Rumors: Brianna & Hunter

by Rachael Brownell

  "Thank you, Helen. I really appreciate you helping me."

  "Anything for you. I have to ask, though. Does this have anything to do with that nasty rumor that was floating around the office before you left? Because if so—"

  "I've heard the rumor, Helen. It's a load of crap, but there is something going on with Hunter, and I want to find out what it is. He may not be cheating on me, but he is keeping something from me."

  As the truth spews from my mouth, I'm surprised at how strong I feel. After two days of thinking about this, I came to the conclusion that as much as it hurt to hear the rumor, I needed to. Not because people think my husband is cheating on me. In my heart, I know he's not.

  He is, however, lying to me by omission. Something is going on with him, and he's keeping it from me for a reason. I need to know what it is and why he's hiding it from me.

  Ally may have ruined my wedding night, but as much as I hate her right now, I may have to thank her later. Much, much later. Depending on what he's hiding, Ally's rumors will either end or save my marriage.

  Because I'm determined to find out what's going on, no matter the outcome.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Standing on the walkway to my parents’ front porch, I stare at the house I grew up in with new eyes. It's been a long time since I've been here. Too long. The emotions I expected to feel right now are absent.

  Sadness and loss must be on vacation. All the fears I've been carrying with me about coming home to an empty house, void of my mother and brother, are lost.

  Hope and happiness are taking the front seat and driving as I take my first steps toward my past.

  There's a smile on my face as I pull the key from my purse and slide it into the lock. When I hear it click, I push the door gently before remembering that it likes to stick in the heat of summer. Pushing harder, I practically trip over my own two feet as the door flies forward, my hand still gripping the knob.

  If there was an award for making a memorable entrance when no one else is looking, I would win.

  The house looks exactly as I remember. My father's favorite chair is in the corner of the living room, facing the television. My mother's books are still on the shelves that surround the entertainment center, carefully arranged around family photos and her favorite knickknacks.

  Everything is as it always has been. If I didn't know better, I would think they were off on vacation.

  Dropping my bags inside the door, I walk through the living room and into the kitchen.

  My father was right. The house is clean, pristine even. The counters appear to have been wiped recently. There are dishes in the rack next to the sink.

  My mother used to say that the best kind of dishwasher was a husband who didn't mind soapy water. Every night after dinner, they would wash the dishes together. My father would scrub, and my mother would rinse. The actual dishwasher that came with the house was used as storage back then.

  I never understood it, why they would wash dishes by hand when they had an appliance that could do it for them.

  After, they would crawl into my father's chair together and watch the news until it was time to go to bed. It wasn't until my mother started to get sick that I realized why they did the dishes together. It wasn't about the soapy water or the conversations they had. It was their thing. One way they spent time together, doing something so monotonous that no one else would want to do it.

  Every day they were guaranteed at least fifteen minutes together where nothing else mattered. The bills, work, any problems they might have… it all took a backseat to the dishes.

  The first night my mother couldn't stand long enough to rinse the dishes, my father broke down after he put her in bed. Once he composed himself, he went right back to the sink and started scrubbing away, and I rinsed while tears ran down his face.

  The next day, he bought her a stool to sit on while she rinsed.

  Opening the dishwasher, I find clean dishes waiting to be put away. I should feel surprised, not at the fact that there are dishes in it, but that it actually runs. The first time I saw him load it, the day after her funeral, I almost broke down. I knew he'd never wash another dish by hand after that.

  Life wasn't going to be the same for him. For any of us. Even the little things, the things we took for granted, changed. Like doing dishes or talking to my mom when I was stressed out. Walking in the house on break from college to the smell of homemade spaghetti and meatballs.

  My phone chimes in my purse and I rush to answer it. It could be Helen, getting back to me already with information. I'm not sure how, it's been less than eight hours, but she promised to work her magic.

  HUNTER: I'm home. Did you make it to your dad's house?

  ME: Just got here.

  HUNTER: You okay?

  If he keeps asking me that, I'm going to blow up on him, and I don't want to do that. If he thinks something more is going on besides me feeling like crap, he's going to come down here so I'm not alone. He'll try and fix things, even though he won't know what he's trying to fix.

  ME: Actually, I am. It's weird, but being here isn't as hard as I imagined it would be.

  HUNTER: Good. Are you sure you don't want me to come down there and help? I can, you know. Perks of being the boss.

  ME: No, you have enough on your plate. Plus, the place doesn't look that bad to be honest.

  Did I forget to mention to Hunter my father had his place cleaned? Oops.

  HUNTER: Okay. Let me know if you change your mind. I love you, B.

  ME: Love you, too. I'll call you tomorrow night.

  HUNTER: I have a late afternoon meeting. I'll call you when I get home.

  And it begins… the lying. Or rather, it continues. Maybe he really does have a later afternoon meeting. One that's on the books and I'm just being paranoid. Maybe this is a meeting with the mystery woman. I'll know more once I talk to Helen. Until then, I need to assume he's being honest with me or I'll drive myself crazy.

  ME: Perfect. Talk to you then. Love you.

  Rereading my response to him, I realize I've screwed up.

  There was an article, a few months ago, that I read about the difference between saying ‘I love you’ and ‘Love you’ to your significant other. Apparently, the lack of the word I means a lot. People tend to say ‘love you’ a lot, flippantly to people. Not using ‘I’ is a way for the responder to create distance between themselves and the person saying ‘I love you.’

  The article went into depth, using multiple scenarios to emphasize the differences.

  What I remember most is that one of the commenters on the article claimed that removing ‘I’ from any personal statement is considered impersonal communication, and the meaning behind the words are lost, resulting in a false sense of connection.

  I want to reply again, tell him I love him, because I do. I know he didn't read the article, but still, in my heart, I feel like I've drawn an imaginary line in the sand that's separated us. We're already miles apart, and now it feels like I've separated us emotionally.

  As much as I'm freaking out on the inside, uncertainty lurking in the depths of my soul, I can't help but love him. He's my soulmate. Always has been, always will be. My heart belongs to Hunter, to my husband, to the man that has been by my side through some of the most challenging times of my life.

  Even if I wanted to hate him, I wouldn't be able to.

  We're a lot like my parents. We support each other unconditionally. Nothing is too big or too small for us to handle as long as we do it together. We can fight, but at the end of the day, we're both there to wipe away each other's tears and apologize.

  Because we communicate.

  At least we did until I decided to go rogue and try to spy on my husband to find out what he's not telling me. So, we're both in the wrong in this situation, but that doesn't mean we can't get past this.

  The only way to do it is together, though.

  No secret mission. No stalking him. I need to talk to him and ask what's on my m
ind.

  But I can't do that from here. Not over the phone or through text. I have to do it face to face, which means I need to go home. To my husband. To the life we've built together and fight for what we have.

  Quickly walking through the rest of the house, I search all the hiding spots I can think of for any alcohol. The only bottle I find is hidden in my closet, a cubby I cut out when I was in high school that used to hold my diary. Once I gave that up, I used to hide other things from my parents, including a bottle of cheap vodka that's half empty and been sitting there for close to twenty years.

  Gross.

  After fighting with it to open for ten minutes and getting nowhere, I toss it in the dumpster outside, gather my things, and head straight back to the airport.

  The next flight home doesn't leave until tomorrow morning, so I get a room at the nearest hotel and settle in for the night. I have a few loose ends to tie up before I board, but there's nothing I can do tonight as midnight approaches.

  Helen will be the first person I call. I need to cancel our operation before it gets started, and knowing that Hunter will be headed into the office early in the morning, I want to catch Helen as early as possible.

  Then I have to call Megan. I will need someone to pick me up at the airport, but as much as I'd love for that to be Hunter, he has to work. Plus, depending on what time my flight lands, maybe we can grab a bite to eat with Amara and I can fill her in on where my mind has traveled.

  I know she's concerned about me. I'd be worried about her if the situation were reversed. In fact, all I did was fret about her when she went rogue and ended up destroying her marriage. She didn't stop to talk to Ryder, and if she had, things may have turned out differently.

  Then, I want her to take me to the office. I have to see Hunter. No matter how busy he is tomorrow, I know he'll make time to see me, especially when he finds out I'm back in town. He's not expecting me home for another week.

  Crawling under the covers, I reach across the bed to where my husband should be. I hate sleeping alone. It doesn't happen often, only a few times a year when he goes to conferences, but I don't sleep well without him next to me. Tonight will be no different. Especially being in a different city when I could be home, in our bed, cuddled in his arms.

  I made that choice.

  I didn't have to come here. My parents’ house was clean. I used it as an excuse to get away from him. One I didn't need. I should have just talked to him the night Ally told me. Confrontation has always been hard for me with other people, not Hunter.

  I'm sure there's a simple explanation. He would have told me everything, apologized for keeping secrets from me, and I would have slept like a baby instead of lying awake all night thinking the worst.

  Everything is clear in hindsight.

  It's when you're in the moment, when you feel lost, that the lines get blurred. Right and wrong, truth and fiction. Choices are made in haste, and regret isn't even a thought.

  What you're doing, the decisions you're making are right. There is no doubt in your mind, and you'll do anything to make sure you get the outcome you want.

  That's the thing, though. I didn't know what I wanted the outcome to be.

  In my heart, I knew he wasn't cheating on me. I still don't believe that's what's going on, and I won't ever unless he confesses to those actions. Ally's words were like poison, though. They crept into my mind and took over. Created doubt.

  And doubt has controlled every reaction and decision I've made since that night.

  Now, I'm pushing past the haze, looking for real answers. I know what I want the outcome to be. I want to know the truth, and the only person who can give me that is Hunter. So the answer was right in front of me all along.

  Ask him.

  Tell him the rumor and give him a chance to explain.

  Thankfully, tomorrow is a new day. I get the chance to do this the right way. Hunter deserves the opportunity to defend himself against the accusations, and I deserve to know what's going on.

  Because the rumors were prompted by something. They always are. Even the smallest things, if caught by the right—or rather, wrong—person, can turn into a rumor.

  Oh look, someone dyed their hair… they must be dating someone new and trying to impress them.

  So and so were seen having drinks last night… they have to be sleeping together.

  It doesn't take much, especially in that office.

  Chapter Twenty

  Arriving at the airport just after eight o'clock, I have just enough time to check in and head to my gate. My flight leaves in less than forty-five minutes, and I still don't have a ride home.

  Just as the thought crosses my mind, my phone chimes in my hand.

  MEGAN: We need to talk.

  ME: I was just going to call you. Don't tell Hunter but I'm flying home and I need a ride from the airport. Can you pick me up? My flight gets in just before two.

  MEGAN: Are you surprising him or trying to spy on him? Because from what I hear, spying is your new thing.

  How in the hell does she know? I've only told one person… and swore her to secrecy.

  Dialing her number, she picks up after the first ring.

  "Where did you hear that?" I ask.

  "Justine and I had breakfast this morning. Tell me it's not true," she urges.

  "It is, but it's not. I was going to, but I've changed my mind."

  "Tell me this has nothing to do with the rumor Ally was talking about. You know there's no truth to any of that. Of all the people in this world, you know Hunter better than anyone. He's not the kind of man to cheat. You just renewed your vows for Christ sake."

  Megan's screaming at me through the phone. Her passion is evident.

  Filling her in on as much as I can before my flight starts boarding, she explains how the news made it to her so fast.

  Justine told her over breakfast. She heard it from Ally who called her last night. Megan has no idea who Ally heard it from since no one was at the office yesterday, but I do.

  All this time, for years, we all thought Ally was the source of all the rumors. I'm starting to think there's more than one gossip around the office. Or maybe Ally's not the source like she claims.

  It would make sense.

  Helen sees everything, that's why I chose her to help me. No one would ever consider she's the source of the gossip. She has to be in her late sixties, early seventies by now. Why would 'grandma' be spreading lies?

  Then it hits me.

  Who has the most boring job at the office?

  Who sits by themselves all day, every day, waiting for someone to talk to for more than ten seconds?

  Whose life outside the office is more than likely boring?

  All signs point to Helen.

  I'm about to share my revelation with Megan when the loudspeaker over my head announces boarding for my flight. Letting her go, Megan promises to pick me up at the airport when I land and we can talk more about why my plan is stupid.

  Thanks, friend. I realized that already.

  So as I board my flight home, I quickly shoot Helen a text. Not wanting to let on that I know what she's up to, I keep it short and sweet.

  ME: Anything happening yet?

  HELEN: Not yet. He has meetings all day until three and then his afternoon is free. I'll let you know if he leaves the office.

  ME: Thanks. I'll wait for an update.

  The entire flight, I debate whether or not to tell Megan what I figured out. By the time we begin our descent, I've decided to keep the information to myself. For two reasons.

  One, I'm going to confront Helen and attempt to get her to stop spreading rumors. If she doesn't, I'll out her to everyone in the office. I have a feeling that'll scare the crap out of her. The Dixon brothers haven't enjoyed being talked about in a negative light.

  Two, if I can get her to stop spreading rumors, it doesn't matter who the source was. No one needs to know it was her. She can go on doing her thing, and no one will look at her dif
ferently. If I tell Megan, she's going to flip out on her. Everyone probably will.

  Plus, if everyone learns it’s Helen and not Ally, I'll have to apologize. Not something I'm ready to do just yet. Even though it appears she's not the source, she still spreads rumors like crazy. She takes what she learns and makes sure everyone hears about it.

  Essentially, she's a puppet. And Helen is the puppet master.

  Until I derail the rumor mill, that is.

  As promised, Megan is waiting for me in baggage claim, Amara at her side. As soon as she spots me, she comes running at me, jumping into my arms when I bend down to hug her.

  "Auntie B. I'm so glad you're home. Mama says we get to have lunch with you." Amara's talking a mile a minute as I take her hand and walk to meet up with Megan.

  "I'm starving. I think lunch is a great idea if your mama is okay with it."

  "Please, Mama," Amara begs. "Can we take Auntie B to my favorite restaurant? I think she'll really like it."

  The hot dog place. It has to be. Every time we go out to lunch together, that's where she wants to go. I've been there with her at least a dozen times, but every time we go, she pretends like it's my first, explaining to me how and what to order.

  It's the cutest damn thing ever, so of course I play along.

  Megan shoots me a questioning look, but I just smile. "Let's get Auntie B's suitcase and then we can talk about lunch, okay."

  Amara pouts when Megan doesn't immediately agree to lunch. We're going to end up there, I know it. No one says no to the princess. Not in this family. She's the only niece, the only grandchild. She's spoiled beyond belief by everyone, including her parents.

  Gathering my bags, we head out to the car. Amara falls asleep before we're even out of the parking garage. Apparently she was up early this morning, and when Megan told her they were picking me up at the airport, she refused to take a nap.