered moving to San Antonio so he could be close to Brock for moral support, but ultimately decided to go back to Austin to live with his family.

  "I forgot Tyler was over here when that happened," Brock said, answering Shane's question. "Trish asked if my friend took it and I didn't even get what she was saying at first."

  "You think he took it?"

  "No," Brock said. "We asked him about it when it first happened and he said he didn't."

  "I don't know what to tell you, Brock. You probably just caught her on a bad night."

  "All right," Brock said. "I'm sorry for interrupting your evening."

  "It's no problem."

  The brothers hung up, and Brock instantly dialed the number to call his friend Tyler. He obviously wanted to ask about the ring, but it had been a long time since he spoke to him, and it was time to check in anyway.

  A woman's voice answered the phone. "Hello?" she said.

  Brock glanced down at the screen just to make sure he had dialed the right number. "Hello, I’m trying to contact Tyler Butterfield."

  "Is this Brock Rollins?"

  "Yes ma'am," Brock said, sounding surprised.

  "I saw your name come up on Tyler's phone, sweetheart." She sighed. "Tyler's not able to take calls right now."

  Brock could tell by the sound of voice that she seemed discouraged. "Is everything okay?" he asked.

  "It will be, Lord willing. He's gonna get the help he needs."

  "What happened?"

  "I thought he might have told you," she said. "He was arrested six months ago for breaking and entering."

  Brock's stomach turned the instant she said it, but he didn't say anything. "The judge gave him an option for rehab instead of jail time because of his military history."

  "Rehab for what?" Brock asked.

  "For his drug addiction," she said sadly. "He was out of his mind on pills, honey, that's why he got into this mess in the first place. You know Tyler. He'd never break into anyone's home if he was in his right mind."

  "So where is he now?" Brock asked.

  "He's in a pretty strict rehab facility here in Austin," she said. "I thought for sure you knew about all this. I thought his lawyers were gonna contact you before his trial."

  "No ma'am they didn't."

  Brock spent the next few minutes finishing his conversation with Mrs. Butterfield. He got the specifics about where Tyler was, and the next morning he was on the road headed to Austin.

  The rehab facility Tyler was in was far from lush. It was better than prison, but there were absolutely no frills like the ones in Hollywood where movie stars go for their addictions. Tyler was allowed to come speak with Brock in a highly monitored common area. There were tables and chairs scattered around, but only a few other people were there besides Brock. He waited patiently for his friend, feeling bad for his situation.

  Tyler finally emerged, wearing jeans and a plain white shirt. He looked skinny and stared down sheepishly. It broke Brock's heart to see his friend like that, so without hesitation, he stood and hugged Tyler as he approached. Tyler finally made eye contact with Brock as they pulled back, and gave him an apologetic expression as he slid back the chair and sat next to him at one of the tables.

  "Why didn't you tell me about this?" Brock asked.

  Tyler shrugged. "It's not the sort of thing I felt like updating you on."

  "Well maybe I could have helped you out."

  Tyler let out a humorless laugh and rubbed his eyebrows. "There was nothing you could do. I had to find rock bottom all by myself."

  "Your mom said you have to be here for six months."

  Tyler nodded. "Yeah. It could have been a lot worse. The people were really upset. They did everything they could do to have me locked away. The judge was a vet, so he took it easy on me."

  "Are you feeling any better?" Brock asked.

  Tyler shrugged. "I guess so. The whole thing's sort of humiliating, and I'm stuck in here for five more months, but it could be worse."

  "I meant about the drugs," Brock said.

  "I'm not strung out anymore if that's what you're wondering. I can't say I don't miss them every now and then, but it's not as bad as it was a month ago when I was just coming off of everything." He paused and breathed a long sigh. "I have a lot to be thankful for. It's just embarrassing to be stuck in here. I don't like being treated like a criminal."

  Brock opened his mouth to say something, but Tyler stopped him. "And if you're thinking that robbing someone's house makes me a criminal, don't say it. I don't need to hear it. I know it's the truth, but it still sucks hearing it."

  "Why'd you do it?" Brock asked.

  Tyler shrugged. "When your body's dependent on pills the way mine was, you don't think of it as crime. You just see it as a way to get what your body needs. I didn't mean to hurt anybody."

  "I believe that," Brock said. "And I'm sure the judge believed it too. That's why you're here and not in jail."

  Brock could see how embarrassed his friend was. It was hard for him to see Tyler that way, and for a moment, he considered not even asking him about the mi
ssing ring, but he'd come all that way, and just had to find out.

  "Were you already having problems with the addiction when you came to visit us in San Antonio a while back?" Brock asked.

  "Oh yeah," Tyler said. "I was on some pretty heavy stuff when I got discharged. Do you remember that nurse I used to flirt with all the time in rehab? She'd slip me stuff anytime I asked."

  Brock thought back, but couldn’t remember much about it. He hadn't even noticed Tyler flirting with a nurse and felt like he must have been blind to miss all of that. He had no idea his friend had been struggling.

  "I just kept seeing the bombing over and over again. I kept seeing Tillman's face, and Newman's, too—that look of panic when the bomb went off behind them. I couldn't get it out of my head, and the pills, well they helped a little."

  Brock felt for his friend. He knew the pain of reliving that incident over and over again—knew what it was like to dream about it, at night and during the day.

  "Did you ever steal anything besides the robbery you got caught for?" Brock asked, hoping to gently get around to the question he desperately wanted to ask.

  "Lots of things," Tyler said. He shook his head and stared into space as if remembering. His face was a mask of shame and regret. "I stole anything I thought people wouldn't miss. I stole from my own sister and mom. I did what I thought I had to do to pay for the drugs." He let out a long, hopeless breath. "I thought I had it bad with the flashbacks, but now I have a whole new set of regrets to plague me. I'm gonna do whatever I can to pay people back when I get out of here—even if I have to work on it the rest of my life."

  "Did you take anything when you were in San Anto—"

  Brock started to say, but Tyler cut him off by saying, "I never took anything from you or your brother."

  Brock started to feel better for a second, until Tyler added, "I did take some jewelry from Shane's girlfriend's house that night."

  Brock's gut clinched the instant Tyler owned up to it. He remembered Trish's face. He remembered how affected she was by the loss of her grandmother's ring even though it had been more than a year since it happened. He squeezed his eyes tight and massaged his eyebrows as if he could somehow erase what he just heard. He tried not to show Tyler how disappointed he was in him.