Finally My Happy Ending (Meant for Me Book 3)

by St. James, Brooke

  "Yeah, but I knew I was right about Brock," she said. Her voice sounded worried and shaken, which made my heart drop.

  "What do you mean?" I asked, going further into the kitchen so I could hear her more clearly.

  "I called Brock to see why in the world he took your ring, and he told me he didn't take it."

  "Well that's funny, because he's the one who showed up with it today after I chewed him out the other night."

  She sighed. "Yeah, but that's because he tracked it down."

  "What's that supposed to mean?" I asked.

  "He doesn't say much," she said. "And he hesitated to defend himself at all. He said I should just let you believe what you want to believe, but I kept asking, and eventually he said that it was his friend who took it. Brock tracked him down in Austin the other night after he ran into you and got it back."

  My gut flipped when she said that. I still didn't know what to believe, but I felt sick at the thought that he could possibly be innocent, and I had been so mean to him.

  "I just have a hard time believing that he'd be able to track it down if he had nothing to do with it," I said.

  "I honestly think that's easier to believe that than it is to believe Brock had anything to do with it."

  I let out a long sigh that made Ryan glance at me curiously. I made eye contact with him and shook my head.

  "He said he didn't care what you believed. He said he was just glad you got your ring back, but for what it's worth, I know he didn't do it. I know Brock, and I could tell he was telling me the truth when I talked to him tonight." She paused. "He might have even ended up with those bruises because of it."

  "Uhhhh, now you're just making me feel bad," I said.

  "I'm not trying to make you feel bad. I just don't want you to have hard feelings toward him if he didn't have anything to do with it."

  I breathed another long breath. "I don't know what to think," I said.

  "Well, you can make your own decision," she said. "I'm just telling you what he told me, and it's that he didn't have anything to do with it."

  "And you believe him," I said it as more of a statement than a question.

  She hesitated. "I do," she said timidly.

  "All right, thanks for letting me know," I said.

  "I love you, T-girl."

  "I love you too."

  "What's that all about?" Ryan asked as I made my way to my bedroom.

  "Just Carly telling me there's more to the story with the ring," I said.

  "Sounds like drama," he said.

  "Tons of it," I said simply before retreating to my bedroom.

  I lost sleep that night despite the fact and I had to wake up early for work the next morning. I replayed both of my encounters with Brock, doing my best to remember his words, actions, and facial expressions. I was so caught up in knowing he was the one who had taken it from me that it didn't even occur to me to give him the benefit of the doubt. Guilt and regret weighed on me like a heavy stone that had been strapped to my chest.

  I thought about how rude and angry I was toward him. I thought about yelling at him, slapping him, and pushing him. If by some chance he was innocent, I would officially feel like the worst person in the world. If by some even weirder chance he had gotten those bruises in an attempt to get my ring back for me, I would die of guilt. I couldn’t even stand the thought of it. I was normally a nice person. I typically gave people the benefit of the doubt, but I was so sure that he had been the one to take it that I acted on instinct. It weighed heavily on me all night and the whole next day.

  I was extremely busy at work, after which I would have my normal Monday afternoon creative writing class at the Happy House. I made it through the day on autopilot, but the unanswered questions about Brock hovered over me like a dark cloud. I was so distracted by everything that rather than give the students at Happy House an assignment like I had planned, I decided to simply read to them from a book. Reading was always a hit with them anyway. I enjoyed voicing the characters, which they loved. I thought about it and decided I'd bring Charlotte's Web. It was a book I'd read at least ten times over the years, so it fit into my plan of functioning on autopilot for the rest of the day.

  Chapter 7

  I never dreamed I'd see Mary Katherine and her mom so soon after running into them at the coffee shop, but they were at the Happy House when I arrived that afternoon. I had that cloud of guilt following me around all day, so I was out of sorts when I got there, and seeing them threw me off even more.

  The Happy House was set up just like any other house with a living room, kitchen, and bedrooms off of a hallway. Mary Katherine and Sarah Miller were sitting on a couch in the living room speaking with Claire Bennett when I arrived.

  "There she is," Claire said, smiling at me when I arrived.

  "Trishhh!" Thomas yelled from the kitchen.

  If there were a prize for best greeting, Thomas would get it. He always yelled my name and held his arms triumphantly in the air as if seeing me was the best part of his day. He didn't reserve this type of greeting for just me, but it made me feel special nonetheless.

  "Thomasss!" I yelled back. I smiled at him from across the room before shifting my attention to the group gathered on the couch. There were other students and families milling about in the living room, but I focused my attention on the Millers and Claire Bennett.

  "Sarah and Mary Katherine were telling me they ran into you at Common Grounds yesterday," Claire said.

  Was that yesterday? It seemed like that was forever ago, but it was probably just because I had been torturing myself with regret all last night and today.

  I smiled even though I felt a bit like I was in some alternate reality. "Yes!" I said. "I'm so glad you guys made it!"

  "Mookie's been asking about you all day today," Sarah said. She turned to face Claire. "Trish had her sold on this place."

  Mary Katherine was sitting next to her mother on the couch. She had her hands in her lap and was wearing a big smile, but seemed a little nervous. I leaned over to hug her before sitting down right beside them. I was just as drawn to her today as I had been in the coffee shop. Her smile was contagious, and she was adorable—fashionably dressed with her dark, shoulder length hair pinned up on the sides.

  "Do you like books?" I asked.

  She nodded.

  "I thought I'd read to you guys today," I said. "Have you ever read Charlotte's Web?"

  "About the pig?" she asked.

  I nodded.

  "I saw the movie."

  "Did you like it?" I asked.

  She nodded.

  "I think you'll love the book, then. The book's always better."

  "Excuse me, Trisha!" Thomas yelled from across two rooms. He learned soon after we met that Trish was short for Trisha, and he occasionally used it, which always struck me as funny. I looked up to find that he was staring at me with wide eyes from the kitchen. He didn't say anything when I looked at him, but his expression was serious enough that I got to my feet instantly.

  "I'll be right back," I said, starting toward Thomas. "We're gonna have class in the living room today, guys," I announced to everyone who was hanging around, "so you can find a spot on one of the couches or put a pillow on the floor and we'll get started in a few minutes."

  Everyone began making their way to the living room as I walked toward Thomas. "You okay?" I asked with a concerned expression as I approached him. I couldn’t read his face, but he was definitely serious about something.

  "You did not happen to tell me you were bringing a friend to class tonight," he whispered with wide eyes as he shielded his face so no one in the living room could see us.

  "I'm so sorry," I whispered. "It was my first time to invite someone, and I didn't know how to do it. Do they need a formal invitation or some paperwork or something?" His expression shifted to one of slight confusion, so I continued, "I honestly didn't even think she'd come… and certainly not this soon."

  He scratched his head and glanced i
nto the living room, still looking serious and distraught. He looked back at me and leaned in to whisper. "I would have at least combed my hair and wore nice jeans if you told me you were bringing your friend."

  At that moment, the realization hit me that Thomas might be smitten by Mary Katherine Miller. The thought had crossed my mind at the coffee shop. She was a beautiful girl, and somewhere in the back of my mind I considered it when I first saw her. Today, however, I had my own stuff going on, and it hadn't even occurred to me.

  "I think you look handsome," I whispered, looking him over.

  He shook his head disparagingly, obviously not happy with his own wardrobe selection.

  "Come on," I said, with a flick of my head. "Let's run to the restroom before we get started. I have a comb in my purse."

  He smiled and nodded as he followed me down the hall. I closed the restroom door once we were inside. I told him to sit on the closed toilet so I could work my magic. He did as I instructed, and I ran some water through the comb so I'd have an easier time styling his hair. "So you like Mookie?" I asked.

  "She said that was her name, but I'm not calling her that," he said.

  "Why not? I think it's a cool name. It stands for Mary Katherine. Get it? M.K. Moo-kie?"

  "I get it, but Mary Katherine's already a beautiful name," he said furrowing his brows at me.

  I smiled. "You're right," I said. "It is a beautiful name."

  "You think she loves Jesus?" he asked.

  I was still adjusting his hair, but I glanced at him to find that he was regarding me with that same serious expression.

  "She might," I said. "You can ask her."

  "I'm probably gonna marry her if she loves Jesus," he said in all seriousness.

  For whatever reason it made me happy that he liked her so much. It made me feel like I had done something good by going out on a limb and inviting them.

  "I think she's really sweet and beautiful, Thomas, and she'd be lucky to have you as a beau."

  "Is a beau a boyfriend?" he asked.

  I nodded.

  He smiled. "She's twenty-three," he said.

  "That's three years younger than me."

  "That's not a big deal," I said.

  "I know. It would be if I was three and she was zero, but now that we're all grown, it's not a big deal."

  "Exactly," I said.

  I took a step back and looked at him with a satisfied smile as I stashed the comb back in my purse.

  "There. You look like a million bucks."

  "Not as good as my church clothes," he said.

  "Yeah, but you don't want to give them everything you got on the first day. You want to have something to surprise her with later."

  He smiled as he thought of that.

  "Come on," I said pulling him by the arm. "Let's go get class started."

  There were no available spots on couches when we got back into the living room, so I sat on a pillow in the corner of the room where everyone could see and hear me, and Thomas sat beside me. I explained to the class that reading good literature was the only way to become a better writer, and that Charlotte's Web was one of my all-time favorites. I also told them that I would not be able to finish it in one sitting, which made them all let out sounds of discouragement. That led me to a short discussion about patience and the fact that good things come to those who wait, but soon after that, I cracked open the book and began reading.

  I absolutely loved to read out loud and took great pride in doing it, not only for the students there at Happy House, but also my students at Reagan. I tried to imagine how the author would want their work read, and did my best to do it justice. I also wasn't shy about doing voices and facial expressions, which brought laughs and smiles from everyone listening.

  I had so much fun reading Charlotte's Web to everyone at the Happy House that, for a little while, I forgot how sick I was with guilt. I remembered those feelings as soon as everyone started leaving, though. I was busy telling everyone goodbye for a few minutes, but right when the house got quiet, I started feeling yucky again.

  I knew Thomas and Claire had a relationship with Brock Rollins since Emily was engaged to Shane, but I'd always avoided the subject of the Rollins boys with them. Tonight was different. I wanted to ask them what they knew about Brock. I also wanted to ask where he lived just in case I wanted to drop by and apologize some time—or at least get more of the story from him.

  I wasn't sure how to bring it up, so I ended up waiting till the last minute when we were walking out to our cars. We had already discussed the Miller's and how glad Claire and Thomas were that I had invited them to class. Claire Bennett had given me a conspiratorial smile and wink when Thomas started going on and on about how cool and sweet Mary Katherine was.

  "I was wondering about Brock Rollins," I said right before we said goodbye in the driveway. I knew it was an awkward way to say it, but I had to bring it up before it was too late.

  "Are you interested in some of his furniture?" Claire asked, smiling.

  "Brock's my buddy," Thomas said. "Shane's gonna be my brother when he gets married to Emily, so that means Brock's sort of my brother, too."

  "You know him pretty good?" I asked Thomas, completely trusting his ability to judge character.

  "Yeah," he said. "His name's Brock Jacob Rollins and he builds expensive furniture by bending and welding metal together. I went to his shop lots of times. He used to live with Shane, but he just moved out so Shane can marry my sister."

  "Where's he live now?" I asked.

  "That's easy," Thomas said. "He lives at his shop. He just turned part of it into a hotel."

  "An apartment, honey," Claire corrected.

  Thomas slapped a hand to his forehead. "An apartment. I meant to say apartment. He put a bedroom and kitchen in his shop where he makes furniture."

  I glanced at Claire who nodded, confirming Thomas's story. "Where is his shop?" I asked, glancing at both of them. When they didn't answer right away, I felt the need to explain myself. "I, uh, owe him something," I said, not elaborating that the something was perhaps an apology.

  "I'm not sure of the address, but I can text Emily if you'll give me a second."

  I started to stop her. My instinct was to tell her not to do it, but the thought that I might have blamed Brock for something he didn't do really bothered me, and I knew myself well enough to know I'd want to reach out to him sometime soon. Instead of preventing her from doing it, I nodded, and the three of us stood there in the cold while she typed out a text. She held up her phone after she sent it. "Sometimes it takes her a while to respond," she said. "I'll forward you the address once she gets it to me."

  I told her that sounded good, hugged them, and said goodbye before we got in our vehicles and went separate ways. I hadn't even made it home when I got a message from Claire.

  I glanced at my phone at a stoplight, and smiled when I read the text, which had been composed by Thomas. I knew that because he told me in the first line that he was typing. I read it, glanced over the address, and responded with a quick 'thank you' before taking off.

  I drove toward my house, thinking I would give myself another night to think about everything before contacting Brock, but I just couldn't do it. I was ate up with wondering what had truly gone down with the ring and whether or not I had falsely accused him. I typed the address Thomas sent into the GPS on my phone and headed there without even going to my house first.

  It took me about twenty minutes to get to his shop. I felt lost and confused as I pulled onto a street with rows and rows of industrial metal buildings. It was just past dinnertime, and the sun was setting. I should have been scared to be alone in a neighborhood such as this, but I didn't care. I had to know what really happened. I recognized Brock's truck when I pulled into the parking lot next to his warehouse, and I breathed a sigh of relief, thinking I'd soon be able to get this pending apology off my chest.

  I felt nervous as I approached the glass door. It had a nice logo etched on
it that read, "Rollin's Metal Works," and I smiled as I reached out to open it. I gave it a tug and was unpleasantly surprised to find that it was locked. My body assumed it would open easily, and my head jerked unpleasantly when it wouldn't give way. I tugged again, thinking I'd done something wrong, but again, it wouldn't open.

  There were lights on, and I could hear music coming from inside, so I squinted to try to get a look inside. Nothing. The door was tinted, but I could make out some of the interior once I cupped my hands around my eyes. I could only see a portion of the room, but I knew he was in there. I knocked on the door several times before getting desperate and knocking on the side of the building. Again, nothing.

  As you may already know, redheads are known for being stubborn. I knew Brock was in there, and I wasn't leaving there without talking to him. I sent Carly a text asking for his phone number, and she texted back within minutes.

  I sat in my car as I composed a message to him.

  Me: "Hello, I'm at your shop, and the door is locked. Can you please open it?"

  My heart was racing as I waited to see if he would text me back. It took a few minutes, but he finally did.

  Brock: "Shop's closed on Mondays. I'll be open regular business hours tomorrow."

  Me: "I'm not shopping. I just had a quick question."

  Brock: "Who is this?"

  Me: "Trish."

  Seconds felt like hours as I waited to hear back from him. It took about a minute, which, in my mind, was an eternity. When his text finally came back, "I'll open it," was all it said.

  Chapter 8

  My heart felt like it wanted to beat out of my chest as I got out of my car and walked toward the door again. I could hear as I approached that music was still playing, and I heard the click of the lock and watched as the door opened slowly. I saw his form on the other side of the door when it was closed, but because it was dark out, and the door was tinted, I couldn't make out details. It wasn’t until the door swung open that I realized he was standing there shirtless. He was wiping his dirty hands on a towel, and he tossed it over his shoulder as he stood there taking me in.