Chapter 4 – Braelyn #2
I laugh lightly. “You mean like what you’re going through?”
“Different,” she tells me. “Aston and I got married out of convenience and it turned into more. You were going to marry for love from the start.”
“Whatever. Love shmuve. Saying yes to him when he proposed was the easiest thing I’ve ever done, and look where that got me.” I pause for a moment, lick my lips, and say, “Roman wants to take me to Vegas next week for his restaurant opening and then on to Mexico after.”
“What?” both say in unison. “How does that work?” Skylar finishes.
“He has to go for work, and I’d be tagging along, I guess. Roman said he’d take care of the arrangements and that it’s a business expense, which is code for he won’t let me pay.” I brush my hair back from my face and draw my knees up to my chest on the chair. “Am I crazy if I go?”
“No,” Quinn replies. “I think it’s a great idea, actually. Leave town. Get away for a week or two. Get some distance and mental clarity.”
“Yes,” Skylar agrees. “I think it’ll be good for you, honestly. I’d give anything to get out of March in Boston and go to Las Vegas, then a Mexican resort. You’ll have a few drinks, relax by the pool and the beach, read some books, eat some amazing food, and chill out with Roman.”
When she puts it like that… “You’re right. I’m way overthinking this.”
“Then don’t,” Quinn retorts. “Just go with it and enjoy it. Have fun. Live a little.”
I smile, thinking about that. I deserve a little fun.
“I gotta go,” Quinn says. “I’ll call you tomorrow. Love you both.”
“Yes,” Skylar jumps in. “Same. Night, Brae. You’re going to be just fine.”
They disconnect the call, and I sit here alone, staring out at the sparkling lights beyond the windows.
My phone rings and I hit the green button without looking, wanting to get this over with.
If I’m turning the page and starting a new chapter, I can’t leave myself on a perpetual cliffhanger.
I have to end the scene once and for all.
I put the phone back to my ear, but I can’t make myself say anything. Not hi or hello or even go fuck yourself.
“Brae? You there?”
I make a noise.
“Where are you? I went everywhere searching for you.”
I snort out a laugh. “Not everywhere. You know where I am. Why you bothered going to Sky’s and Quinn’s is beyond me.”
“I was hopeful.”
My eyes close, and I bite my bottom lip to the point where I taste blood. “How long?” I ask, needing to know. I rest the side of my face on my knees and put the phone on speaker.
“It doesn’t matter—”
“How. Long?” I grit out. “Just be a man and tell me. The truth,” I tack on.
He blows out a heavy breath and his voice drops to just above a whisper. “Three weeks.”
I close my eyes. It’s actually not as bad as I thought, and that’s a fucked-up thought to even have.
“Why?”
“I don’t know,” he admits in a low tone. “The wedding was coming on fast, and she… she came on to me. Actually, she had been for a year, but I’d never reciprocated anything. I knew once we were married, I’d never sleep with anyone else again, and it just kind of happened that first time.”
“And after that?”
“After that, each time I said it was going to be my last. I did. I fucking hated myself for it. I felt gross and dirty and like the lowest son of a bitch on the planet. But then she’d make a move on me, and it felt like the last breath of freedom. I was weak to it.”
“How many times did you fuck her in our bed?”
“That was the first. We were going to go to a hotel, but the room wasn’t ready, and she suggested my place instead.”
My eyes close at the pain slicing through my chest. “Did you think about me? When you brought her into our home? When you saw my phone charger on the nightstand and my sleep shirt still on the floor? Did you even care or think about me, or was your stupid dick too hard?”
“I fucked up,” he says weakly. “I did. I know I did. And I’m so, so sorry. So eternally sorry. But it truly was just sex. I don’t have feelings for her. This wasn’t emotional. I love you. I want to marry you. I just… I needed one last time before it was only ever you.”
“Except that marriage would have been built on lies. On secrets. I would have come home and gotten into that bed beside you after you were with another woman in it. Think about that. Think about how fucking gross and horrible that is. Try to imagine the reverse. What if I had done what you did? What if I had been out fucking someone else because the thought of one dick for the rest of my life scared me? How would you feel about that?”
“I’d hate it,” he answers quickly. “I’d fucking hate it.” His voice cracks.
“Think of me as Braelyn, your friend, for a moment. What would you do if the guy I was with did to me what you did? What would you tell me?”
He sniffles and curses under his breath, and I hear something break in the background.
“Braelyn…” He trails off, and I can tell he’s crying, which of course makes me cry.
“What would you say?” I press.
“Stop. I can’t… fuck, I can’t. I’m sorry. I love you. Please, I love you so much. I never wanted to hurt you. Not ever. I was going to end it. I was. I was never going to cheat on you once we were married.”
Wow. That’s such a lame thing to say. “But cheating on me as your fiancée was cool?”
“No! That’s not how I meant it. I was never okay with it.
It was just something I did, and I’m sorry.
I’m so, so sorry. I love you so much. I’ll say both of those a million times until you believe me.
I want to be with you for the rest of my life.
Please, Braelyn. Please give me a second chance to prove that to you. ”
I wipe my tears with the side of my hand. “You betrayed my trust. You betrayed my love. Not just as your fiancée but as your friend. I’m not the type of person who can forgive that, and even if I could, it would always be something between us. A permanent dark cloud over every sunny day.”
He chokes out a noise. “This can’t be it. It was a mistake. It meant nothing. I was stupid and selfish, I know. Please, this can’t be it.”
“I’ll come over tomorrow to get my stuff. I don’t want you there. I’m not ready to see you. Please respect that.”
I hang up on him and throw my phone at the bed.
It lands with a bounce, and I shift back to the window, a sea of opportunity ahead of me.
Without thinking too much about it, or even caring that I’m only wearing Roman’s T-shirt and boxer briefs, I hotfoot it out of the bedroom and down the hall to his room, where I knock on the door.
“Come in,” he calls out, and I open the door to find Roman shirtless, with his tattoos all over his arms and chest beneath the blankets, holding a freaking worn Hemingway paperback in one hand, with his other tossed back behind his head.
He’s all muscles and ink and wolfish eyes, and for some stupid reason, my face heats.
Especially when he gives me a once-over, noting me in only his shirt, and something I can’t quite read crosses his features and changes his eyes ever so subtly.
I’ve seen Roman without his shirt a million times. The man boxes shirtless, for Christ’s sake. But something about seeing him like this makes my voice squeak as I say, “The nurse dies at the end of that one.”
“Thanks for the spoiler.”
I laugh. I must be insane. “I’m in. I’ll go with you to Vegas and then to Mexico.”