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

by A. M. Hargrove

  “Thanks, but I’ve been at Brandon’s for the last few weeks. I’m just going to stay here. I’ll be fine. I’m a survivor. We all do what we have to do to get by, don’t we?”

  “Yeah, we do. Love you, sis.”

  As I watch them walk to their car together, I think about how life throws the unexpected at you. Cate was dealt an awful blow when she lost her husband and Ben lost his best friend. Then Sam with her cancer scare. I look at what Brandon is going through. Then there’s Kenneth in dealing with his issues and his parents. And me with all my shit. Life is never fair. You have to take the punches and the jabs, expect the bruises, heal, and deal, because if you don’t, what do you have left?

  Thirty-Nine

  Brandon

  The note burns in my hand as I fold it and put it back in the envelope.

  Kym glances at me. “Is it from Jenna?”

  I nod and try to forget. I’m not sure what hurts more, that my brother is no longer with us or that I’ve lost the woman I love.

  “She hasn’t been around much. Is everything okay between you two?”

  I hesitate, not knowing what to say, but settle on the truth.

  “Things didn’t work out,” I admit.

  “What? Why?” She looks panicked at the thought.

  “How about you?” I ask, changing the subject. “You seem to be feeling better.”

  The last few days she hasn’t been sick as much.

  “Better and worse,” she says. “The morning sickness has stopped, knock on wood. But I don’t know how I’m going to do this without him.”

  I rest a hand on her shoulder. “You won’t be alone. I’ll be here for you, always.”

  Her smile is brave, but not all there.

  “And who will be here for you? You’re always taking care of everyone else.”

  “Don’t worry about me,” I say, grabbing my keys. “We should get going.”

  Mom has made a point for us to have dinner together at least once a week. Tonight, I have to convince her to hold a memorial service for Braedon.

  “Brandon,” Mom calls when we arrive, giving me an enthusiastic greeting.

  What shocks me is seeing my dad there at the table talking to Brock and no one is angry. It’s probably a good thing. As much as I don’t want to give up on the possibility of Braedon being alive, it’s been a month and nothing. The news doesn’t mention it anymore. The police have completely given up the search unless a credible tip comes in and none have.

  After Kym and Mom stop clinging together and join us at the table, I say, “I think it’s time we talk about having a memorial service.”

  The hardest thing I’ve ever had to do is write my brother’s virtues down on paper. Seeing them only rekindles the unfairness of his death. He had so much more to live for than I do. Hell, Jenna hasn’t tried to contact me outside of her note. And though I don’t blame her in some respects, it hurts that she hasn’t once tried to convince me to change my mind. So I have to conclude she agrees with my decision to put the brakes on us.

  A little over a week later, I stand at the plot of ground that holds nothing but a temporary plaque until the one we ordered is made. Mom insisted on buying a plot. The ground underneath holds nothing yet. But if he’s ever found …

  “He will forever be remembered,” the pastor says.

  The turnout is large. My brother’s friends from high school and college are here in force to say their goodbyes. The words I plan to say are few because the rest are for Braedon alone. Somehow, I hope he knows how much I miss him.

  When it’s my turn, I move to stand in front of the crowd. I’ve never been one for public speaking. Here goes nothing.

  “My brother was not only the life of the family, he was the light. He hardly ever had a bad word to say about anyone. If he did, it would be more in jest and never malicious. That’s the kind of guy he was. I find it hard to find joy in anything with him gone, until my brain conjures his words, like him telling me to get laid and all will be well.” That gets a few chuckles. Mom glares at me, but remembering that makes me want to smile and not want to break things. “But what makes me the saddest is he won’t get to be the father he planned to be.” My voice loses strength, and I have to clear my throat to continue. “I can only hope I’ll be half as good an uncle as he would have been a father. And I hate the saying that’s all too true—only the good die young.”

  There is so much more I could have said, but it feels as though I’m being choked. So I nod and go back to my spot. The pastor asks if anyone would like to speak, and a steady stream of well-wishers tells stories about my brother that mirror the great person he was. By the time it’s over and most everyone is gone, I turn and am surprised to see Jenna waiting several feet away.

  As if tethered, we start toward each other and meet somewhere in the middle. Her eyes appear dry, but they are red-rimmed, and the hug she gives me is way too awkward. We stumble back and try to smile, but it’s false for both of us.

  “How are you?” she asks and moves her head side to side. “Never mind. I should say I’m sorry.” I nod. She glances over to where my mom, dad, and Kym still talk to stragglers. “How’s your mom?”

  “Hanging in there.”

  “I spoke to her the other day. I hope you don’t mind.”

  “No.”

  It feels weird to stand before her and not touch her. The divide between us has never been greater.

  “How’s Kym?” she asks.

  “Better.”

  Her eyes widen, and I don’t think it’s because of my answer, but my lack of conversation. Truth is, I want this Q&A over. It physically hurts knowing she’s so close yet so far.

  She sucks in air like she needs it in order to say what she’s planned to. “How are the wedding plans going?”

  I stare at her, not sure I heard her correctly. “Wedding?”

  She’s quick with an answer. “Yeah, you said you would marry her.”

  Shaking my head, I say, “No, you asked if would I marry her, and I told you if I thought it was the best thing for my niece or nephew, I would.”

  She searches my eyes.

  “What possible reason would you have to marry your brother’s girlfriend? That’s kind of creepy.”

  Anger at myself, at her, at this whole situation fuels my temper.

  “I don’t know, Jenna. It was never my plan. You brought it up. But if you want one, healthcare is a good reason. If Kym can no longer be on her parents’ insurance plan and if it turns out to be too expensive for me to pay for her coverage as a single mother and it would be cheaper if I had family coverage, then yes, I would marry her. And not for love. It would be an arrangement in paper only. Hell, people marry all the time for less altruistic reasons. You should know that.”

  “Wow,” she says like I’ve slapped her with my words, and maybe I have. “Here I’d thought we could have taken care of her together. I would have been willing to give up my job to help her out.”

  “You never said any of that,” I say, stunned by her admission.

  “How could I? You basically broke up with me after we had sex. I never had the chance. Plus, I’d been there for you. Why would you ever think I wouldn’t have worked with you to help Kym? What if this happened while we were married? Would you have divorced me?”

  “Of course not.”

  We stare at each other as if we were at a standoff, and maybe we are.

  “You hurt me,” she whispers.

  I want to reach out to her.

  “I never meant to hurt you. I thought I was doing what was best at the time. You can’t imagine how miserable I’ve been without him, without you.”

  “He has,” Kym says, coming to stand next to me. “He’s like a robot.”

  I glare at Kym, feeling slightly betrayed she doesn’t have my back.

  “A great robot, but a robot. He goes to work. He comes home. He takes care of his mother and me, rinse, and repeat.” She twirls a finger in the air.

  “Appare
ntly, not only did I fail as a brother, I’m failing at everything else.” I toss up my hands, ready to walk away. I just need some air.

  Kym’s next words break the stalemate. On a sob, she says, “You guys can have what I’ll never have with Braedon. Don’t let pride and stubbornness keep the two of you apart.”

  She stalks away, and I open my eyes to see Jenna watching Kym’s retreat.

  “Jenna,” I blurt her name, hoping she’ll understand what words can’t.

  “Don’t,” she says, moving forward.

  Then she’s on her toes pressing her lips to mine. I circle my arm around her waist because it’s the first time since she fled my house I can truly breathe.

  When she pulls back, I say, “I’m sorry. I’m stupid.”

  “No, I am.”

  Then we are kissing. It feels like heaven finally shines a light on me. Maybe it has. Maybe Braedon wouldn’t have said go get laid. More likely he would have told me to go get my girl.

  “I love you, Jenna.”

  Clapping breaks us apart. Mom comes over, but she doesn’t take me in a hug, it’s Jenna. She whispers something, then pulls back.

  Her face flames red as Mom steps back.

  “Jenna, this is my dad, Cole.”

  “Nice to meet you. So you’re the one.”

  I glare at him, not wanting him to repeat what we’ve talked about. And it’s weird to think that through this tragedy, I’ve gotten closer to my parents.

  “Anyway, I’ve only heard great things.”

  They all drift away, giving us a few more minutes. I’m not sure what to say.

  “Can I call you?”

  She nods. “You better or that’s it.” She laughs though while saying it.

  “I’ve missed you so damn much,” I admit.

  “After I called you a few choice names and calmed down, I missed you, too.”

  “Am I forgiven?”

  Her smile gives me hope. “Why don’t we agree to forgive each other? In fact, you should come to Sunday dinner.”

  “What?”

  She nods. “I told you, my family wants to meet you. Well, I’m not talking to my mother, but everyone else would love to meet you.”

  I lean in and give her a kiss while pulling her close. “Sunday dinner it is.”

  Forty

  Jenna

  Brandon pulls his Harley to a stop and cuts the engine. We both dismount and remove our helmets. I’m really breaking tradition today, as I glance down at what I’m wearing. Jeans at Sunday dinner isn’t what Mom would exactly be thrilled about. But I don’t give a damn. She still owes me a huge apology, and until I get one from her, she can shove her little rules where the sun doesn’t shine.

  “You sure about this?” I ask Brandon.

  “Yep. I’m as ready as ever.”

  “But my mom.” I look up at the imposing structure of the house.

  Brandon shrugs. “She doesn’t scare me. I just lost one of the most important people in my life.” Then he looks at me and says, “I have my priorities lined up. I’m not going to let her opinion of me ruin anything. Come on.” He holds out his hand and up the steps we go.

  When I open the door and we step into the foyer, my dad is already walking toward us. “Jenna, baby.” His arms wrap me in a hug. “I am so happy you came. We’ve missed you these past Sundays, and I know Betty can’t wait to see you.” Then he turns to Brandon and holds out his hand. “Brandon, it’s great to see you again. And under better circumstances.” Then he shocks the hell out of me when he leans in and mutters, “And thank God she’s wearing something a hell of a lot more flattering today, huh?” He winks.

  Brandon chuckles, and I say, “Dad! You just had to bring that up, didn’t you?”

  “Oh, yeah.”

  “But you can’t blame me for that horrid dress. It was not my choice.”

  “Thank God,” Dad says, laughing. “Now, come on. I know Betty is just dying to see you.”

  He walks us past Mom’s famous parlor, but I stop him. “Where’s Mom?”

  “Where do you think?”

  The door to her special room is closed. Deciding to take the higher road, I move toward it.

  “Jenna?” Dad asks.

  “Might as well move on. Come on, Brandon. I want to introduce you to my mom.”

  Dad only shakes his head.

  Opening the door, I don’t hesitate for the slightest second, but move straight over to my mom. This time, however, I don’t bother with the customary lowering of myself for the kiss on the cheek. I walk with assuredness to stand directly in front of her, and in a neutral tone say, “Hi, Mom, I believe you’ve already met Brandon, my boyfriend.”

  She sets down the book she was reading on the settee, and says, “Yes, I believe we have.” It’s not a warm greeting at all, but I wasn’t expecting one.

  Brandon, on the other hand, gives her a smile that would melt the polar ice cap and says, “Brandon Connelly, ma’am, and it’s a pleasure to see you again.”

  When she takes in the whole picture of him, from his jeans to his tattoos, her upper lip curls, and she says in a haughty tone, “Well, Barton, it’s good to see you.”

  “Mom, it’s Brandon.”

  “Yes, Bradley.”

  Before I can utter another word, Dad marches over to Mom and says, “Julia,” in a tone warning her to be nice, I suppose.

  Her gaze bounces between Dad and me. Maybe she’s too embarrassed to look at Brandon. Who knows?

  Since this is becoming a little too heated and uncomfortable, I steer Brandon out of the room and down the hallway. Besides, I’m sure Dad would rather have this conversation without an audience, not to mention, it’s more than a little embarrassing for me to have Brandon in the middle of that argument. “Well! That was fun!”

  He starts to say something, when I hear, “Miss Jenna! Oh my goodness, aren’t you a sight for this old woman?”

  Laughing, I run into Betty’s open arms and say, “You aren’t even close to being old. But boy, is it good to see you. I’ve missed you, Betty.”

  “And who is this fine young man you brought with you?” Her smile is so wide it almost stretches clear across her face.

  “This is Brandon. My real boyfriend.”

  Betty stands back, still smiling, and says, “Well, I’ll be. You sure picked a fine one, yes, you did.”

  “I think so.” I grab Brandon’s arm, dragging him closer to Betty. “Brandon, this is Betty, and wait until you taste Betty’s cooking. You’ll think you died and went to heaven.”

  He shakes her hand, and she says, “Oh, hush, you. Now, tell me. What did your mama have to say about all this?”

  “We left. She and Dad started to have a discussion. Well, Dad’s giving her up the road, you know?”

  “Oh, Lordy. Mr. Martin sure must have a bee in his bonnet to go after her again. Whew. I thought I’d seen the end of it that day you left that other boy at the altar—and thank God you finally came to your senses there. Mr. Martin, he sure was mad at her. I’d never heard him so much as raise his voice at Ms. Julia, but I was sure the windows were going to explode that day.”

  “I think he’s had enough of her arrogance and her acting as though she’s better than others. Dad wasn’t raised like that, and she wasn’t either. So he’s putting his foot down.”

  “You know, Jenna, this is something new for her in the last couple of years. I think it’s that silly garden club she joined. She never was like that until she got involved with that nasty bunch of women.”

  Interesting. I didn’t know she’d joined a garden club. I wonder if Dad knows.

  “Maybe Dad can talk some sense into her. Anyway, we’re excited to eat one of your spectacular meals.”

  Brandon, who hasn’t said anything, probably because the conversation has centered on my mom, says, “Yes, Jenna has been bragging about your cooking. I can’t tell you how much I am looking forward to this.”

  Betty preens. If one thing gets to her, it’s compliments ab
out her culinary talents. “Well, I hope I live up to your expectations.”

  Ben and Sam show up a little while later, and we head to the terrace to hang out.

  My brother says to Brandon, “It’s about time we get to spend some time with the guy who Jenna’s so crazy about.”

  “Ben!” I say. “Jeez, can’t you be a little more subtle?”

  Brandon grabs my hand and says, “I’m glad he’s blunt. And it’s great to finally spend time with you all, too. Jenna talks about the two of you a lot.”

  “Not nearly as much as she talks about you, I’ll bet,” Ben says.

  “Ben,” Sam scolds him. “Were you always such a tattletale?”

  “Yes, he was,” I say.

  Brandon laughs. “My little brother …” He goes silent.

  “Hey, I totally understand,” Ben says. “I’m so sorry for your loss. If you ever need anything, and I mean anything, please call me.” Then Ben turns my way and says, “Make sure your guy has my number. I’m serious.”

  “Thanks, man,” Brandon says. “It’s been pretty damn hard, I have to say.”

  “I know. Don’t try to get through this on your own. It doesn’t work. Trust me on this,” Ben says. “I don’t know much about things, except maybe investments, but I know way more than my share about losing someone. Ask them if you don’t believe me.”

  “No, I believe you. And I’m sure I’ll take you up on your offer at some point.”

  “So tell me about your business. My sister says you handle all kinds of imports. And don’t take this question as me being insensitive to your brother. I thought maybe you’d appreciate a change in subject.”

  My brother sure gets it. Brandon smiles, only a slight one, but it’s a smile nonetheless. Then he launches off on the topic of what he handles, and everything is better momentarily.

  Soon, Betty informs us that dinner is ready, and she doesn’t disappoint. The food is spectacular. As we eat, Mom barely says a word, and she sits there like a child who’s been disciplined by her father. Dad is more quiet than usual, but much more conversational than Mom.