Chapter 8 Lainey
LAINEY
Everything about being back in Brandon's apartment felt wrong.
From the moment I stepped through his door, to when he ushered me to the table to eat, I'd been uncomfortable.
The only reason I came here was to make sure things had been permanently severed.
I didn't feel the need to drag Kade or the wedding into this.
After such a crazy stunt, I knew I was capable of standing up to him, but Brandon was acting weird.
"Is it warm enough? I know the delivery guy took a while," he asked as he chewed. His eyes kept flicking up to watch me push the same meatball around my plate for the past ten minutes.
The ability to tell him off and knowing exactly how to do it were two different things.
There was no way I was leaving this place with him still believing we were dating.
However, I didn't know how to bring up what I knew about him—and why I'd run off—without losing my cool.
Which was also something I didn't want to happen.
I wished Mandy was here, but that was another relationship that had gotten strained by this whole thing. I’d apologized to her, but things were tense now. I knew eventually she’d come around, but she was really upset I hadn’t told her about my doubts.
"It's fine," I mumbled, scowling at the plate of pasta and sauce.
He got like this at times, when he knew I was angry with him.
He'd dote and hover and make me the center of attention as if groveling somehow would change the circumstances.
But I saw right through him. He was feeling guilty for cheating, which was exactly how he should've felt.
"Are you sure?" he asked again, setting his fork down. "Because I can warm it for you." He stood, reaching for my plate. I slapped my hand down on the table next to it, making the glasses and silverware on the table shake.
"Enough, Brandon," I snapped, and my chest tightened until it felt hard to breathe.
His eyes went wide as he slowly sank back into his chair and gawked at me.
I'd had all week to think about exactly how to handle this.
He'd texted me paragraphs all week about how his parents understood me getting cold feet and how it was no big deal.
Every bride feels nervous... the whole spiel.
But breaking up with him via a text message wasn't my style.
I'd never had to break up with someone before, let alone someone I thought I'd spend the rest of my life with.
I just didn't think a Dear John was appropriate given that he'd slept with a stripper.
Brandon deserved to see what he'd done to my heart.
"What is it, Lanes?" His throat worked as he swallowed around the words.
I looked up at him to see a dab of spaghetti sauce on his chin.
Any other day that would've been endearing and I'd have wiped it off for him. Today I glared at it like it was a bleeding wound, wishing he felt the pain I’d felt when I heard his groomsmen say what he'd done.
I finally got the nerve to break the ice on the obvious elephant in the room, and it took him by surprise. "I stood you up at the altar, Brandon. Why aren't you mad at me?"
Maybe it was the age-old question of the rebellious child whose parents continued to coddle them—they acted out to get attention but it didn't work.
Or maybe it was because I knew the real reason he was being so affectionate, that he'd cheated and he felt like this was his fault.
Either way, I was backing him into a corner, and he sat wide-eyed, staring at me like he knew it.
"I mean seriously. Your parents bought me a dress that cost the same amount as a used car. That ceremony had to have been two hundred grand. And I walked out, and you're not even upset?"
He sighed and shook his head as annoyance knit his brow. "Laine, let's not do this okay? We're here, we can make it work. Every bride gets nervous on her—"
"Do they?" I took the cloth napkin off my knee, dropped it onto the plate of food I was never going to eat, and pushed myself back from the table. "Because I don't think every bride feels what I've been feeling."
He sucked in a huge breath and held up his hands, palm outward, in a show of restraint. "It's okay, Lanes. Marriage is a huge thing; it's a lifelong commitment."
I'd heard enough of his dumb speech. I stood and downed the glass of wine he poured for me when I first got here, then waltzed over to the living room and sat on the couch.
The words were lodged in my chest. I wanted to scream at him and tell him I knew everything, but I thought I'd give him a chance to confess it first. If he brought it up, maybe things weren't entirely hopeless.
But he wasn't saying a thing, and I was feeling less and less like there was any point.
"Baby, come on." He followed me, hands extended toward me as if I were a small child needing to be picked up, and parked his butt right beside me way too closely. "I'll wait as long as it takes to help you get comfortable."
I scoffed so loud he drew back, then I covered my face with both palms and shriveled inside.
Brandon, wait for me? Until I got a divorce…
. My head hurt from how complicated this had gotten.
Even if I wanted him to wait, it'd take months or more, and I'd have a circus around my life trying to untangle things from a celebrity.
"What?" he asked, pulling my hands down from my face.
I glared at him, but he cradled my cheek like this was any other argument and we'd be fine as soon as we kissed and made up. But his touch disgusted me. I wanted nothing to do with him ever again. The same hands that touched my face were the ones he’d used to pull a stripper's g-string off. The thought made me shudder.
"Please don't do that," I warned, pulling back, but Brandon leaned in and pressed his forehead to mine in an act so smooth and so quick I didn't have time to react. I'd come here to dump him, but he apparently thought I was here to get forgiven.
"Come on, baby."
"I just need time to think about things, alright? I need space." I could feel the rage building every second his fingers lingered on my skin.
"I don’t want space, Lanes. I want us to be better now."
His chin tipped up, lips reaching for mine, and my hand shot out so fast he never saw it coming. I slapped him hard across the cheek as I bolted to my feet and backed away hugging myself.
"Ouch, hey!" He shot up too, holding his cheek, and his face screwed up into an angry glower. "Why'd you do that!"
"I heard about what happened, Brando!" I said mockingly.
"Trevor has a big mouth. He couldn’t keep his trap shut.
How was Candy the stripper? Or was her name Cookie?
" So much for being calm when I did this.
My chest was heaving and my entire body shook with adrenaline and rage.
"I can't believe you screwed a stripper two days before you were supposed to walk down the aisle with me. "
"Three technically, and—"
"Oh my God!" I felt like launching at him and clawing his eyeballs out, but instead I backed away. The excruciating pain I felt in my chest had no comparison. I thought it was bad the day I learned it, but facing him head-on while bringing it to light was even more painful.
"Seriously?" he said, scowling at me. Then he chuckled like I was making a big deal out of something that meant nothing. "You're gonna hold that against me?"
That dot of spaghetti sauce appeared to turn into a wound, dripping blood. I imagined him falling over, holding his neck, begging me to save him. But instead, he was laughing at me, mocking me for being sensitive.
"I was wasted, Lainey. It was a one-time thing that meant nothing. We weren't even married. Come on. You know guys do things like that at their bachelor party." He moved toward me and I held up my hand for him to stop as I shook my head violently.
"No, you don't get off that easy. You put your dick into some diseased slimy whore's body and—"
"Whoa!" he said angrily. "You're being so hateful."
"I'm being hateful?" I gasped, not believing what I was hearing. I was shouting so loud I was shocked the neighbors weren't banging on the door to make sure everything was alright. "You slept with a different woman and you think I'm being hateful for calling you out?"
I shot toward the door, ready to leave as quickly as possible. Brandon was hot on my heels. He grabbed the back of my arm and I jerked away from him.
"It's over, Brandon. I'm not marrying you anymore." I opened the door, swinging it wide, but remembered I'd forgotten my purse sitting on the coffee table. I reeled around and stomped back over to pick it up. I didn't want to have to come back here for any reason ever again.
When I did, however, I saw the framed picture of the two of us senior year in high school that Brandon kept on his TV stand, and I almost cracked.
I could actually see how he would get so drunk and stupid that he slept with that woman and really regretted it.
I understood because it was what I had done.
But how could I justify that without caving and allowing my own guilt to trap me into this relationship I was positive I didn't want anymore?
"Lainey, please we can get counseling. I'll do anything. I was stupid, I messed up." He stood between me and the door when I turned back that direction and I glared at him, sidestepping him to continue on my path out. He caught my arm this time, forcing me to stop and look over my shoulder.
"I need space, Brandon," I told him through gritted teeth. It was the way Wren coached me to do this. Ending it straight up would be really explosive—which I'd witnessed. But saying I needed space gave him time to adjust. My sister was wise beyond her years.
"I'll wait for you, baby. Okay? And don’t worry about the business.
.." I cringed as he said it, because I hadn't even thought of that until now.
Brandon's money moved mountains with my bakery.
If he pulled out because I dumped him, how would I manage to fulfill orders for that fundraiser?
"You just have the space you need. Take as long as you need, alright? I'll be here."
New shame and dread flooded me as I pulled my arm away from him and walked out his door. "Goodbye, Brandon," I mumbled, feeling fresh tears well up now that my back was to him.
I slunk down to my car and climbed in, sitting behind the wheel crying.
But I wasn't crying because of the breakup. I was ready for that. Anger masked most of the feelings of heartbreak or loneliness, and probably would for some time.
However, I never took into account how a breakup would affect my future.
I had an order of a few thousand cupcakes to prepare in less than two months' time for a fundraiser.
Brandon had encouraged me to donate, saying it would boost the bakery's visibility.
He pledged to donate everything I needed to see it through, so I made the commitment to the fundraiser, and now I didn't know what to do.
If Brandon backed out because I split up with him, how would I finish the orders? My parents weren't the sort of people who had extra money lying around, and even if they did, they’d just spent it on a wedding I ran out on. I had no other way to secure capital.
My bakery could go under.
And I blamed it all on Brandon.