He picked me, right? I didn’t imagine all of that. I wasn’t some contingency plan he was forced to resort to after all else had failed in his life, was I? No. He wanted me before the injury. I look in his direction once again. His laughter fills the room. His smile brightens the darkness. He’s so at ease. So comfortable. Happy.
Nate dances his way to the bar, scaring me out of my deep thoughts when he lets out a loud “bah” as he nears. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” I snap, clutching my chest. He’s taken aback.
“Everything okay, Mal?” he asks, eyeing me carefully.
“Just peachy,” I say, turning away from him and signaling to the bartender that I’d like another shot. He gives a wink, then after topping a fresh shot glass, slides it my way. Nate caps it with his hand.
“Tequila is not your friend, Mallory.”
“Tequila is my best friend tonight. Why are you putting your nasty germs all over my drink?”
With his typical broad grin, he lifts his hand and deposits it by his side. I slam down the shot, snap the glass back onto the bar, and then find myself in a sea of awkward silence as an amused Nate stares my way. “What?” I finally ask just to fill the void.
“You’re a mean drunk.”
“Shut the fuck up, Nate. I’m not mean.” His lips curl inward to hide his broadening smile. He tightly wraps his arms around my shoulders.
“Can you repeat that for me, please?” He chuckles, and after replaying the conversation in my head, I burst out laughing.
“Dance with me,” Nate insists, going so far as to push me towards the floor. He’s used to moving and taking hits from three-hundred-pound football players, so pushing my resistant, chunky butt onto the dance floor is nothing for him. He’s drunk, I’m drunk, the entire gym is pretty much drunk, and it’s made most evident when Nate starts singing at the top of his lungs. The song choice is terrible for slow dancing, Nate takes me into his arms and does it anyway. That leads to a crowd surrounding us, which leads to the crowd joining us in both song and dance, which leads to me finally feeling like I somewhat fit in. Brent whisks me from Nate, and I’m home again. I don’t care what the song is, I curl into him, feeling safe and secure in his arms.
As soon as the sensation washes over me, it’s gone. The crowd has now formed a circle and are showing off their dance moves. Brent lets out an unexpected cheer as he makes his way over to join in the fun. “Brent! Brent! Brent!” the crowd cheers as he playfully pushes Nate out of the spotlight and starts his own series of dance moves.
“I never should have let that man go. Damn.” I suddenly become aware that I’m standing behind Tiffany and Whitney. Another emotional rollercoaster ride begins when I overhear their conversation.
“Oh, Tiff. Stop. You’re married to a rich banker. What are you talking about? Brent’s broke, washed up, and has an ass-load of kids with Mallory.”
“Yeah, my guy might have money, but the only action I get is thanks to medication or what I rack up on the side. He’s so boring, and unfit, and well… Brent is still hot as hell, and rumor has it that he might not be broke and tied down for much longer. I heard Nate trying to convince him to take an assistant coaching job with his team. Pro coaches make some serious money.”
“Yeah, but even so, he’s got a family.”
“He was telling Nate that he’s really unhappy about things and needs a change. I think he might pack up and leave them all behind.”
“Yeah, I can see that. He was telling me how unhappy he was when we were dancing earlier. I thought he was exaggerating to get into my pants by using the sympathy tactic, but maybe the sap was just venting.”
“Guys do that to you, too?” Tiffany asks with a giggle.
“All the time,” Whitney responds. “I can’t crack Nate though. I’ve tried everything on him, and the most I ever got from him was some yawn-inducing make out sessions. For someone so talented in everything else, he sure sucks in the sex department.” They burst into another round of giggles.
“Well, Brent is anything but lazy in that department.”
“I thought…” I don’t even bother waiting for the rest. I push through them to make my way to Brent.
“I want to talk to you,” I say, struggling to keep the tears that threaten to spill behind my lids.
“So talk,” he says, still bouncing around with the crowd. Whitney and Tiffany eagerly push in around us.
“Are you leaving me and the kids?” He stops bouncing and looks around the room.
“What are you talking about?”
“Just answer the fucking question so I’ll know.”
“Mallory, you need to calm down. This is not the time or the place…”
“You think I don’t see it, Brent? I do.” I hate how desperate and pathetic I sound, but the words keep coming. “Why do I have to overhear it from a couple of skanks that you might be leaving me?”
The crowd goes silent, and once the music stops, you could hear a pin drop in the room. “Mallory, enough,” Brent says in that disciplinary tone I despise.
“Are you happy with us?” I push. Stop! This is so unlike me to be assertive and desperate, but after seven shots of tequila, it comes easily. Nate’s right; tequila is NOT my friend.
“Mallory, I’m not going to tell you again.” He’s embarrassed, and rightfully so, but I keep provoking him.
“Oh, you’re not going to tell me? Just gonna let me figure it out for myself when I come home one day and all of your shit is gone. Got it.”
“Last warning, Mallory. Shut up.”
“Or what? You going to make me run laps, Coach?”
“Nate, I’m ready to leave,” Brent says with a calm that is honestly quite scary. I’ve been an asshole. I know I’ve been an asshole, but I won’t apologize.
“Yeah, cool. The limo is outside.” Brent takes off towards the door. “You’re all invited to an after party at the Hotel Maison Belle. Penthouse suite. The cars are waiting outside.” He yells to the silent crowd. They find their voices, and squeals of delight, as well as cheers of excitement, push out the awkwardness of my outburst. Nate edges me towards the back wall where we can have a little privacy. I try moving away from him, but he has none of it.
“Mallory, I’m going to have the driver of your car take you for some coffee before he brings you to the hotel. I’ll have him ride around with you for a bit to give it time to kick in.”
“How could you?” I ask.
“How could I what? Offer him a job with a brighter future for you and the kids?”
“He will go alone.”
“What? Mallory, you’re talking nonsense.”
“No. You don’t understand, Nate.”
“Look, you’re wasted, and you’re not seeing things clearly. Go get that coffee, then meet us at the hotel.” He kisses my forehead. “Let’s go.”
Once I’m in the backseat of the dark colored town car, he gives the driver specific instruction before shouting through the window, “See you in a few, Mallory.” I don’t even acknowledge his comment. Instead, I sink into the back seat and start to cry. I knew in the pit of my stomach that something was wrong, I just didn’t think that he was plotting his escape behind my back. Stupid me.
SEVENTEEN
After consuming two large coffees and snotting into a quarter of a box of tissues, I decide that I’m an evil whiny bitch who overreacted to a situation I really should have given the benefit of the doubt. I was going to have the driver bring me to our house, but the soberer I become, the more guilt I feel. Instead, he’s turned the car around and now drives me toward the Hotel Maison Belle where I hope to ease some of the embarrassing attention I brought to everyone at the reunion.
The doorman is quite chipper despite the early morning hour, and I smile when he escorts me to the front desk. “Madam Mallory Grayson has arrived to join the party upstairs, beautiful Phoebe.” He sweet talks the clerk, and she gives him a beaming smile.
“Good evening, or should I say morning, Mrs. Gra
yson. Mr. Grayson has checked in already with…” She gives a giggle. “Nate Joseph.” She suddenly looks bashful as she types something on her screen. Nate has always had that effect on women, and it’s not surprising that he still does. “Your bags are upstairs. Your friend Iris dropped them off earlier today.” She’s reading notes off the screen. “I’m to give you a key, and you should be good to go, if you have no other questions or concerns that I can help you with.”
“No, thank you.”
“Very well. Here’s your key card, and please don’t hesitate to call down if you need anything. You have full charging privileges, so just ask whomever you speak with to add it to your room.”
“Nate is such a stinker,” I comment.
“He’s dreamy. Do you know if he’s single?”
I laugh. “Yes to both.” Her smile returns.
“Good to know,” she says with a smirk. “The elevator bank is to your right. Have a nice time, Mrs. Grayson.”
“Thank you…”
“Phoebe!” she nearly shouts. I nod.
“Phoebe. I’ll be sure to tell Nate how welcome you made me feel upon check in. I’m sure he’ll pass that information on to your boss.” She giggles and tosses her hands to her face. The thick brass doors of the elevator close as she sneaks in a departing wave.
The ride to the top floor takes only a few seconds because the elevator is lightning fast. Thank goodness I’ve had a little time to sober up because my stomach isn’t too keen on the trip. The doors open, and music mingled with the slight roar of conversation creeps out into the hall. I check the key card, and the suite Nate reserved for us is to the left, while his is to the right. I’m about to go into the party suite, but remembering all of the boohooing I did while in the car, I suppose it’s appropriate that I check myself in the mirror before joining the group.
The green light flashes as soon as I push the card to the door, and I’m taken back to my honeymoon. Rich, extravagant furniture fills the room, while warm, buttery colors accentuate the regal artwork on the walls. Smooth marble tops every table, and as I peek into the bathroom, I see it’s mostly marble, as well. On the bed is a familiar suitcase, and I shake my head when I think about how sneaky my friend is to dig that thing from the far back of the junk closet. It’s not like Brent and I travel all that often, so luggage has a low priority when it comes to accessibility. The suitcase is closed, and the bed untouched; obviously Brent hasn’t been in the room yet. Next to the suitcase is a smaller canvas bag which I open to find my makeup, hair brush, and a new piece of black, lacy lingerie. As I’m pulling it out to inspect it, a note drifts to the floor.
The kids are great. Don’t worry. Get nasty. Ewww, mental picture. Just enjoy. --Iris
Leave it to Iris. Poor thing has had to hear way more than her fair share of our relationship woes. I need to do something really nice for her next week. I take the makeup bag into the bathroom and start the process of making myself once again presentable. As I’m finishing up, I take a moment to consider changing out of the frumpy black dress I’ve worn all night when I hear the door lock click. Do I have time to throw on the lingerie and give Brent an extra special apology? My dress is over my head when I hear her giggle. At first, I’m not sure I am hearing right. Did I turn on the TV? No. Did someone come into the wrong room? Did I leave the door open? The thoughts that run through my mind hit in rapid-fire succession. I’m about to call out when I hear him.
“So, your divorce was a bad one, huh?” he asks.
“Very. It’s okay, though. No kids to fight over, so what’s done is done. We were able to cut ties completely.”
“He didn’t hit you or anything like that?”
“Oh, no. Nothing like that. We started out one way, and then we ended up another. Life was boring.” Her voice drops an octave. “So boring.”
“So life is better since your divorce? No regrets at all?” Brent asks. I lower the dress still wrapped around my upper body and very quietly slide into the oversized bathtub hidden behind a partition. My heart thunders in my chest, and I shudder uncontrollably. Part of me wants to stop their conversation because I’m scared of what I might hear. The larger part of me needs to know—for my kids, for me, and for my marriage.
“Hell no! Not one tiny regret. Ever.” Whitney of all people? She is model perfect, but her personality. Brent hated her in high school, and from what I’ve seen tonight, she hasn’t changed all that much. I bite down on my lower lip to prevent myself from accidentally making any noises. “You have to tell me how you, Brent Freaking Grayson, ended up with Mallory.”
“I always had a thing for her. I can’t exactly tell you why, but we clicked.”
“Tell me you two weren’t seeing each other in high school! You weren’t cheating on Tiff with her, were you?”
“The past doesn’t matter, Whit.”
“I guess not.” I hear the bed springs shifting. “Why did you invite me in here, Brent?” Her voice is velvety. My throat feels like it’s about to close.
“I don’t know.”
“I think I have a pretty good idea. I hear that you’re leaving Mallory and are looking for a fresh start. It makes sense. A pro football coach needs to fit a certain mold. Frumpy wife and a busload of kids isn’t it, Brent. You’ll need to work on getting the right image, and I can certainly help with that.”
“Whitney, you’re talking about things that are way…”
“Are you trying to tell me that you don’t want this?”
“I’m not saying anything.”
“Nate said this was a done deal. He said you’ve been talking about this for months now, and that you even visited the training facility a couple of times. Are you having second thoughts because of her?” Whitney lets out a laugh. “You don’t want to hurt her feelings? Admirable, but really? Why?” My mouth hangs open, and I pray the bile I feel stinging the back of my throat doesn’t rise any higher.
“Whitney, you’re talking about a lot of things you don’t know anything about.”
“I know enough. Let me help you with this, Brent.” I hear the gut-clenching sound of a zipper being unfastened. “Tell me you’re not attracted to me. This could be yours anytime you want it.”
“But Mallory,” I hear him say softly.
Mentally, I repeat, “Please, don’t do it,” over and over again while gently rocking in the tub.
“Fuck Mallory. What has she done for you? She’s dragged you down to her level, that’s what. She should have boosted you up, Brent. You’re a winner. Always have been. You deserve to be in the limelight. To be at the top, like Nate. I can get you there, where you’re supposed to be, and you know it.”
“Whitney.”
“Are you happy, Brent?”
“Whitney.”
“Are you happy?”
“Stop.”
“Answer me. Are you happy?”
“No! No, I’m not happy, and I haven’t been for a long time.”
That’s it. My heart shatters into a thousand pieces right then and there. Whitney is right. I’ve dragged him down to my level. I’ve ruined him. I’ve taken the life he deserves away from him. A sob escapes before I can stop it, and though I cover my mouth, it’s too late. My presence is known.
Brent is the first in the bathroom, and an underwear clad Whitney is right behind him trying to peek around to see what’s happening.
“Fuck!” Brent yells, running his fingers through his hair. I curl into a ball in the bottom of the tub, sobbing harder than I’ve ever grieved before. “Mallory. Whitney, you need to go. Now.”
“Are you sure you want me to go?”
“Yes,” Brent snaps, sitting on the edge of the tub. He places his hand on my arm, and I yank it away.
“Fine. I’ll leave one of my cards so you can get in touch with me once you handle all of this.”
“Dammit, Whitney. Will you just leave?”
“Well, if you’re going to be like that.” She slams the door behind her.
“Mall
ory,” Brent softly says. “Please, stop crying like that. I can’t stand to see you hurting.”
I snap upright, puffy eyed and red nosed. “You can’t stand to see me hurting? Well, let me get the hell out of here so you won’t have to witness me mourning the life I used to have.” I nearly fall over when I stumble getting out of the tub. “I never knew. I did realize you were going through some issues, but I thought it was typical mid-life crisis stuff that lots of guys go through.” I’m shocked I manage to get all of that out between gasps. “Whitney! You’re leaving me for Whitney? Oh, my gosh! How many others were there before her? Wait. I don’t want to know. No, I need to know.” I bang my forehead with the heel of my hand. “I’m so stupid. How could I have been so trusting? More than five? Ten?” I make it to the toilet just in time, where I heave and vomit until I’m so exhausted all I can do is slump against the wall. Brent sits beside me and pulls me into his arms. I’ve checked out mentally.
“Mallory. Please. Just because I’m not happy doesn’t mean I don’t love you. We need to talk this over. Let’s talk. Okay?”
“Are you giving me custody of the kids? I guess so, being that they’d put a damper on your future lifestyle. The girls might understand, but the twins will… Never mind. We’ll be fine. Are you going to want to sell the house?”
“Mallory, stop.”
“I can’t. My world has collapsed, Brent. Everything I believed to be true has been lies. You went to the training facility more than once? How long have you been planning this? It’s bad enough you hurt me like this, but to find that Nate was in on it… The only thing that is keeping me breathing right now is our kids. I have to be strong for them. They’ll need me to be there when they find out we’re done.”
“Mallory.” Brent has worry in his eyes. “I want us to talk.”
“It’s pointless, Brent. I don’t want to talk because I can’t trust anything that comes out of your mouth anymore. I never had much, but I gave you everything I had. I put all of my faith and trust in you. I didn’t chase you, Brent. You wanted me, and I never understood why. I’m even more confused now. Why toy with me all these years?”
The Broken Road to Forever Page 17
