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

by A. M. Hargrove

  “What’s so funny?”

  “You look like a Disney cartoon.”

  “Yeah, thanks. So, will you help me?”

  “I’m not touching that hairpiece on your head.”

  “It’s not a hairpiece. It’s my own hair.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me. You let someone do that to you?”

  “Shut up, okay? It wasn’t pleasant, and there are probably five hundred bobby pins gouging my scalp right now. I would imagine you’re gaining a lot of pleasure from this.” I know, it’s a bobby pin exaggeration, but I needed to make a point.

  Dana is still laughing. “Yeah, I am. We should put you in the garage and get some grease on that dress.”

  “If I weren’t so worried about Brandon, I’d take you up on that. This stuff itches to high heaven.” I scratch between my boobs because they feel like a dozen ants got loose in there.

  Sighing, she says, “Braedon had a practice run today. He entered in a race that’s happening tomorrow. Some yacht thing.”

  “You mean the regatta that the yacht club is hosting?” I ask.

  She snaps her fingers and says, “Yeah, that’s it. He wanted to do it for the prize money or something.”

  “So?” I prod her.

  “I would try Brandon’s mom’s house.”

  “Oh, right. Do you know where that is?”

  “Not off the top of my head, but I can get her address. Hang on.” She gets on the computer and writes it down, then hands me the piece of paper. “I hope he’s there. And not to help you out. But so he can see how you look now.”

  “Oh, he’s already seen me.”

  “Yeah, but I’m sure your hair looked a little different.”

  My hands move to my locks, and half of it is hanging down and the other half is still pinned up. No doubt I could scare children looking like this. Holding up the paper, I say, “Thanks for this,” and stagger-run back out to the limo.

  This is my last hope as I hand the sticky note to the driver. “This is our next stop.”

  He opens the door for me, and I wedge through the opening, smushing down my dress in order to fit in. If I ever decide to marry again, I swear I’ll be wearing a little black dress. And I’m not kidding either.

  It takes about thirty minutes to get to Brandon’s mother’s house. She lives on James Island, but the traffic is horrible. I guess everyone is out today, either coming or going to the beach. When we finally arrive, I see his bike out front, along with several other cars. I’m unsure of what to do, now that I’m here. But I know one thing—I must see him.

  The driver opens my door, and I lurch up to the front porch and ring the doorbell. A couple of minutes later, the door opens and a small woman stands there, her eyes red from crying. They double in size when they take in my appearance.

  “Can I help you?” She sniffs.

  “I hope so. Is Brandon here?”

  “Yes, he is. Would you like to come in?” Then she calls out, “Brandon, someone is here to see you.” I turn to signal the driver that he can leave. No use in having him hang around here.

  She holds the door wide open, but I have to squish up my dress just to make it through. “I’m really sorry to be such a pain in the butt.”

  “No, it’s fine.”

  “Jenna. What are you doing here?” Brandon stands there, confused.

  Not caring the slightest who’s standing here, I say, “You’re right. I can’t marry Kenneth, especially when I’m in love with someone else. You. There’s so much I have to tell you. But why did you leave like that?”

  He steps up to me, well, as close as he can get because of the gown. His eyes—oh, those eyes—seem to pour everything out of his heart. “I left because Cole called.”

  “Cole?”

  “My father. There’s been an accident. Braedon is missing. His sailboat—He was preparing for the regatta tomorrow, and they’re still trying to piece it all together.” His voice cracks on the last word.

  I try to hug him, but can’t get close enough because of all the stupid tulle that’s acting like a damn barrier. I smash the front of my dress down and throw myself at him. “Oh, Brandon. I’m so sorry. What can I do? I have friends in the yacht club, you know because of my job. Do you need me to make some calls?”

  “No. The police are all over it. I’m sure it’s just a matter of time before he’s found.” Then he stares at me before finally saying, “Did you pick out this thing you’re wearing?”

  “God, no. It’s …”

  He shakes his head. “When I walked in the church, I didn’t quite know what to say. You look like you’re stuck in a snowdrift.”

  “I feel like I am. Try walking in this damn thing. Look.” I lift up my skirt to reveal the layers and layers and layers of tulle.

  “Christ, why would anyone create such a thing?”

  “So my mother and my almost mother-in-law could make a spectacle of me. It’s ghastly, isn’t it?”

  He glances down and asks, “Where the hell are your shoes?”

  “I left them at the church. I couldn’t walk in them. They were five inches high.”

  Suddenly, he laughs. A deep belly laugh. And so do I.

  “Don’t I look like a candle poking out of a cupcake covered in piles of whipped cream?”

  He stops, stares, and says, “Why yes, I think you do.” Then he starts chuckling. It’s contagious, and soon we are both laughing. It’s inappropriate with his brother missing, but maybe the day is getting to both of us and laughing is the only thing we can do outside of crying. “And that hair. What the hell happened to it?”

  “Dad and I started taking it down, but we stopped because there must be a thousand bobby pins in here.”

  “Jesus Christ. Promise me you will never do this to yourself.”

  “Oh, I will never wear anything that closely resembles a wedding gown again.” But when I see his face fall, I add, “I mean, a tasteless wedding gown. And I’ll be wearing my hair down, thank you, with no tiara.”

  “Hey, Mom, can you help Jenna get all these bobby pin things out?”

  Brandon’s mom comes over and says, “Hi, I suppose we should be properly introduced.”

  “Oh, shit. Mom, this is Jenna. Jenna, this is Sherry, my mom. And that’s Kym, Braedon’s fiancée.”

  Kym can barely stand, much less speak. We shake hands, and Sherry says, “I have to say, I’m very happy to hear you didn’t pick this dress out. When I saw you on the front porch, I got really worried about your taste in clothing.”

  “I bet.” We both chuckle, and a man walks in the room who Brandon introduces as Brock, his mom’s boyfriend. She and I go to work on the bobby pin extraction while the men mumble between themselves. “Oh, you have no idea how great this feels.”

  “Why on Earth did you even allow them to do this?” she asks.

  “You don’t want to know. It’s a long and awful story. But it’s over now, and I’m glad to say it is.”

  Once my hair is free, I ask Brandon if he wouldn’t by any chance have some clothes I could borrow.

  “Let’s see if there’s anything in Braedon’s old room. Mom? Do you think there might be?”

  “I’m sure there is.”

  We head down the hall, and Brandon digs through a drawer until he comes up with a T-shirt and a pair of shorts that have a drawstring.

  “You’re going to have to undo the back of this gown.” I waddle-spin so he can see.

  “How many fucking buttons can they put on a dress? And haven’t they heard of zippers?”

  He starts on them, and the little satin loop buttons are tricky as can be. It took forever to get them buttoned.

  “I think I’m going to have to call in my mom. My fingers are too big for this.”

  “Then tear them off. It’s not like I’m ever going to wear this again.”

  “Yeah, but you can donate it to charity or something. It was expensive, I imagine.”

  He gets his mom, and she finagles the buttons much fast
er than Brandon could. When she’s gone, Brandon helps me out of the thing. And when I’m free, he does a double take.

  “Damn.” He stares so long, I start to get self-conscious. “You are gorgeous, you know that?”

  “No one has ever made me feel beautiful like you do.”

  “You deserve someone who makes you feel that way all the time.”

  His statement confuses me. “What are you saying? I thought… You came?”

  “Braedon is the one who told me to go after you.” The moment is sobering.

  There is plenty of time to talk about us. His brother is missing, and that’s the important thing.

  “I’m here for you, and I’ll be here every step of the way. If there’s anything you need, anything at all, you let me know.”

  His chest deflates, as he looks at me with the saddest eyes. I can’t help but walk into his arms and hold him close.

  His words are soft and heartbreaking in my ear. “The Coast Guard has been called in to do an all out search. The boat sustained significant damage, and it’s being towed in. But I’m not sure anything else can be done, other than the search.”

  “That’s not what I meant. I’m here for you. If you need to lean on me, I’ll be here, anytime, any day of the week. Whatever you need, you say the word.”

  “Thank you. I don’t know that there’s anything to do right now but wait.” He shakes his head. “I can’t think straight.”

  “You don’t have to. Just think positive. Nothing is certain yet.”

  He nods, and it’s plain to see he doesn’t believe it. It’s there in his eyes. He’s already assuming the worst.

  He hands me the T-shirt and shorts, and I get dressed. We join his mom as we all wait for news of Braedon.

  Thirty-Seven

  Brandon

  Late that evening, Jenna had fallen asleep on my lap. I carried her to my old bedroom and tucked an afghan around her. Back in the living room, I settle myself on the sofa as Brock ushers my mother out. Red-rimmed eyes don’t mask her exhaustion. He silently pats a comforting hand on my shoulder before leaving with her.

  The TV is on with the news droning about senseless violence and repeating weather reports about the freaky storm that came out of nowhere. Somewhere in between there is a one-minute story about the wreckage and my missing brother, with no updates.

  Resting my arms on my knees, I cover my face, never feeling more useless in my life. My phone buzzes, shocking the shit out of me. With fingers that no longer work, I try with utter desperation to free my phone from my pocket with hope for good news.

  “Brandon,” my father says after my hasty greeting.

  I cover my eyes again, not ready for the man.

  “Yep,” I say.

  “Any news?”

  Worry laces his voice, and I breathe out old wounds. There isn’t time to hate the man, as he’s obviously shaken by Braedon’s disappearance as the rest of us.

  “I hoped you had some,” I admit.

  “Sorry, son. There’s nothing. The cops have spent too much time questioning us,” he means he and his girlfriend, “when they should be focused on the search.”

  “Yeah, us, too.”

  I couldn’t blame the police. They were only doing their job covering all the bases. Mom had lost it. Thank God for Jenna. She soothed her more than I’d known how.

  “Did they allude to foul play?” Dad asks.

  Frowning, I say, “No. Why would they? Clearly, there was wind shear that broke the mast causing the hull to crack.” I’d seen pictures of the destroyed boat on the news. “The storm that came out of nowhere did the rest.”

  “You’re right. He’ll be okay,” Dad says as if he believes it.

  “He will. He’s a strong swimmer. He probably passed out on the island. And when he wakes up, he’ll go for help.”

  But even I’m not sure. It’s been hours. He should have been found by now.

  “When he does, he’ll contact you first. He’s always going on about his big brother. You’re the one he looks up to, not me. You’ve been the man I should have been for him. I should have told him more often how proud I was of him, of both of you,” he adds.

  “What a big brother I turned out to be. I should have been out there with him.” My voice breaks in the middle.

  “Why? So both of you could be lost to us right now? He’ll make it. I believe in him like I believe in you. He was made for the water.”

  “Yeah, I used to call him a merman.” I almost chuckle, but I choke on the words. “He has to make it.”

  Dad, more concerned than he’s ever shown himself to be, blurts, “Should I come over? Your mom—”

  “No, don’t. Brock is here for her. She…”

  She what? Doesn’t need him to confuse the situation, I think. Mom’s weak when it comes to Dad. It’s only in the last few years, she’s learned to stay firm with her no’s.

  Pleas for my brother’s safe return continue to echo in my head long after I hang up with my father. Braedon just has to survive. He’s going to be a father, though the child will lack for nothing. If the worst is true, I will take care of him or her along with Kym.

  Hours turn into days, and by midweek, I have to go into work. Jeff and Dana have pulled in long hours to help out, but it doesn’t make up for an extra pair of hands. Mom’s out of a job at the moment and needing a distraction comes in to help. She works the front, so I can keep doing what I’m good at, because I suck as a brother. If I knew how to scuba dive, I could be out there helping with the search.

  Jenna shows up after work and relieves Mom, handing her over to Brock, who’s driven over to pick Mom up.

  “Brandon,” Mom cries, with the weight of a week gone by and no word.

  “Go get some rest, Mom,” I say, trying like hell to keep my shit together.

  Even I know when hope is lost. Divers, search and rescue on the ground and in the air, haven’t found my brother alive or recovered his body. It’s likely he’s been carried out into the ocean, or so the police have told us. They haven’t given up, but the effort has changed from rescue to recovery.

  Mom squeezes me so tight I wonder where she finds the strength. When she pulls back, she aims a finger at Jenna. “You take care of my boy. He may be all I have left. And I can’t lose the other half of my heart.”

  She breaks down again, and Jenna moves in to embrace her. “I will. I’ll keep him safe.”

  Mom gives up on the brave face she’s donned during office hours for my customers. She manages to keep it together then. But every night that goes by, when she turns the Open sign to Closed, we go through this. And I hate myself for finding some peace in her words that she doesn’t want to lose me, too. I push the thought away, wanting my brother back safe and alive more than Mom’s love.

  I’m thankful for one thing. Jenna’s been spending every night with me, though we haven’t talked much about us, which I appreciate. How can I possibly make things right between us, when my brother could be hurt and lost somewhere?

  “What?” she asks.

  Had I said that out loud?

  “It should have been me,” I admit.

  Her small hand cradles my cheek. “Don’t say that, Brandon.”

  “Why not? He’s the best of us. The last week before he …” I can’t say it, so I skip the words. “He talked about maybe going to medical school. Plus, he has a kid on the way.”

  Jenna had met Kym. The girl’s hysteria rivaled my mother’s. It had been so bad, her parents ventured into town to get her. Talk about an awkward meeting. Her parents had been nothing but kind and supportive to my mom, who had really lost her shit after they took Kym. She cried for hours about not being able to be near the only piece of Braedon she had left, her future grandchild. I blink away those thoughts as Jenna comes back into view.

  She looks at me as if she could cry for the both of us. She leans in and wipes something wet from my cheek.

  “I just want to feel something other than pain,” I say, unsure i
f I said it out loud or not.

  Her fingers wrap around my wrist and lift them so my hand rests on her breast.

  “Let me help you,” she says before gently placing her mouth on mine.

  Suddenly, the lion in my chest roars to life. The blousy material of her button-down easily fists in my hands. I have no mercy when I tear the material to part down the middle. Her gasp is audible, but I’m lost to the find and seek of the pleasure I’ve been denying myself.

  Frantically, she works her bra free, probably fearful I’ll destroy it, too. Buttons still ping on the wood floor as they bounce from the sofa to the floor until they come to rest.

  I work her skirt up to bunch around her hips. Gripping the soft creamy skin of her thighs, I move one hand between her legs. Her back bows in response. I rub a finger between her slit and find her wet for me. Her moan sounds more like a purr. It’s like a mating call, and the fabric of my reality rips much like the scrap of silk I tear off of her. My sanity lasts long enough for me to hastily free myself.

  Then I lower her slowly on my cock to wrap her warmth around me. Groaning, I manage not to lose control and slam myself inside her.

  “Oh, Brandon,” she cries like she’s missed me, missed us.

  She leans forward, pressing her breasts so close I have no choice but to suck the sweet bud that hardens for me into my mouth. Greedily, I devour and nip as she slowly works herself up and down my shaft.

  Sounds of animalistic need fill the space as she manages to seat herself fully on me. All it takes is for her to roll her hips around once and I’m undone. My fingers dig into her flesh as I ride her up and down my length and buck my hips to find the end of her. Each time I hit bottom she whimpers.

  When her walls clamp around me like a lug wrench tightening a bolt, I come so hard, it fills the little space left inside her.

  I swallow her noises and kiss her, not wanting to pull out. Not yet. Reality waits for us on the other side, and I’m not ready to face it.

  “Brandon,” she says, trying to catch her breath.

  I hear the slight smile in her words. My eyes are closed; I can’t look at her just yet.

  “I’m sorry. We shouldn’t have done that. I shouldn’t have,” I say.