Chapter 12
The road to OKC stretches out flat and unforgiving, giving me too much time to think and no way to avoid it. Every mile leaves me with my own thoughts—forcing me to remember what I know about Amy. “She’s beloved. She’s tough. She’s direct and factual; not a liar.”
The last one causes me to swerve off the road because if she isn’t, “What did I do?”
What does that say about me that I let her go at the first true trial of our relationship?
At Mark’s penthouse in Oklahoma City, I don’t trust myself to be in close proximity to him for fear of taking my fury in a physical way.
My fists are clenched at my sides, my jaw is locked so tight it feels like my teeth might crack. “Say it again,” I order him. All I want is to dismantle him using the horror and weight of the pain circulating through me.
Mark swallows. He’s never looked this fearful even when millions of dollars worth of endorsement deals have been on the line. He whispers, “I said…I always knew Amy was innocent.”
The words land with even more weight the second time around. My heart and mind can’t quite wrap around them. “You knew,” I echo. I take one step toward him slowly, threateningly. “You knew all along Amy was telling the truth—that she was set up.”
He flinches. “I didn’t know everything. Not from the start, that is. But—”
“What did you know?”
“What…what do you mean?”
“Tell me everything. Before I decide to help you remember.”
Mark must remember how good I am at fighting on very thin blades and how lethal I’m likely to be in my present state of mind. He stammers, “I…I knew enough.”
“To have stopped me? To have stopped the rumors?”
I’m close enough now to see the bob of his Adam’s apple before he confesses, “Yes.”
The laugh that escapes me is sharp and ugly. She was wronged. Mostly, by me. When I get myself under control, I demand, “How did you know?”
He drags a hand down his face before finally admitting, “Brielle admitted it to me.”
The name landed with the force of a slap shot. I recall the pretentious sorority snob always trying to flirt with me. “Brielle Winters.”
“Yeah.”
“I seem to recall you used to be her fuck buddy on more than one occasion.”
His gaze bounces off mine. “Yes.”
“When did you know?” I press.
He hesitates. That hesitation becomes a lit match between us in a room ready to explode. “When?” I snap. My body angles forward intimidatingly.
“Before the photo was ever posted. Long before the photo spread around school.” He swallows a few times before admitting, “Before I shared it with Coach as a concern. Before I showed the photo to you.”
My vision blazes red around the edges. My heart accelerates. I pray to God I’m not having a brain aneurysm before I get the chance to beat the shit out of Mark, let alone apologize to Amy for wronging her for so long.
What did I do?
Easy, you eegit. You gave up on the only woman you ever loved for your career.
My voice is raspy when I confirm, “You knew she was telling the truth. You knew and let it happen anyway?”
“I told Brielle it was wrong,” he tries to defend himself desperately.
My temper explodes. “What the fuck did she even do it for?”
“Brielle realized by that point you were going pro. That you were taking me along for the ride.”
“So. The. Fuck. What?”
“She felt she deserved to be the one at your side, not Amy.”
I shout, “So, you ruined Amy’s life over what? Status? Greed? Pussy?”
“Yeah, I went too far. But look at what it got you. Fame. Money.” He tries to defend his actions.
I’m on him before he finishes the sentence. My fist slams into his jaw, hard enough to send his head snapping back. I snarl, “Do you want an award for having a moral compass eight years too late?”
He lifts his head. He places a hand against his jaw before muttering, “Brielle played games. She didn’t care about Amy, per se. She wanted status.”
“And you? What did you get out of this?”
His eyes dart away briefly before he confesses, “You as my first major client. I didn’t see how that was going to work with your girlfriend around. I couldn’t spin you quite the same way—star player. Single. The optics…”
“Fuck your optics! Amy was the only thing I wanted in my future,” I shout.
Mark snaps back, “Then be just as pissed with yourself. You didn’t believe Amy. You let Brielle burn it to the ground, Brennan. Not me. Not anyone else. You’re the one who refused to listen to the love of your life,” he hurls back.
My stomach churns acid at a rapid rate hearing his words because despite how wrong everyone else’s actions were, Mark’s speaking nothing but the truth.
I open my mouth to counter but he continues, “Brielle hated how you were to her. How everyone assumed Amy would always be in your life—like she was untouchable.”
Broken, I whisper, “And you thought that was reason enough? That Brielle’s obsession made it acceptable to destroy Amy?”
“I was looking out for my future.”
“Whoop. De. Feckin’. Doo.”
“I didn’t think Brielle would go that far,” he whimpers weakly.
Lunging forward, I grip his shirt in my fists and lift him up so his face is practically touching mine.
Our breath mingles when I growl, “Don’t you dare dilute your part in this.
You could have told me at any time.” And I could have tried to repair us.
Desolation flows through me when I realize the true extent of the hurt I imposed on her.
“Every time you brought her up, I tried.”
“Tried. Right. You shut me down every time I mentioned her name over the years.” What I leave unsaid are the number of times Mark encouraged me to find a woman to take my troubles away.
How after being photographed with the first one, I puked my guts out still feeling like I was betraying Amy.
Hell, I even told him that. Hating myself with a virulence, I whisper, “Why didn’t you say anything? Why?”
His breathing goes shallow. “After, I…I was afraid.”
“Of what?”
“That I’d lose you.”
“As a client?”
“Yes.”
“As a friend?”
He bobs his head up and down.
“Well, don’t worry about that anymore, you gobshite. Cause now we’re neither.”
“Forgive me, Bren. We’re best friends.”
I laugh again, but this time it comes out like someone stepping on broken glass. “Talk about irony.”
“What?”
“This reminds me of Amy begging me to listen to her because she loved me. There’s just one major difference—she wasn’t lying.”
I ease back just enough to look him dead in the eye. “I told her I couldn’t risk anyone thinking I was associated with someone who would do something like that.”
Mark’s eyes drop to the floor, shame written into every line of his face. “Brielle said it would blow over. That Amy would recover.”
Recover. They expected her to recover from sexual exploitation as if it were nothing?
The words Amy flung at me on that godforsaken day whip through my memory.
“But it’s okay for someone to have illegally put a sexual picture of me online.
Without my consent? Violated me? You don’t even care if I’m okay? ”
“You stood by while she was humiliated, when she isolated herself. While the student body decided who she was without her ever getting a chance to defend herself.” My hands shake. “You let her think no one was on her side.”
“No, Bren. That was you who did that.”
Mark’s words hit harder than being told I’d never play hockey again ever did. I release the hold I have on his collar and he collapses back onto the couch. I can’t get enough air into my lungs. Sweat dribbles down the side of my cheek. I swipe at it only for it to come harder and faster.
That’s when I realize they’re tears falling.
I’m nowhere near as good at math as the woman I lost was, but I’ll bet every dollar in my accounts they’re not even a fraction of the amount of tears she shed when I turned away from her. “You’re right. I will never forgive myself for not believing her.”
Mark’s eyes glisten now. “I’m sorry.”
“I shouldn’t be the one receiving that apology,” I say flatly. “And you don’t deserve to give it to her. Not without some serious soul searching.” Hi pot? Meet kettle.
I have to figure out how to approach Amy to make this right. Then Mark offers the one thing he can to redeem any part of this situation. “I still have the conversations between me and Brielle.”
My head whips around so fast, I’m certain I’m going to suffer a bitch of a headache tomorrow. “What conversations?”
He continues to rub his jaw. I guarantee that’s going to bruise tomorrow. Good, I think savagely. He deserves to feel pain more than I can mettle out without being arrested for homicide.
A few seconds later, an older generation smart phone is being tossed in my direction. “Password is 0811. The conversation is saved as photos. They’re the only thing left on the device.”
When I open the photos and scroll through, I realize I’ll have to talk with Amy. This is evidence of a larger crime—maybe one she can still convict over. I don’t know what the time line for defamation is in this state.
It’s also proof so she knows I now know the whole truth. That I was wrong to not believe her. That I’ll have her back the way I should have all along.
I drop all the photos to my own phone, upload them to my cloud, before sending a second copy to my email. Then, I announce, “I’ll be taking this with me.”
Mark capitulates. “I figured you would. The phone isn’t on my plan any more. You can just have it.”
I nod brusquely before heading for the door. Pausing with my hand on the knob, I choke out, “I walked away because I told myself I couldn’t be with someone who would do that to me. Turns out I’m the one who betrayed her.”
With every ugly truth finally laid bare, I ask one final question. “Why did you buy me a home in the same town Amy lives in? Didn’t you hurt her enough?”
“I wasn’t trying to. I was hoping once you saw her, you’d find a way to work the past out.”
His answer makes my throat tighten. The bitterness welling up almost makes me puke in his perfect penthouse that he scored because he was a coward.
Then again, so was I.
Without another word, I walk out closing the door behind me with a quiet finality that feels heavier than any slam ever could.