by Nikki Chase
I turn on my phone—I switched it off for takeoff and never bothered turning it back on. I haven’t felt chatty, to say the least.
There’s a ton of messages, voicemails, and missed calls. All from Brock.
I throw the phone to one side, absolutely not interested in whatever fresh lies he’s concocted.
I’m surprised he’s even bothering. He got what he wanted, and there are plenty more impressionable, vulnerable women out there for him to prey on.
I saw what I saw with my own two eyes. What possible lies could he come up with to counteract that?
I eventually drift off to sleep on the couch, feeling thoroughly sorry for myself, the TV still blaring in the background.
I awake to the sound of the front door opening and a voice calling out my name.
“Nina? Are you here?” It’s Dean, finally home from work.
I sit up. My head is all woozy from the sleep and the crying.
Dean comes into the lounge and sees me, a tight smile on his lips. “There you are. I was kind of worried you might change your mind and not get on that flight.”
He sits down next to me and pulls me into a hug. I lean my head against his shoulder, taking comfort in the solidity of his presence, feeling like a little kid again.
Dean has always been there for me, ready to help me through whatever issues I face. I didn’t think I had any more tears left in me today, but I break down again in his arms.
He sits patiently, waiting for my tears to stop, letting me get it all out without a word.
Eventually, I stop. My whole body is tender, but at the same time, I feel just a little bit . . . lighter, now that my brother’s here.
It’s like I know everything’s going to be okay now. I can work through this. With my big brother by my side, nothing looks too scary.
“Okay,” he says, getting up from the couch. “Now that’s over with, why don’t I get a couple of beers, and you can tell me exactly what happened? I mean I’m not dumb. I think I’ve got it figured out, but let’s hear it anyway.”
I hear him pop open a couple of bottles, and then he returns, handing me one. It’s ice-cold.
I sigh in satisfaction after taking a gulp. Then I start talking, and I don’t stop until the story is done.
Brock
Brock
Am I making a big mistake?
Once again, I check my phone. It’s almost like an unpreventable tick at this point, I’ve been doing it so constantly since this afternoon, when Nina walked away from Lindland Hotel.
She looked so dejected, even from the back. I’d hate myself forever if that was the last time I’d see her.
Nothing on my phone. No calls, no texts.
Well, nothing from Nina or Dean, anyway. I’ve got a couple of messages from work because I took off with no notice. And, of course, there’s a ton of messages from Rosa.
Fucking Rosa.
Why did I ever let her into my life? I should’ve run like hell the moment I discovered her first lie, when she told me about a deeply spiritual trip she’d taken to Tibet.
Listening to her at the time, I felt like I’d heard that story before because I had—from a mutual friend who had actually taken the trip and told us about it.
Rosa stole her story to make herself seem sophisticated or something. She was always trying to paint herself in a certain light, to create a certain image about herself.
And I guess right now, she’s playing the role of the ex who just wants to be friends—except she cheated on me, so we didn’t part on good terms at all. She forced herself on me, and she came up with some sick plot to ruin my relationship.
She made Nina cry.
If she thinks I’d even bother to respond to her attempts to communicate, she’s wrong.
But I haven’t blocked her—not yet because I need these messages as evidence. She’s spinning a web so complex she won’t be able to escape it herself.
First though, I need to fix things with Nina.
Looking around, I notice there’s no doorbell, so I raise my hand to the door and knock.
No answer.
It’s late now—almost 2 a.m. The streets are dark. The neighbors are probably asleep.
Doubt creeps into my thoughts. I went to great lengths to book a seat on the flight to Seattle at the last minute. I don’t care that I paid about twice what the ticket should’ve cost, but what if I’m wrong? What if Nina’s not here? What if she’s back in Denver instead, crying in her apartment?
But—checking my phone again—Dean hasn’t responded to my calls and texts, which can only mean that he knows what happened. Or a version of what happened, at least. Nina’s version. Which probably doesn’t make me look like the best boyfriend in the world.
Knowing Dean, he probably told his little sister to come to his side right away. He’s got a high-powered job he can’t leave, but he’d want to keep watch over Nina and take care of her.
I knock harder. “Dean!” I call out.
Still nothing.
I hear some noises inside, so obviously someone’s home. But that someone also obviously doesn’t want to see me.
I knock harder and harder until I’m pounding on the door, banging so hard I worry I’m going to splinter the wood or something.
“Dean!” I’m yelling at this point. “Open the door!”
More noises from inside—feet shuffling, hopefully.
I hear a loud voice in the dark. “Knock it off!” But it’s not Dean or Nina. Looking around me, I see a few lightbulbs have flare on in the house next door as well as the house across the street.
Who cares? If they call the cops, maybe Dean will finally have to answer the door. And even if I’m wrong, and Nina’s not here, Dean probably knows how to reach her.
He’s the only lead I’ve got, and I’m not about to just walk away.
“Dean! I know you’re in there!” I shout. “Open the door!”
I keep banging and shouting. The neighbors probably think Dean owes some mobster loan shark some money, and I’m the thug who’s been sent to collect on his debt.
“Motherfucker,” I hear Dean’s familiar voice grumbling from inside.
Finally.
A click, and then the door cracks open.
I’ve never been happier to see Dean, even if he’s shooting me a death glare right now.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” he asks in a loud whisper, eyes frantically scanning the neighborhood. His hand is still on the doorknob, ready to shut the door in my face.
“I need to see Nina. She’s here isn’t she?”
“Do you know what time this is?” he asks, ignoring my question.
“Yeah. Late. That’s why I had to knock so hard. I needed to wake you up.” I give him a small smile, hoping to melt the tension with a little joke.
“Fuck off.”
Okay. He doesn’t seem to be in the mood for a light-hearted chat.
“Dean, I really need to see Nina,” I plead, seriously this time.
“There’s no chance in hell I’m going to let you see her. She’s already got one crazy stalker ex. The last thing she needs is another one,” he says through gritted teeth, apparently finding it a challenge to control his voice. His jaw ticked, the muscles in his neck tight.
He’s furious—with good reason if he thinks I cheated on his sister. But he’s also just pretty much told me that Nina’s inside.
Hope sparks in my chest at the thought of Nina possibly hiding just behind the door, listening to me.
“Nina!” I yell out, unable to contain myself.
“You fucking asshole. I told you to leave.” Dean takes one threatening step forward, joining me on the porch, pulling the door closed.
I step back. The last thing I want is to get into physical altercation with one of my oldest friends—over some stupid scheme Rosa cooked up, no less.
“Dean, I assume you heard about what happened from Nina. It was all a misunder—”
“Look, Brock. The onl
y reason your pretty face is still intact is because you were my friend—” I grimace at the past tense “—but you hurt my sister, and I’m really, really tempted to beat you to a pulp right now. I don’t even care that the cops are probably going to be here soon because of all the noise you’ve been making.”
“There’s another side to the story, Dean. You know how crazy Rosa is,” I say in a voice loud enough for Nina to hear if she’s listening. The neighbors can go fuck themselves. One sleepless night won’t kill them.
“Yes, I know how crazy she is, and I can’t believe you—” his index finger jabs me in my chest “—would be stupid enough to fall into her trap again. I don’t care what you do with your life anymore, but leave my sister out of whatever sick game you and Rosa are playing.”
“That’s what I want to talk about.” I raise my hands to show Dean I’m not jonesing for a fight. In fact, I won’t hit back if he really wants to beat me up. “I swear I didn’t do anything with Rosa. It was all staged. By her. She’s insane, Dean. Ever since she found out I had a fiancée, she—”
“Fiancée?” Dean’s forehead creases, his face turning even more ferocious. He reaches for my collar, but I step back just in time. “What the fuck are you talking about? You have a fiancée, and you’re fooling around with my sister, like she’s some worthless side piece? Fuck, Brock.”
“No, no. You’ve got it all wrong.” I keep my voice calm, reasonable, hoping my tone will be contagious enough to help Dean simmer down. “We, uh, I took Nina to Rosa’s wedding and asked her to pretend to be my fiancée. It’s a long story, but there’s no one else, Dean. There’s no one else. I swear. Nina’s the only girl I care about. I’d never hurt her. Never.”
“Well, you did,” Dean snaps. “You fucking did. Fuck you, Brock. I thought you were a friend. For a minute, I even entertained the idea that you might actually care about her enough to treat her right. But obviously, I was an idiot. And Nina, too. You fooled us. If you think we’re just going to take your word for it that you didn’t do anything with that crazy ex of yours . . .” Dean chuckles wryly, shaking his head, not even bothering to finish his sentence. “Just go home, Brock. Before I do something I regret.”
“Dean, I’m not shitting you. Rosa came up with this sick plan to ambush me just before my meeting. She somehow got Peter to take Nina there, and then she kissed me, no warning. I pushed her away. I swear.”
Dean narrows his eyes at me. “I want to believe you, Brock. I do. But I also know how deeply Rosa’s dug her claws into you. I’ve always thought that you’d go crawling back to her as soon as she gave the slightest indication that she wanted you back.”
“Give me some fucking credit, Dean,” I say, raising my voice in frustration. “Nina! If you’re in there, I want you to hear this. You don’t have to come out or anything—I get that you’re angry with me—but please hear me out.”
“Shut the fuck up.” Dean shoves me so hard I stumble backward, not expecting him to get this aggressive.
“Hear me out, and I’ll walk away after if you still want me gone.” In a louder voice, I say, “Nina, I know you think you know what happened, but you don’t know the full story. You don’t know my side of the story.”
“Shut the fuck up, Brock.” Dean shoves me again, forcing me down the porch steps.
“You’re only going to make me shout louder so she can hear,” I warn him.
“Fuck off and leave us alone.” Dean’s obviously not listening, blinded by rage.
“I have proof!” I yell out so loud even the neighbors will hear. “Nina, I can prove to you that I wasn’t cheating on you!”
Dean grabs me by the elbow now, pulling me down the walkway. Just before he throws me out onto the street, I hear the softest click.
The door. It cracks open.
Then, a voice. The most beautiful voice I’ve ever heard.
“Brock?” Nina calls out my name.
She looks exhausted, her eyes red and puffy. Her hair is messy.
But there’s a glimmer of something in her eyes. Hope?
“Nina, thank God. I’ve been looking for you all day. I’m glad you’re okay. I can explain everything,” I say.
All I want to do is rush over there and comfort her. Wrap my arms around her, stroke her hair, whisper soothing words in her ear.
But Dean’s still standing in front of me, blocking my path. “I’ve got this under control, Nina. Go back to sleep.”
Nina’s beautiful eyes dart between Dean and me like she can’t decide who to listen to.
Nina
“I’ve got this under control, Nina. Go back to sleep,” Dean says.
I know Dean’s only trying to protect me, but this is probably as good a time as any to put on my big-girl pants and fight my own battles.
“Dean, I can handle this.”
My brother stares at me like I’ve just sprouted an extra head. But Brock . . . Brock’s lips curve up to form a small smile.
He looks as much a mess as I probably do. Not surprising, really. We’ve both had a pretty eventful day.
That smile on his face, though. My heart beats faster at the sight. It makes me weak.
I know I shouldn’t just believe Brock. After all, I did see him kiss his ex—his married cheater of an ex—mere hours ago.
But my resolve is melting. My brain can’t compete with my heart when Brock is standing here right in front of me.
He flew all the way from Denver to Seattle to find me here. That has to count for something, right?
“Nina, you have no idea how happy I am to see you.” Brock starts to stride toward me, but Dean holds his palm against Brock’s chest, saying something in a voice too low for me to make out the words.
“Dean, I want to hear him out,” I say.
“He’s only going to mess with your head,” Dean says over his shoulder, his eyes fixed on Brock.
“You really think I’d do that?” Brock sounds hurt. Even though my mind is telling me not to listen to him, my legs are already restless, longing to run to him, to put my hand on his face and make him feel better.
I walk down the porch steps and join the two men, putting myself between them. “Let’s just talk,” I say. “I don’t want to see you two fight.”
I glance between Brock and Dean, making sure neither one of them makes an aggressive move.
“That’s all I want to do. Talk,” Brock says slowly, carefully, like he’s trying not to provoke a rabid animal.
Dean throws his hands in the air and lets out a frustrated groan.
“You said you had proof,” I say, looking at Brock.
Brock slips his hand inside the pocket of his coat and pulls out his phone. He presses a button, and cool light bathes his face in a ghostly glow. He taps the screen a few times, then hands the phone over to me.
Rosa Guerriero, it says at the top of the screen.
I stare at the phone as my eyes adjust to the bright light. “These are . . .”
“Texts from Rosa, yes,” Brock says.
There’s a bunch of texts on one side of the screen, and nothing on the other side. Rosa has been texting Brock, but he hasn’t been responding, I realize.
Despite his insistence that he doesn’t want to hear what Brock has to say, Dean shuffles closer, standing just behind me to look at the screen.
I start reading.
You’re just going to walk away like that after we kissed?
I can’t believe you just left me. You could’ve at least offered to give me a lift.
You’re being so rude, Brock. The least you can do is apologize.
You’re angry, huh?
You’re so hot when you’re mad.
Come on. How long are you going to sulk?
Brock. You’re being so childish. It was just a kiss.
Brock. How long are you going to ignore me? Reply already!!!!!
Look, I only did it because I don’t think that girl is right for you. I did it for your own good.
My eyes wid
en as I read that last text. Rosa admitted to having schemed the whole thing—in writing.
I raise my gaze to meet Brock’s eyes. He’s been watching me intensely, his muscles tense. He says nothing, but he raises his eyebrows as if to ask me how I feel after reading those texts.
“So you haven’t been having secret meetings with Rosa?” I ask, my quiet voice piercing the somber silence.
“No,” Brock answers quickly. “No way. I’d never do that. I’d never do anything to jeopardize our relationship.
“So what happened at the hotel . . .”
“She ambushed me. I didn’t even know she was coming.”
“And the kiss . . .”
“I had no idea she was going to do that. I was caught by surprise,” Brock says earnestly. “I pushed her away as soon as I recovered from the shock.”
I study Brock’s features. Can I trust him? I did only see a second of that kiss before I walked away—I couldn’t take the sight any longer.
“I swear, Nina,” Brock says. “I didn’t go there for some secret rendezvous with Rosa. I just wanted to close that deal with Casey Technologies.”
I nod. We did go through Brock’s proposal a few times over the past week. He wanted to make sure the meeting would go smoothly.
“How did that go?” I ask.
To my surprise, Brock shrugs. “We’ll see what happens at the next meeting, assuming they’re willing to reschedule at all. They didn’t seem happy that I just left them at the lobby like that.”
“You what?” I stare at him in disbelief. “But it was supposed to be this big meeting. You were supposed to close an important deal.”
A small, tired smile plays on Brock’s lips. “Nothing’s more important than you, Nina.”
I can’t help it; warmth spreads across my chest.
Does he mean that?
But he actually walked away from that meeting and flew all the way across the country to see me instead, not even knowing that I’d be here for sure.
