47. Joey
47
Joey
“ A re you okay?” I ask Brent when we’re alone.
Brent leans against the counter, his head lowered between his outstretched arms. He takes a deep breath and shudders as if the events of the last twenty-four hours have caught up to him.
“Honestly, I don’t know, Josie. My head is spinning and I’m…Fuck, I was scared.” He pushes off the counter and spins away, a hand going through his hair as if embarrassed by the admission. He flings himself onto one of his leather couches and leans his head back, eyes closed, arms crossed over his chest.
I hate seeing him like this, knowing I’m partially to blame. I sit next to him and lay a hand on his arm. “Talk to me.”
He’s silent for long moments, and I feel the tension in his body increase. Without opening his eyes, he asks, “Do you know what it did to me when I saw you in Saint’s arms, kissing him?”
The unexpected, soul-baring question surprises me.
“It killed me,” he continues, turning his head to look at me, “to think you went right into his arms. Or worse, you were with him while we were together.”
My eyes narrow at the implied accusation. “Is that what you think? That I’d do something like that?”
He sits up straight to fully face me. “Jesus, Josie! I felt like I didn’t even know you anymore. You were a stranger from the moment I saw you in that dress and those heels, smiling and looking like you were in your element. With me, you were always saying how you hated being in the public eye, so I did what I could to protect you. It felt like a slap in the face to see you like that for the first time, with another man. For another man.”
My eyes widen in surprise. “No,” I say. “No, I didn’t do it for anyone else. I did it for me, so that I could stand there without any shame, while you carried on with another woman. Whether it was Caitlyn, the only woman you had a long-term relationship with, or with the harem I thought you’d gone back to. How was I supposed to convince you I’d moved on too if I couldn’t compete with them in my dowdy clothes?”
Brent stares back at me, thoughtfully taking in what I’ve said. Then his lips twitch. “Carried on? Dowdy?” He grabs my arm when I try to stand and brings my hand to his mouth, kissing the back of it the way he did last night.
I try to snatch my hand away but he holds on. “And what you felt when you saw me with Luc must be how I felt when I saw the lipstick on your face. Or that groupie on your lap kissing you.”
“I’m sorry you had to go through that. And sweetheart, there is no competition. You’d win, hands down, no matter what you were wearing. Against any other woman.”
My eyes flutter closed at his words, emotion clogging my throat. When I open them again, tears blur my vision. “Luc and I are nothing more than friends,” I whisper. “But that doesn’t erase everything I said to you when I left. About trust and commitment. You didn’t trust me then to tell me what was going on. And it scared you to death when I told you I loved you. I got your message loud and clear in the shower the next morning.”
He wraps me in his arms and holds me with fierce tenderness. My tears overflow.
“It scared me,” he murmurs against my ear. “I’m sorry, baby.” He leans back and frowns at my tears, wiping them away with his thumb. “I regret what I did in the shower more than you know. And I didn’t tell you about Caitlyn’s daughter because I was afraid of how you’d react, given how your own father abandoned you.”
I sense his intention to kiss me, and I forestall him. This conversation is not over yet, not by a long shot.
“What would you have done if the test came back…not as you expected?” I ask.
Brent sighs. “The possibility scared me to death and stressed me out. The thought of caring for another girl…”
I stiffen reflexively, and my breath stops. What is he saying? He would have taken on the responsibility of a daughter, but would have resented it because she’s a girl?
“I think I’ll go stark raving mad if Charlie has a baby girl. Or, God forbid, two of them. You think it’s more likely she’ll have twins because she’s a twin?”
How can he be so casual and…clueless? Every word is like a poisoned dart hitting me in the heart. Keeping my head down, I push away from him. I have to leave before my heart breaks all over again in front of him.
“Josie?” He calls after me in bewilderment. “Where are you going?”
The lump in my throat prevents me from speaking, so I only shake my head, quickening my pace to gain privacy as fast as possible. I’ve barely twisted the doorknob and opened it when a hand above my head slams it shut. I lean my forehead against the door, willing him to let me go.