One Wrong Choice (A Cruel and Beautiful Book Book 3)

by A. M. Hargrove

  “Brandon, it’s not like that. I love—”

  “Please don’t say it.” Because two can play the interruption game. “Love is a word I’ve never tossed around before. It has meaning to me. You meant something to me, maybe everything. Evidently, I’m a dumbass.”

  I turn and exit her house. Her footsteps quicken in the distance, so I pick up my pace. I fire up my bike and head for the bridge. Home isn’t an option, for fear she’d follow me and prolong the agony of having to watch her walk away from me.

  It’s dark by the time I reach the ocean. I park and barely take the time to set the kickstand before wandering aimlessly toward the incoming waves.

  My phone in my pocket buzzes, but I ignore it. How could I have been such an idiot? I’d known from the beginning it could never work. She’s too ingrained into her family’s wishes to ever follow her heart.

  Water washes over my shoes before retreating again. I sit, uncaring that my jeans will get soaked. For a while I stay, until finally, the bubble around me bursts. Noise from a bar not too far down the beach gives me the bright idea to get a drink.

  Dusting myself off as best as I can, I head in the direction of the live music I hear playing. It’s coming from a well-known beach bar, which is great. Explaining why I’m wet and caked in gritty sand won’t be necessary here. People are off in the distance making conversation in their lighthearted ways. They are oblivious to the pain that has gutted me from the inside. It won’t be my scene, but I don’t care at this point.

  The noise blocks off my thoughts as I order a double scotch. It only takes two more before I let a handsy girl talk me into dancing with her. Too bad my dick isn’t on board. Banging some chick might take the edge off, but it won’t cure the hurt I feel. How far have I fallen? I’ve allowed myself to fall in love with the one woman in the world I can’t have.

  “Thanks, darling, but I have an early start in the morning,” I say, as the music stops and the question in her eyes is clear.

  She smiles and hands me a card, which I don’t look at. I smile politely in return and leave before I do something reckless. I drop the card into a bin after I make sure the woman isn’t watching.

  By the time I make it to my bike, I feel sober enough to drive home. Stumbling through the door, I find my baby brother sitting on the couch as if waiting for me.

  “Where have you been? I’ve called you,” he asks like he’s my girlfriend.

  Annoyed, I bark, “You’re not my wife or my mother. When did you become so clingy?”

  My words skitter across my tongue as I pull out my phone and see that it hadn’t been Jenna calling. I’m not sure if I should be happy or pissed off about it.

  “Dude, Jenna called me and wanted to make sure you made it home okay.”

  When had they gotten close enough to exchange numbers?

  “Well, you can tell her I’m good. I’ve already found her replacement.”

  Braedon looks like he wants to question my sanity or sobriety. Whichever it is, I don’t wait for it. I close myself behind my bedroom door and fall into bed. The alcohol coursing through my brain is the sleep aid I need as darkness encases me.

  Morning comes with the ringing of bells in my head. How much did I drink last night? I thought it had only been three, but the way the drum beats in my skull, it had to be more. I can’t remember the last time I had a hangover.

  Stumbling to the kitchen, I find water and Tylenol when my brother appears. I’m starting to think maybe he has superpowers or I’d been high on more than booze, though I’d never been into that. Still, maybe someone had slipped me something.

  “Hey,” he begins.

  “Hey,” I say and regret it.

  It feels like a bomb went off in my head. Working today will be a bitch.

  He takes a stool at the counter. “Look, I know shit sucks. Jenna’s—”

  I hold up a hand. “Don’t. I’ve got to get ready for work,” I say, downing the bottle of water, knowing it’s the best cure for what I’m feeling right now.

  “Yeah, sure. You don’t want to talk about it. I get it. But before you go, Dad wants us to go with his girlfriend to see her yacht. She’s brought it here for this tour they are having in about four months. She’s going to leave it in Charleston until then.”

  “Wasn’t meeting her enough?” I snap. That’s where I’d been the day before when Jenna had sent several texts to me. I’d left as soon as I could, only to be blindsided. And unfortunately, I know exactly which show he’s talking about. It’s the one Jenna has been working on.

  “Apparently, they are here for some charity event. Her yacht will be on display for several different events.” He waves a hand. “I don’t know the details, but you have to go.”

  “Why?”

  I owe my father nothing and even less to his latest conquest.

  “Aside from her yacht, she has a sailboat she’s going to let me borrow.”

  I narrow my eyes, more against the light that causes more pain to march across my brain. “Why do you need a sailboat?”

  If he tells me so he can take his girlfriend out on a date, I won’t agree. I’d played nice the day before, pretending I was something I wasn’t. I have no intentions of doing it again. Then again, what else can it be? My brother is a rower, not a sailor.

  “I’m going to enter a sailing competition.”

  His earnest expression says he means it.

  “Why? Aren’t there rules against something like that with the school?” Because he can’t be entering for shits and giggles. There must be a monetary prize.

  “It’s an amateur competition, not that it matters. This is big. The prize is big. And I’m going to need it.”

  “Why?”

  I get the second blow in twenty-four hours.

  “Kym’s pregnant. I would have told you last night, but you weren’t in the mood to talk.”

  And now I feel like a total shit. My brother needed me, and I’d been too much of a pussy over Jenna’s breakup to be there for him. I set the water bottle down slowly. I’d been crushing it in my hands, thinking about playing nice with the pops, but everything is suddenly different.

  “Braedon.”

  “Before you give me the speech, I’ve given it to myself a thousand times. It does nothing to change the fact that I’m going to be a father. I need this money. Don’t say you’ll take care of it for me. This is my responsibility.”

  Closing my eyes for a second, I squash the instinctual parental words that bubble up in my throat. He doesn’t need a father figure today. He needs his brother.

  I ruffle his hair in support, both proud and saddened. His life will be forever changed. At the same time, he’s right. He needs to get his shit together. Though I’ll always be there for him.

  “I need to get a job to get us a place,” he declares, sounding more and more like the man I’ve groomed him to be.

  “You can stay here,” I blurt.

  The idea of sharing permanent space with a third and fourth person doesn’t fill me up with excitement, but no way will he live in some shitty apartment.

  Braedon nods. “Sure, but only until we get our shit together. This competition is important and can be that first step. There’s never been anything like it. Not with this kind of prize money.”

  He hasn’t told me yet what the money is. I don’t ask because I don’t want to be the one to burst his bubble if the money won’t make a dent in what he’ll need to support a family. Although my brother’s passion has been in rowing, he has done his fair share of sailing. It’s as if he was born on or in the water. He loves it.

  “You’re finishing school,” I declare. “We’ll figure this out. But you’ll need school if you want to give your kid the kind of life you want.”

  He nods and I wrap him in a hug, clapping my hand across his back.

  “You’re going to be a great dad,” I say quietly.

  Somehow there is more power in not declaring it at the top of my lungs. It may not be the life I en
visioned for him, but my brother, for all his faults, has matured so much over the years. And soon, I’ll be an uncle. Maybe in time, I’ll find my own Kym and have a kid on my own. First, I have to get over Jenna. What sucks is I fear the blow she dealt may never heal.

  Thirty-Four

  Jenna

  About Four Months Later

  “Are sure you’re ready?” Cate’s voice drifts to me from the living room.

  “I’m coming.”

  “That’s not what I’m talking about.”

  I jump because Cate is now in my room. Turning around, I ask her what she means.

  “You know what I mean. Don’t pretend otherwise.”

  “And you know why I’m doing this.”

  “Have you spoken to your father?” she asks.

  “No, and you know the reason. I can’t do that.”

  “This is the last time I’m bringing this up, but please reconsider. You don’t love Kenneth. Stop trying to fool everyone, most of all yourself.”

  “Cate, you know me better than anyone. This is fine. I’m fine. It’s the right thing to do.”

  She’s not buying it for a second. I watch her back as she leaves the room. A few seconds later, she calls out, “You’d better hurry. The limo just arrived. Put your party face on.”

  Staring at myself in the mirror, I search for a tiny bit of excitement in my eyes, even a glimmer of happiness, but there is none. I’m going to have to do one hell of an acting job around my friends, or they’ll figure it out. Checking my outfit one last time, I grab my little clutch and head out of the bedroom.

  “You look great. As perfect as a bachelorette can be. Except for one thing.” A sneaky grin spreads across her face.

  “What’s that?” I ask suspiciously.

  “This.” She pulls something out of a bag she’s holding, and there’s a pounding on my door. Cate starts to laugh as she yells, “Hang on, you impatient bitches.”

  “Oh, no. Oh, hell no,” I say, staring at what she holds in her hand.

  “Oh, yes.” She hangs a satin banner across my body that announces in silver glitter to the world—or at least to everyone in Charleston—that I’m the Bachelorette Extraordinaire. But that’s not the end of it. Next, she places a silver tiara covered in rhinestones on my head that says Bachelorette on it.

  In the most sarcastic tone I can muster, I say, “Are you sure we’re heading out to party, or did you just prepare me for Toddlers and Tiaras?”

  She spits out a laugh and grabs my arm as we leave. All the girls are piled up at my front door. Berkeley, Carrie, Britt, Hayley, Lauren, and Sam stand there. When they see me, they give me a round of applause and hand me a shot of something sweet. I have a very bad feeling about this. Then I’m dragged into the waiting limo, and we head off into the night.

  As soon as I sit, an appetizer is shoved into my mouth. “We can’t have you drinking and not eating,” Berkeley announces, so our first stop is food.

  “Great,” I say cheerily. “Definitely don’t want a hangover.”

  “And no throwing up. You got that?” Sam asks. “Ben said for me to tell you that.”

  “Pump the brakes. If you all are going to drown me in shots, I am not making any of those promises. Besides, I’m going to need all the shots I can get in order to be seen in this crap.”

  An intake of air so huge takes place, I’m fearful I will suffocate.

  “Jenna, we are offended. We have gone through a lot of trouble in order to make you bachelorette worthy,” Lauren, the most uptight of them all, says.

  “Uh-huh, I’m sure you did.”

  Laughter ensues.

  “And I’m sure once I’m plastered, pictures of me will be seen all over Instagram, shocking Kenneth to the core.” After I say that, I start to giggle.

  Then Cate adds, “Oh my God, can you imagine?” Everyone howls.

  “Thank God the Balfours don’t have Instagram,” Sam says. “The wedding might be called off.”

  Now that’s a thought. If only.

  Berkeley leans forward and grabs my hand. Never one to be shy, she asks, “Jenna, are you sure about this?”

  I’m holding another shot in my hand. “You gave this to me. Why are you asking?”

  “That’s not what I’m talking about. I’m talking about Kenneth.”

  “Oh.” I stare at the tequila as though it mocks me from the little pink Bride To Be shot glass. Then I muster up my best megawatt grin, hold up my little glass, and say, “Hell yeah, I’m sure.” And down the hatch the hot as fire liquid goes.

  We arrive at our first destination. A table awaits us and we have dinner, which, by any standards, is uneventful. The girls are all acting like a pile of horses at the Kentucky Derby waiting for the gates to open.

  “Okay, ladies, let’s get out of here. You all are driving me crazy.” They practically jump out of their chairs until I remind them we haven’t paid the bill yet. When everything is settled, we hop back into the limo, and our next stop is a club where Berkeley hangs out. She favors it because her favorite drummer, Kylian, is here a lot, even when his band isn’t playing. Unfortunately for me, his band is center stage tonight, which means I’m suddenly the focus of attention.

  Shortly after we enter the place, my name is announced and drinks are purchased in my honor, due to my special night. Kylian congratulates me, and I honestly do feel like I’m on Toddlers and Tiaras as Berkeley drags me to the stage to take a bow. I could crawl into a hole, if there was one. Humiliation courses through me, especially since acting as though I’m happy about this farce is the equivalent to acting thrilled about an upcoming root canal. As soon as the drum roll and congratulations are over, I stumble in haste to get the hell out of the limelight.

  Cate and Sam are cracking up as I rejoin them. “I’m going to kill you all. And this is not funny.”

  “Here,” Lauren says, handing me some kind of pinkish concoction. At this point, I don’t even care what I drink anymore. I only want to forget this moment. Throwing back the shot, I swallow the sickly sweet stuff and shudder.

  “That bad, huh?” someone asks. Looking up, I see it’s Hayley.

  “Too sweet for me.”

  “So, what can I get you next?” She wants to know.

  “Water and then a vodka tonic with extra limes.”

  I envy her as she marches off. She’s free and available to do whatever she wants.

  “What’s up with you?” Cate asks. “You look lost.”

  “Maybe I am,” I confess.

  “Then how about we find you? Let’s dance.”

  “Sure. Why not.”

  After shaking it up for a few songs, I find Hayley. She points to the table where she placed my drinks. I guzzle the water and then the vodka tonic.

  “Whoa, rein it in, girl,” Cate says. “You’ll be face-planting before midnight at that rate.”

  Maybe that’s what I want. But I say, “You’re right. But I was so thirsty.”

  “Okay, guzzle all the water you want, but not the vodka.”

  “Yes, Mother.”

  Berkeley skips up to us and holds a bag in her hand. Why do I have a really bad feeling about this? I find out soon enough.

  “Ta-da. These are just for you.” Then she hangs something around my neck and jabs something into my new drink that Hayley shoves in my hand. When I realize what they are, my face heats to boiling point. I’m wearing a necklace with a dozen or more miniature penises hanging off it, and I have a penis straw sticking out of my drink.

  “Suck it up, babe,” Cate hollers it out. Good Lord, that girl must be plastered already. I glance at Sam, and her hand covers her mouth as she bends at the waist, laughing. Why am I the only one who isn’t laughing? Oh, gee, maybe it’s because I’m marrying someone I don’t want to.

  “Smile,” Berkeley says, and I look at her as she takes a picture. Dear God, help me. What will they do to me next?

  Another round of shots appears, but this time they’re red Jell-O shooters. Oh God. What ar
e we, eighteen?

  “Who ordered these?” I ask.

  Lauren waves at me as she sways on her feet. “I did. I love ’em.”

  I squish mine out of the little paper cup and yell, “Who wants to dance with the penis queen?”

  They all jump up and down, and we head out on the floor. Berkeley waves at Kylian, and he points his drumstick at her and then twirls it around all his fingers.

  “Hey, Berkeley, is he as talented with his other stick as he is with that?” Sam asks.

  Jeez, these girls are trashed already. Did I miss something?

  “I need another shot,” I yell.

  “We got you covered,” Carrie yells and trots off to get me another one. She returns with something clear and announces it’s a Lemon Drop. I down it with gusto.

  Cate yells into my ear something about the wedding, but I can’t hear.

  “What?”

  “So, are you ready?”

  “Yeah, I had my final dress fitting today,” I shout over the music. That’s what put me in a funk. After Mom and I left the bridal shop, I wanted to cry. What should’ve been a happy and exciting time was nothing but depressing. Mom conducted herself as though she was the one walking down the aisle. She didn’t care a thing about me. It was all about her. And the dress—ugh, it’s a ten on the Richter scale—the worst disaster in the history of wedding gowns. But Mom and Mrs. Balfour insisted on it. I just had to have something that society would approve of. It reminds me of something a Southern belle would wear and nothing that I would ever pick out. It’s absurdly over embellished. I’m too plain for the damn thing. You can barely see me in it. All you can see are the sequins, seed pearls, and rhinestones. You almost need sunglasses to look at it. And don’t even get me started on the stupid veil. I didn’t want to wear one, only put a flower or something in my hair. But oh, no. That’s not acceptable. Now I have this tiara that almost looks like the one I have on now, but with layers and layers of tulle that are yards long. I can’t imagine how I’m even going to walk under all the crap I’ll be wearing. And finally, I wanted to wear flats. But they both nearly had strokes when I mentioned it. So I’ll be painfully wearing Jimmy Choos and hobbling around all day.