Chapter 2
Brooke
Ican’t breathe.
Fighting for air, I try to pull in as much oxygen as I can, but the dress cinched tight around my ribs makes it impossible to fill my lungs.
I claw at my back, reaching for the buttons and zipper holding me hostage, but no matter how far I stretch, they remain just out of reach.
Like so many other things in my life—Peace. Happiness. Love—no matter how hard I try, they’re always too far to grab.
And after today, my chances of ever possessing them go down to zero.
Bending at my waist, I grip the chair next to me, needing something to hang onto. Something to keep me from spiraling further into despair.
It doesn’t help.
I’ve got to get out of here. I can’t do this. For the first time in years, the fear of what will happen outweighs the fear of what might.
Except I’ve waited too long. I’m completely trapped now. There’s no way I can escape unseen.
Not in this monstrosity.
There’s a knock at the door of my dressing room and I retch, nearly throwing up as panic grips me. But I don’t want my father to see me like this—I don’t want to hear what he’ll say—so I do what I always do.
I pretend. Pretend I’m fine. Pretend my life is what I always hoped it would be.
Pretend I don’t spend every day wondering how in the hell I got here.
But it’s not my father who walks through the door.
It’s Deidre Bradshaw.
The smile on her face falters the second she sees me. “Good God. What the hell’s happened?”
“I can’t do this.” My voice is as weak and shaky as my legs. “I can’t marry him.”
I wait for her to tell me it’s too late. That the church is packed and the music has started.
Instead, Deidre digs around in her purse, pulling out a key fob. “Take this.” She shoves the device into my hands before scanning the room, eyes landing on a door opposite the one she entered. “Where does this lead?”
“I…” I trail behind her as she goes toward it, kicking the overfluffed skirt I didn’t want out of the way with each labored step. “I don’t know.”
Deidre twists the knob and peeks out before opening it wide. “Come on, honey. Time to go.”
Is she serious? “You want me to just leave?”
She turns to me, expression serious. “Do you want that man waiting at the altar to be your husband?”
My whole body revolts, stomach clenching like I’m going to gag, making it impossible to speak. All I can do is shake my head.
Aggressively.
“Then let’s go. Head 'em up, move' em out.” She collects my purse from where it sits on the elegant sofa my friends would be occupying if I had any, then looks outside again. “Coast is clear for now.”
I’m leaving him.
Oh my God, I’m actually leaving him.
I grab the skirt of my dress, hiking it up as much as possible so I can run, pausing to meet Deidre’s eyes as I pass. “Thank you.”
“Thank me later.” She gives me a warm smile—the kind my own mother has never offered—and shoves the bag into my hands. “If you need a place to stay, you know the code to the garage.”
I will definitely need a place to stay. Somewhere I can lay low and figure out where in the hell to go from here.
After giving my friend a quick squeeze, I run without looking back. Fighting as much of my dress behind the wheel of her rented sedan as I can before closing the door, I tear out of the parking lot, leaving everything behind. My job. My car. My home. My money. I’m losing all of it.
I might even lose my parents.
The possibility should upset me more than it does. They’re all I have left of the life I lived before Matt and I got together. And they’re my freaking parents. They should be on my side no matter what.
But they won’t be. The lure of being financially secure for the first time in their lives is too strong.
On some level, I understand. I never wanted to live the way they did either.
But now I know it beats some alternatives.
I’m still on the edge of hyperventilation as I get on the highway, aiming in the general direction of Wyoming.
I make it a couple miles down the road before a few things register.
I can’t use my credit cards to buy gas or stay in a hotel.
I don’t have any cash. And my cell phone is going to give me away.
Pulling off at the next exit, I stop in the first parking lot I see and frantically dig out my phone.
Switching it off, I throw it into the passenger-side footwell.
My eyes scan the area around me as my shaking fingers start yanking pins from my hair, dropping them into the cup holder.
I’m about halfway through deconstructing the updo already making my scalp ache, when my gaze lands on a shop a few doors down.
A little of the panic squeezing my insides subsides.
I have an idea. I can’t put it into action yet, but I’ve got a full tank of gas before I’m screwed. So once the length of my dark hair is hanging loose, I get back on the road, the sense of determination I thought had been stripped from me creeping back in.
I can do this. I have to do this.
If only to prove to myself what I’m not.
I’m a couple hours down the road before I finally see what I’m searching for and cut down the exit. The strip mall sporting the shop I need is sketchy looking, but that’s probably a good thing. The chances of Matt coming here to ask about me are low.
He won’t want to get his shoes dirty.
I fight my way free of the car, twisting my body around until the bulk of my dress—and its attached, unbuttoned train—are behind me, then hurry to the storefront.
The place has bars on the dingy windows and at least five neon signs indicating what they buy and sell.
The glowing rectangle of plastic on the overhang is faded and cracked, but still clearly states the less than original name of the business inside.
Pawn Shop
I step into the space, intending to go to the giant man standing behind one of the many glass display cases, but my second step doesn’t get me anywhere.
Because this damn dress is stuck in the damn door.
I’ve hated the thing from the moment Matt’s mom swore it was the most flattering of the options she’d had me try on. I disagreed. Strongly. It’s too big. Too sparkly. Too busy.
And right now, it’s too freaking long.
Turning back to the man now watching me with an amused tilt to his lips, I square my shoulders and ask, “Do you happen to have a pair of scissors I can borrow?”
He doesn’t answer, but does collect a pair of metal shears from behind the counter before coming my way. He stops in front of me. His presence is big. Imposing. Intimidating.
I swallow hard, unsure how this is going to unfold.
Holding the scissors out to me, he stays silent.
My eyes bounce from the scissors to his face before I slowly reach out to take them. But when I try to pull them away, he doesn’t let go.
I may have made yet another bad decision by coming here. Unfortunately, if he turns out to be a serial killer, I can’t get away thanks to the hateful dress trying to once again lock me in.
“You plannin’ to cut that pretty dress?” The man’s voice is deep and low. “Cause if you want, I’ll buy it off you instead.”
“Ummm…” What exactly does he mean by ‘buy it off me’? “You mean I can pawn it?”
He shrugs. “Figured you weren’t partial to it.” His eyes make a slow trek over the scissors then peer around me to where the dress is stuck, taking in my situation. “All things considered.”
All things considered likely being that I’m in a pawn shop wearing a wedding dress and running mascara.
I’m not going to lie, chopping this monstrosity up sounds really freaking good. But not as good as gaining a little extra cash. There’s only one problem. “I don’t have anything else to wear.”
The man looks me up and down, but I don’t feel weird about it as he takes in my body. Apparently offering to give me money will change my opinion faster than I peeled out of the church parking lot.
“My girl is about your size. If you don’t mind wearin’ some of her clothes, I think we could work something out.” The man turns, his low voice finally picking up volume. “Lily. Come out here for a minute.”
I lean to peek around the store owner, putting my focus in the same spot his currently resides. Way at the back of the shop is a door, and a few seconds after he yells, a woman comes out.
And she looks irritated as hell.
Her full lips are tipped into a scowl as she glares our way. “Curtis. I know you didn’t just raise your voice at me.”
The big man rolls his eyes, chuckling as he shakes his head. “Are you goin’ to come see what I got, or are you gonna be difficult?”
I swear to God, the woman has to think it over, and I love that for her.
After a few seconds of debating with herself, she blows out a breath. “Fine. But I was just getting to the good part of my book, so this better be—” She stops short when she sees me, dark eyes widening as they move over the state I’m in. “Holy shit. Did you just run away from your wedding?”
I swallow hard. That is exactly what I did, but hearing someone say it out loud has the reality sitting differently in my gut. “The shoes I have on aren’t really built for running, so it was more of a speed walk.”
“What size shoes do you wear?” Curtis is already crouching down, ready to get a look at what’s on my feet.
Lily plants an open palm against his face, tipping him over before stepping between us.
“I know you weren’t just about to lift up this lady’s skirt without asking.
” She leans around me, craning her neck to take in the rest of my dress and the door it’s still currently wedged into. “Let’s get you free first.”
After a little bit of maneuvering—and help from Curtis—I’m fully inside. The width of my skirt takes up the bulk of the free space between the counter and the first shelf of stuff available for purchase. I do my best to be careful as I walk, but I still take out a few items as I go.
Curtis and his girlfriend don’t seem to mind.
“That dress really is stunning.” Lily picks up the train, looking over the smudge left from where it got stuck in the door. “Probably won’t take too much to clean it up.”
“That’s what I was going to tell you.” Curtis tips his head toward the back room. “You got any spare clothes back there? She doesn’t have anything to wear besides this.”
Lilly gives me a soft smile. “Let me go check.”
An hour later I’m wearing a pair of Lily’s yoga pants, a T-shirt emblazoned with the logo of their favorite crab shack in this town—because it has all-you-can-eat crab legs on Wednesday nights—and a pair of hot pink sneakers. I’m also one wedding dress and one engagement ring lighter.
Curtis was even nice enough to give me part of my money in cash—instead of just a check—so I’m able to finish the trip to Wyoming relatively seamlessly. If you consider driving fifteen hours straight, wearing hand-me-down clothes and chugging energy drinks seamless.
The sun is coming up as I pull into the Bradshaw estate. Just entering Deidre’s property makes me feel better. Like maybe everything will be okay.
I’m not sure it’s true considering I don’t have a job or a place to live—two facts that were much more upsetting six hours ago when I still had the energy for emotions. But right now, I’m running on fumes, and the only thing that matters is finding a bed to collapse into.
I park in front of one of the many garages and use the code Deidre gave me years ago to let myself inside.
I’ve been here plenty of times to visit.
Even though my relationship with Tobias ended, my friendship with his mother didn’t.
We’ve stayed in touch over the years. Remained close enough she was a guest at the wedding I should have never agreed to.
Not that our friendship was the reason she was invited.
Clutching my purse—the only thing I have left of my own—tight against my chest, I quietly move toward the kitchen, hoping to find a little snack before taking a shower and passing out.
But right as I enter the room that serves as the epicenter of the Bradshaw family, my feet stop working, pink sneakers squeaking at how quickly I stop.
Because Deidre’s house is not empty.
A familiar face looks up, seeming as shocked as I am to find us standing in the same place at the same time.
“Brooke.” Titus sets down the containers he was pulling from the fridge. His eyes skim up and down my body, taking in my disheveled state. Without commenting on it, he starts organizing all the items he’s laid out. “You hungry?”
I manage a nod as my throat tightens in a weird way. I thought he was going to ask why I’m here. What happened. Instead, Titus pops the lid on one of the containers and slides it into the microwave, setting a timer.
Then he turns to me, explaining, “My mom sent me here to pick up the leftovers she put in the fridge for my fiancée.” He gives me a lopsided smile. “I don’t think either of them will mind if I share them with you.”
I slowly edge my way up onto one of the stools lined down the gigantic island. “Thank you.”
It feels weird to be sitting while he’s making me something to eat, but I don’t know how to change that.
I’m somewhat familiar with Deidre’s kitchen, but not nearly like Titus is, and it would take a while for me to find everything.
So I just sit here, body feeling weirdly heavy with a weight I can’t quite identify.
In just a few minutes, Titus is setting a steaming bowl of what I’m thinking might be lobster bisque in front of me, along with a hunk of crusty bread and a glass of ice water.
As I take a first tentative bite—unsure how my stomach's going to react to food—Titus crosses both arms over his chest, leaning back against the counter. “It’s good to see you.” He presses his lips together, pursing them before carefully asking, “How long are you staying?”
Now I’m shoveling in the soup, because it is lobster bisque and it’s delicious.
I’m hungrier than I thought—and distracted enough by the desire to cram as much cream and carb into my face as possible—that I don’t even register what I’m saying until I’ve answered, “I guess that depends on how long it takes me to find a job.”
So much for laying low and keeping my secrets close.
Titus is quiet for a minute, his head tipping to one side as he continues watching me. I nearly choke on a mouthful of water when he says, “I might be able to help with that.”