That Swoony Feeling

by Quinn, Meghan

  Seriously, best friends ever.

  * * *

  “One, two, three.” Harper smashes Rogan square in the face with what looks like chocolate and cherry cake.

  Everyone cheers and laughs.

  I sip my drink, thankful for the half basket of bread I had during dinner to soak up the alcohol I’ve imbibed.

  Brig has approached me multiple times but thanks to my bodyguards, I’ve avoided any confrontation . . . until now.

  Someone snags my arm and pulls me off to the side while pictures are being taken of the happy couple with cake on their faces.

  “Ruth, we need to talk. Now.”

  “Not really feeling like it.” Apparently, that’s not an option, as he pulls me farther off to the side. We moved inside to the ballroom for cake and dancing and now I’m in a hallway, pinned by Brig.

  Where are those bodyguards?

  When we are far enough away from the party, Brig asks, “You’re Summer?”

  “Are you really that dense, Brig? Or should I call you . . . Whoopie Pie?”

  “Jesus Christ,” he says, dragging a hand over his face. “Did you purposefully deceive me?”

  My eyes shoot open and his words are a sobering slap.

  “Excuse me? I wanted nothing to do with the summer program. Rylee filled out everything. The only reason I wrote back was because she pointed out that you’d cry yourself to sleep over someone not answering you about how they eat their spaghetti.” My words are flying out, mean-spirited. This is not who I am, but frustration and alcohol are colliding at the brink of insanity, and the result isn’t pretty. And to be brutally honest? My heart is shattered. It was broken, so completely broken when I lost my parents. And Brig’s rejection is close to that level of pain. I had a glimpse of a bright and happy future, but one moment in time crushed that. Obliterated that. And it fucking hurts.

  “Fuck,” he whisper-shouts. “It was you.” Now both hands pull on the back of his neck and his eyes dart at mine. “Were you ever going to fucking tell me? Or were you going to just continue to play both roles?”

  “Are you really playing the victim card right now, Brig?”

  “I’m trying to fucking understand what’s going on? Christ, Ruth. A month and a half ago you were just the girl handing me coffee—”

  “Exactly, Brig. I was just the girl handing you coffee. It wasn’t until I practically threw myself at you that you saw me as someone worth spending time with.”

  “That’s not fucking fair,” he says, his anger startling. “I spoke to you. I struck up conversations, or at least attempted to. But you never engaged. Even when I took you to see the Parlor for the first time, it was like I was dragging you out against your will. How am I supposed to react when the person I’m trying to have a conversation with doesn’t want to talk to me?”

  “I—”

  “Hello, you two,” Mrs. Knightly says, coming up to us while placing a kind hand on both of our shoulders. “Whatever’s happening between you, can you maybe wait until tomorrow? You’re starting to draw attention.”

  My face blanches and my heart sinks. People can hear us? That’s the last thing I wanted. I glance toward the ballroom where I see a few people looking down the hallway.

  Crap.

  “Oh my gosh. I’m so sorry, Mrs. Knightly,” I say quickly.

  “It’s okay. Rogan and Harper haven’t noticed, but thought I’d stop you two before it got out of hand or ended up . . . with your clothes off.”

  “Jesus, Mom,” Brig groans, as I feel my face turn bright red.

  “Well, there’s a lot of heat over here.”

  “I assure you, no heat,” I say, stepping away. “I apologize again. I’m going to say goodbye to Rogan and Harper and then take off.”

  “Oh honey, you don’t have to leave,” Mrs. Knightly says.

  I glance at Brig. “Yes, I do.”

  “Ruth. We’re not done here,” Brig says through clenched teeth.

  I give him one last glance and say, “We really are.”

  And then I leave to find the happy couple. I’ve stayed long enough, it’s time to go wallow in my apartment. It’s time to burn some letters that were simply a fantasy.

  A dream.

  Exciting while it lasted but devastating when I woke up.

  Chapter Eighteen

  BRIG

  Head against the steering wheel of my car, I take a deep breath.

  Fuck, I’m hung over.

  After Ruth left the wedding, I spent the rest of the night only a few feet away from the open bar, trying to erase the memory of the last twenty-four hours.

  Note to self: alcohol erases nothing, just makes you feel worse the next morning.

  Griffin and Reid both tried to talk to me last night. Probably because every time I looked up, I saw my mom’s eyes locked on me, a disapproving look in her stare. I turned both my brothers down though, told them I was fine, and if they came near me again, I’d start screaming and cause a scene.

  Thankfully they know me enough to understand that was not an empty threat.

  Head still on the steering wheel, I twist just slightly to take in the house I grew up in. Old worn shaker shingles cover the outside, while a bright teal door welcomes visitors into the house. Right against the harbor. I have so many memories from this house that it’s comforting just to see it.

  But I’m dreading going inside today.

  The brunch after the wedding. Just our family and Harper’s dad, and yet, I know it’s going to be unpleasant, especially because of my mom. I’ve never seen that look shot my way.

  I wanted to text Ruth last night. I wanted to ask her to talk, but would you believe it, we NEVER exchanged phone numbers. Ever.

  What the hell is that about?

  And I was ready to walk over to her place to confront her when Reid and Eve shoved me in their car and took me home. Reid tucked me in bed, patted my face a little too hard for my liking, and then left. The warmth of my comforter and mattress sucked me into an alcohol-induced coma and left me feeling wretched this morning. Especially from the scent of Ruth all over in my bed.

  Total fucking nightmare swirling between my head and my stomach. I’ll be lucky if I can keep anything down this morning.

  The only goal for today? Don’t puke at the after-wedding brunch.

  Retrieving my keys from the ignition, I take one more deep breath and slowly ease my way out of my car, shutting the door behind me.

  I forced myself to take a shower this morning to wash off the booze and put something decent on. And when I say decent, I mean a step up from sweatpants. I make my way down the stone walkway that leads to my parents’ house, but I pause at the door, hand on the handle.

  You can do this. Just keep to yourself and don’t draw any attention.

  I open the door and the hairs on the back of my neck rise, because instead of laughter and obnoxious bantering, I’m met with complete silence.

  Shit . . .

  Don’t freak out. Maybe they’re outside on the deck.

  Then again, I would have heard them when I was outside.

  Cringing, I step inside, slide my shoes off, and look to the left where I spot my family in the living room, sitting in a half circle. Quiet . . . waiting.

  Oh hell.

  Jen greets me at the door, a deranged smile on her face. “Brig, you’re here.”

  I glance toward the living room again. “Why are you talking psychotically like that?”

  She reaches out and grabs my arm, gripping it securely, leaving me no room to bolt. “Right this way, brother.”

  Guiding me with more mustard behind her grip than I care for, she sits me on a single chair in front of everyone.

  Eve is sitting on Reid’s lap. Mom and Dad share the loveseat. Griffin and Ren are next to them, and Harper is sitting on Rogan’s lap.

  I shift in my seat, rubbing my hands on my pants. “What is this, an intervention?” I ask, trying to inject some humor into the somber room.

  “Y
es . . . it is,” Mom says, folding her hands together. “Brig, we love you, but we have all come to an agreement.”

  “On what?” I ask, my head pounding, the need for a drink overwhelming.

  Dad puts his arm around Mom’s shoulder and says, “We agreed that you’re an absolute moron.”

  Oh.

  Well, what a fucking delightful thing to be told by your family when you feel you’ve been run over by a ten-ton truck.

  “Is this about Ruth?” I ask. “Because if it is, I don’t want to talk about it. I have a wicked hangover and I just need some bacon.” I sniff the air. “Is there any bacon cooking? My stomach is rolling and something greasy would really help.”

  “This is about you being a moron,” my dad repeats, with more . . . gruff to his voice this time. It’s the seldom-used ill-tempered tone that makes you zip your mouth and listen.

  Sweat trickles at my temples. My mouth waters. I hold up a finger and say, “I’m not trying to be a drama queen, but I’m . . . uh . . . really not feeling well.”

  “You’re not getting out of this,” Mom says. “This has gone on long enough.”

  Stomach rolls.

  Oh boy.

  More sweat. But now my mouth turns into a gusher.

  Griffin lifts his eyebrow.

  Reid’s eyes narrow.

  Rogan says, “Oh shit, he’s going to—”

  I reach for the closest thing next to me, open it wide, and puke out my bad decisions from last night.

  “That’s unpleasant,” Dad says.

  “Why is his retching so violent?” Reid adds.

  “Is he passing a boot out of his throat?” Griffin asks.

  “That’s my purse,” Harper, the newlywed, sighs.

  Oh fuck.

  I convulse more one time and when I think I’m done, I lift my face away to glance at my puke bag and yup . . . that’s a purse.

  Shyly, I try to grin at Harper, but all I see is a livid Rogan.

  “Uh, were you planning on keeping this?” I ask, holding up the bag. “Aren’t you supposed to get a new purse when you get married? Kind of like a new driver’s license? You know, switch over the last name, switch the purse too?”

  “You’ll be buying her a new one,” Rogan says.

  “Yup.” I nod. Just as Jen hands me a water and a plate of bacon. She’s an angel—always loved me the most out of all my brothers. “You’ve been sent from above to be my guardian,” I say to her, wanting to rub my clammy cheek against her arm for comfort.

  Jen removes the purse from my hands and takes it to the deck, because she’s a good sister. Harper follows closely behind.

  “I’m sorry,” I say, reaching out only to pick up a piece of bacon and shove it into my mouth, followed by a large gulp of water.

  The room is silent as my family stares at me, watching me take bite after bite of bacon until I feel like I’m okay.

  One more swig of water, and I set the plate of bacon on the coffee table.

  “So about this whole Ruth thing,” I say. “I think we should all just let me handle it—”

  “Yeah, that sounds like a great idea,” Griffin says, sarcasm flooding his voice. “Because from the sounds of it, you’re handling it perfectly. Both of you were angry drunk last night, bickering, and Ruth left crying.”

  “She was crying?” I ask, my hands clenching into fists.

  “Yes, she was,” Eve answers.

  Shit.

  I chew on my cheek, thinking back to last night and the ridiculous and painful drama.

  “Are you really playing the victim card right now, Brig?”

  “I was just the girl handing you coffee. It wasn’t until I practically threw myself at you that you realized I was worth spending time with.”

  The shock, the confusion . . . the idiotic things I said. Huh . . . maybe I am a moron.

  “She was the one writing me letters,” I say, solemnly.

  “Good God, Brig,” Mom says. “We know.”

  “You know? Did she tell you?”

  “We knew way before that,” Rogan says, just as the doorbell rings.

  I glance toward the entry. “If that’s Ruth, I will puke in everyone’s purses. I’m not kidding. One bad whiff of something and I’m rearing to go.”

  From the back deck, Jen bounds down the hall and opens the door.

  “Mrs. Davenport, thank you for coming over this morning.”

  Mrs. Davenport? What is she doing here?

  “Not a problem at all,” comes Mrs. Davenport’s shaky voice. She walks into the living room and Rogan quickly stands from his seat, offering her a cushioned chair. Mrs. Davenport and Rogan are close, so when she reaches up and pats his cheek, I know it’s a loving gesture within their friendship.

  Once seated, she folds her hands in her lap and looks me in the eyes, “Brig Knightly, you’re a moron.”

  Jesus.

  Leaning back, I toss my hands up and say, “What the hell? You know I’m fucking sensitive, so I can only take the moron comment so much.”

  “Don’t swear at Mrs. Davenport,” Dad booms.

  “I wasn’t swearing at her. I was swearing to the room.” My dad’s eyes sharpen and my balls shrivel up. “Sorry, won’t happen again.”

  Jen sits on the arm of the couch and says, “Brig, we’re all here because we’re worried about you.”

  Here it comes, the intervention.

  “We were so worried that we teamed up with Mrs. Davenport to help you.”

  “Help me?” I ask, looking around, now detecting some guilty faces. “What are you talking about?”

  They all look at each other and then Rogan steps up just as Harper returns from the deck. “The Summer of Love program. Uh, that was all a farce.”

  “What?” I seethe. “The letters were fake?”

  “No.” Rogan shakes his head. “The program was fake. You and Ruth were the only ones participating in it. We designed it specifically for you and Ruth, so you could get to know her better.”

  “You set me up?” They all nod. “Every single one of you?” They nod again. “Why?”

  “Because you’re a moron,” my dad says, only for my mom to press her hand against his leg.

  “Brig, we love you dearly, but this whole curse thing had taken over your life. You’ve been trying so hard to ‘break’ it,” she says, using air quotes, “that you’ve missed the chance at love right in front of you. Ruth has crushed on you for so long. We all knew she’d be perfect for you. Just enough give and take between you two for a solid friendship that blossoms into a life-long relationship. But you needed a nudge, and we knew if we did it in an offhand way, you’d go for it.”

  I push my hand through my hair. “I can’t believe you deceived me. You all acted like you had no idea what was going on.”

  “It was for your own good,” Rogan says. “You needed a shove in the ass. Ruth’s amazing.”

  “She’s beautiful and smart,” Griffin adds.

  “Funny and outgoing with a caring heart,” Mom says.

  “Your exact type and you didn’t even see it,” Reid says with annoyance. “We were sick of watching you look straight through her, hurting her unintentionally, so we did something about it. And then you went and fucked it up.”

  “Hold on,” I say, sitting up now, my mind spinning. “What about the whole Parlor thing? Did you set that up with Mrs. Burberry?”

  Griffin chuckles. “That was Rylee’s idea actually. She’s been a great help in all of this.”

  “I can’t fu—uh, freaking believe this,” I say, catching myself. “You had no right butting into my business.”

  “We did,” Harper says. All eyes turn on her. She gazes at me softly. “Brig, I’ve known you since you were a little boy, and I’ve cherished watching you grow into the man you are today. Therefore, I also saw the toll the curse took on you. I’m not saying I believe in anything that happened in New Orleans, but I do know it affected you deeply. I watched you lose faith in love. In yourself. I watched
you try so hard that you kept missing every chance you had. And I watched you day in and day out, speak to a girl who wanted—deserved—your attention, and you didn’t even notice her. We might have matched you guys together, but you did the work. You put in the time to get to know her. You built the connection, and you’re the one who’s letting it slip through your fingers without giving her a fighting chance.” She takes a deep breath. “You love her.”

  My eyes fall to my lap, as I mentally sift through the last few weeks. My time spent with Ruth meshing with the letters. The feelings I felt for the anonymous person clashing with the even stronger feelings I felt for Ruth.

  She is smart.

  She is funny and outgoing.

  She is kind and caring.

  But she’s sassy. She tells me like it is. She doesn’t take my shit.

  And she’s beautiful. Fuck, is she beautiful. And the way she looked at me the other night when I was thrusting deep inside her, like I was the only man that’s ever mattered. How she stroked my hair at night when we were sleeping, the hugs she gave me when I walked into the room followed by the happiest smile I’ve ever seen . . .

  Fuck.

  “I love her,” I say, looking up at everyone. “I love her so fucking much.”

  “Brig,” my dad chastises, but my mom pats his legs again.

  “I think that warranted a swear word.” Turning to me, Mom says, “Okay, you love her, now what are you going to do about it?”

  I glance at Reid. “She was crying last night?”

  “Yeah, dude. She was.”

  Eve chimes in. “She woke up yesterday morning thinking she was yours, only to realize you weren’t ready to commit to her.”

  “Moron,” Dad mutters, shaking his head.

  “Well I’m ready now,” I state.

  “The blinders are off?” Rogan asks.

  Some might say . . . the old mind has matured. Damn you, witchy palm reader. Damn you!

  I nod. “I’m seeing clearly, possibly for the first time in a long time.” Had I not witnessed my brothers find their own happily ever afters, I may not have been able to see this. They found love. And somehow, despite the curse . . . love found me. The blinders are off. “Now the question is, how do I show her how much I love her?”