Chapter 20
How Not to Impress Your Girlfriend's Dad…
Brooke leaned in close, her breath tickling my ear as she whispered conspiratorially, "It's not too late to fake a medical emergency. I've got WebMD bookmarked on my phone."
I nearly choked on my water, trying not to laugh. "Appendicitis to escape dinner?"
"Food poisoning is more believable," she whispered back, her smile so bright it could power a small city as her mother approached with what I was pretty sure was her fourth glass of wine. "There's a Denny's about ten minutes down the road."
My brows raised. "Are you suggesting we ditch your parents' dinner for Grand Slam pancakes?"
"I'm not not suggesting it.".
I stifled a laugh. We were already seated at her parents' formal dining table.
Escaping now would involve Olympic-level hurdling over fine china and one very judgmental schnauzer.
"It's definitely too late," I murmured through gritted teeth, giving Mrs. Wallace my most charming smile, the one that usually got me out of speeding tickets.
Mrs. Wallace reached for the wine bottle; her eyebrows raised. "How did you two meet?" The question came out slightly slurred, but her curiosity was genuine.
How did we meet?
That was a tricky question. Not necessarily the meeting part, but the how.
My gaze shifted to Brooke, a soft smile pulling at the corner of her lips when her eyes met mine, and I knew she was remembering that first night.
I had two options: Tell the whole embarrassing truth about losing a bet and having to ask out the most gorgeous woman at Murphy's Bar, or…
Before I could decide, Mr. Wallace leaned forward with a smirk that would make the Grinch proud. "What bet did you lose?"
Brooke's face went redder than her mother's wine. "DAD!"
"Actually," Brooke jumped in, shooting her father a look that could have melted his mustache, "we met at Murphy's Bar. Matt was bartending."
Mrs. Wallace's eyes lit up like she'd just discovered they were serving chocolate cake for dessert. She'd clearly had one too many glasses of wine. "Oh, you're a bartender too? How wonderful!"
I rubbed the back of my neck, feeling like I was about to confess to a crime I didn't commit. "Uh, well... not exactly. I may have pretended to be the bartender to work up the courage to talk to Brooke."
The silence that followed was so thick you could have cut it with Mrs. Wallace's good china.
Mr. Wallace looked like he was trying to solve a math problem that didn't add up. "You…" He gestured at me like I was a particularly confusing piece of furniture. "A guy who is always photographed with a different model, needed courage to talk to…"
"The most beautiful woman in the room," I cut him off smoothly, turning to Brooke with what I hoped was my most charming smile.
"So you have a thing for bigger girls," Mr. Wallace said, and the temperature in the room dropped about forty degrees.
I felt my jaw clench so hard I was pretty sure I heard something crack. "I have a thing for incredible women. The fact that Brooke happens to be gorgeous is just a bonus."
"How progressive of you," he said in a tone that suggested it was anything but a compliment.
Mrs. Wallace's knuckles whitened around her fork. She exhaled slowly, visibly composing herself. "That's enough." Her voice was steady, betraying none of the tension coursing through my own body. "Why don't we change the subject?"
I was in Brooke's family home with her mother and father. I could not body slam her father into the table even if I wanted to, and fuck did I want to right now.
The dining room air grew thick with unspoken words and simmering resentment. Each clink of silverware against China plates echoed unnaturally loud in the strained atmosphere.
Brooke sat rigidly in her chair, her shoulders hunched as if trying to make herself smaller. Mrs. Wallace's eyes darted nervously between her husband, Brooke, and me, her hands fidgeting with her cream-colored napkin on the table next to her plate.
Mr. Wallace, apparently immune to his wife's warning signals, pressed on. "So you're a wrestler? That's not exactly what I'd call a stable career."
"Well," I forced a smile, "it's more stable than my brief career as a fake bartender."
Brooke snorted, then tried to cover it with a cough.
"Her ex-husband is a lawyer," Mr. Wallace continued, like he was listing stock prices. "Very successful. Very stable."
The words came out before I could stop them. "Her ex-husband was also a massive," I caught Mrs. Wallace's warning look, but I couldn't stop myself, "dick too."
Mrs. Wallace's fork clattered against her plate as she coughed, while Brooke's eyes widened, her hand flying to cover her mouth mid-chew.
"What I mean," I continued, my voice gaining strength, "is that I don't care if he is the President of the United States or the inventor of sliced bread. Anyone who didn't appreciate what they had with Brooke had their priorities backward."
I dropped my fork with more force than necessary. "And honestly, sir, I'm surprised you'd want your daughter to settle for someone just because of their job title rather than how they treat her."
Mr. Wallace crossed his arms like he was defending a fortress. "I want to know she'll be financially secure."
I felt something snap inside me, not in an angry way, but in a finally-seeing-clearly way.
"Right. Because financial security is definitely more important than, say, emotional support.
Or respect. Or basic human decency." I stood up slowly, my chair making a satisfying screech.
"You know what? I think I've heard enough reviews of your daughter for one evening. "
I swallowed hard, willing the heat rising in my chest to subside.
"Your daughter," I continued, my voice steady but firm, "runs a successful business, makes people happy every single day, and somehow manages to be kind and funny despite having to listen to this kind of nonsense on a regular basis.
" I extended my hand to Brooke. "What do you say we get out of here and get something to eat at Denny's? "
He huffed out a sarcastic laugh. "A coffee shop isn't exactly a career."
Brooke's chest rose and fell with deep, angry breaths as she stared at her father.
"Neither is being a professional disappointment, but you've made it work.
" Brooke's gaze lifted to me. "You know what?
I could really go for some pancakes." She pulled her napkin off her lap and dropped it on the table as she pushed her chair back.
I needed to leave before I throat-punched her father. God, no wonder she didn't believe she was good enough, because that was what she'd heard her entire life. Then she married someone just like him.
As we headed for the door, Mrs. Wallace called out, "It was lovely meeting you, Matt!"
Mr. Wallace just sat there looking like someone had rearranged his furniture. I paused at the doorway, turning back. "Your daughter is an amazingly beautiful woman. She's smart, funny, successful, and she deserves a hell of a lot better than you."
I didn't wait for a response. My hand found Brooke's, my jaw still clenched tight as I pulled her through the house.
Each step through her family home felt like walking through a minefield of toxic memories.
No wonder she'd married someone like Chris.
This was her normal. The front door slammed behind us with a satisfying thud.
Cool evening air hit my face, but it did nothing to calm the fire in my chest. We didn't stop until we reached the end of the driveway, far enough from the house that I could finally breathe.
"What the fuck?" The words exploded out of me. It took a lot for me to lose my temper, but I have never in my life experienced something so vile come from someone who was supposed to love and protect them. It really puts things into perspective, like how lucky I was to have such amazing parents.
Behind me, Brooke's voice was barely audible, a tremor in her words. "I'm sorry."
I turned to face her, my brows furrowed with concern. "Brooke." My hands found hers, squeezing gently. "You have nothing to be sorry for. I'm sorry that you had to live with that…" I ran my hand down my face. "Sorry, I know he's your dad, but…"
She forced a smile, the corners of her mouth lifting while her eyes remained dull. "It's okay. I understand. Davina won't even come here with me anymore because of him."
My hands curled into fists at my sides, then slowly unclenched.
"I can't let him talk to you like that." I met Brooke's eyes, seeing the conflict there.
"I know he's your dad, but…" The words caught in my throat.
I ran a hand through my hair. "I wanted to body slam him on the dinner table. Why do you still come for dinner?"
"For my mom."
"Does he ridicule her like that, too?"
Brooke nodded. "He's had years to destroy her self-esteem, too."
I paced back and forth, brow furrowed in concentration. "Okay." My steps slowed as an idea formed. "Well, we can invite her out to dinner without him or something, but I…" My voice trailed off as I caught sight of Brooke's expression.
Brooke wrapped her arms around herself, shoulders hunching slightly. "This isn't your problem, Matt."
I stepped closer, gently cupping Brooke's face in my hands.
Our eyes met, and I could see the vulnerability in hers.
"Brooke." My voice softened. "You are mine, and that makes you my problem.
If someone hurts you, then they hurt me too, and everything he said to you hurt me, so I know it had to hurt you. "
Brooke's gaze drifted to the distance, her eyes glazing over with memories.
"I used to try really hard to make him happy.
" A bitter smile twisted her lips. "But the only time he's ever said he was proud of me was when I married Chris.
" She shook her head, refocusing on me. "I stopped trying to make him happy a long time ago.
I know who he is, and that's never going to change. "
I searched her face. My voice was soft but intense. "So, are you trying to tell me you are going to continue to endure that kind of treatment for the rest of your life?"
Something shifted in Brooke's expression. Her shoulders straightened, and a spark of determination lit her eyes. "No, you're right." She took a deep breath, her voice growing stronger. "I'm done."
I reached out, gently taking Brooke's hands in mine. My thumbs traced circles on her skin as I spoke, my voice filled with concern. "I don't want you to do this for me." I hesitated, studying her face. "If you're not ready…"
She raised a hand, cutting me off mid-sentence. Her voice came out sharp. "No. I hate coming here for dinner. I honestly thought since you were with me, he wouldn't do it, or at least not as bad, but I guess he hates you as much as me."
"I'm okay with him hating me," I said. "Even if I don't understand why, but I'm not okay with him talking to you or about you like that."
For a moment, we stood there under the streetlight, the weight of everything unsaid hanging between us. Then Brooke's expression shifted, and I caught a glimpse of something playful beneath the hurt.
"Can we circle back to that part where you said I'm yours?" Her fingers found my shirt, tugging gently.
The tension in my shoulders finally began to ease. "You caught that, huh?" My hands curled around her hips.
Her lashes fluttered. "Uh huh and…" The heat of her breath fanned across my lips. "…I like the sound of it."
My lips crashed against her. The kiss was frantic and uncoordinated, but so fucking hot. I'd always prided myself on self-control, but when it came to Brooke, I had none. It was like I'd been waiting my entire life for her, and I hadn't even known I was looking for her.
My hands dove into her hair as her lips parted, and I deepened the kiss, completely forgetting we were standing outside her parents' house. Not that I really cared, not after that shit show they called a family dinner. Let them watch. Let them see how truly obsessed I was with their daughter.
She pulled her lips from mine, inhaling sharply. "Can we get out of here?"
I nodded. "You really want to go to Denny's?"
"I'm starving."
I smiled. "How about pancakes, and then we go to my place for a drink?"
"That sounds amazing."