Chapter 12
Maren
“Is everything okay?”
I nearly jump out of my skin at the sound of Brooke’s voice behind me. Spinning away from the printer on a shelf behind my desk, I smooth down my hair with one hand, attempting to look like her brother-in-law didn’t just finger fuck me in one of the meeting rooms.
“Fine.” The word comes out as a squeak, so I clear my throat and try again. “I’m fine. Why?”
Brooke’s dark brows pinch together. “You just seem a little jumpy.”
“I’m not jumpy. I’m fine.” I stand a little taller, hoping to ease whatever concerns she’s thinking about having. “Did you need something?”
“No.” Brooke gives me a little smirk. “I was just coming to make sure you didn’t strangle Trevor during your meeting.”
“Nope. Did not strangle him.” Maybe his fingers a little. With my vagina.
Oh my God. What the fuck am I doing? Having sex with Trevor outside of the office is one thing. Not a great thing, but not completely unmanageable.
Letting him get me off during work hours is something else entirely.
Brooke laughs softly. “That’s good, because if he doesn’t come to dinner tonight, Deidre will kill him.”
I’ve heard the Bradshaws talk about family dinner night plenty of times before, but I still can’t really grasp the concept.
Technically, Zara and I have dinner together every night, but the two of us sitting at our tiny table eating whatever I quickly whip up doesn’t sound anything like the elaborate, crazy-pants Thursday nights the Bradshaws spend together.
I can’t imagine what having a family is like, and imagining a family who enjoys spending time together is even more difficult.
“You should come sometime.” Brooke drops down into the chair behind my desk, spinning a little from side to side. “Deidre is such a great cook. And as long as no one shows up drunk to start a fight, they’re actually pretty fun.”
The Bradshaws also frequently discuss the evening Brooke’s ex fiancé showed up drunk and ready to rumble.
I’m not sure what the fuck he was thinking, because all five of the Bradshaw boys—Walker is technically a McKinley, but I’m not trying to differentiate—are super fit and super strong.
They aren’t the sort most people would want to take on individually, let alone as a group.
That includes Trevor. He certainly had no issues holding my weight up while he fucked me against the wall.
Brooke tilts her head. “Are you sure you’re okay? You seem a little distracted.”
That’s one way to put it. “I think I’m just tired. Zara has had a lot going on lately, and I feel like I’m always running around.”
Thankfully, I won’t be running around tonight, and I’m so looking forward to going home, putting on my soft pants, and couch rotting.
“You are such a good sister.” Brooke rolls her eyes as I groan. “I know you hate hearing it because it makes you uncomfortable when someone compliments you. But you genuinely are awesome at being a parent.”
“You’re giving me way too much credit. I’m just taking care of her the way a child deserves to be taken care of.”
Am I perfect at it? Absolutely not. Is she probably gonna need therapy for some weird thing I accidentally do? More than likely. Will I go to therapy with her so we can work on any problems I’ve caused? Fuck yes, I will. I want what’s best for Zara. End of story.
Brooke gives me a soft smile. “You and I both know lots of people don’t take care of kids the way they deserve.”
Having shitty parents is probably what brought Brooke and I together.
How we ended up best friends so quickly.
I love Mariah. She’s fucking amazing. Ruth is great.
I love how she doesn’t take shit. But Brooke gets me.
We’re very different people, but she understands why I am the way I am.
And I understand her. Her parents and my mother raised us in completely different ways, but we both ended up heavily scarred because of our childhoods.
Both carry deep wounds that will likely never fully heal.
And nothing brings people together like trauma.
“Speaking of people who don’t take care of their kids the way they deserve, have you heard from your shitty-ass parents?
” I’ve been dying to know if they reached out before or after Brooke and Toby’s wedding, but the question didn’t organically come up until now.
I try my best not to think about my own mother, so I imagine Brooke is the same way.
But since we’re here…
“Not a word.” Brooke’s expression is surprisingly devoid of emotion. “And that’s probably a good thing, because I would likely have said things I’d regret.”
That’s another way Brooke and I differ. I don’t regret the things I say. Not ever. If it comes out of my mouth, I mean it. I’ve been through too much to cater to anyone else ever again.
“If you want, I can say them.” I move to my desk, perching on one corner as I give my best friend a sly smile. “I have a lot of things I would love to say to your mother.”
Brooke matches my smile. “Same.”
“Well, I think we’re probably both screwed then.
I doubt your parents are going to come around if there’s nothing in it for them.
And my mom is way too old to shit out another baby for me to take care of, so I can’t imagine I’ll ever hear from her again.
” And that’s not necessarily a bad thing.
It’s been five years, but my anger at her for all the shitty choices she’s made—and continues making—is still just as raw. Still just as sharp.
Brooke purses her lips before flattening them out. After a second, she takes a deep breath and asks, “Do you ever wonder if she’s still alive?”
“No.” Not because I don’t think there’s a good chance she’s overdosed at this point or ended up on the wrong side of a violent man. The odds are actually pretty high either of those things could have happened. “Because it doesn’t really matter.”
It might make me a bad person for not caring whether my mother’s alive or dead, but I got comfortable with being considered a bad person a long time ago.
No one likes a woman who isn’t afraid to say what needs to be said.
They don’t appreciate how much work it takes not to cave to the societal pressures to be sweeter. Softer. Gentler.
And honestly, they don’t care.
Brooke solemnly nods. “Sometimes I wonder how I’ll feel when my parents die, but I don’t know that I’ll be sad.” Her eyes meet mine. “Does that make me a bad person?”
“It depends on who you ask.” I lean forward, taking her hand in mine and giving it a squeeze. “So make sure you only ask me, because I will tell you you’re fucking awesome and fuck those two for what they did to you. I hope they have bleeding hemorrhoids and get shingles every single year.”
“Aren’t you feeling vicious today?”
The sound of Trevor’s voice has my spine snapping straight.
Why is he here? We were just together. Not together, together. But as together as two people can be without being together.
The flush that had finally started to dissipate creeps across my skin again just thinking about… Togetherness.
I’m stuck in place, unable to do anything but watch as Trevor casually saunters to my desk, perching one ass cheek on the edge next to me.
“What are you doing here?” I manage to get my mouth to move, but the rest of me is still locked in some sort of weird fight or flight scenario. And shockingly, I’m not fighting.
Or flighting. So I guess I’m just a deer in the headlights.
“I came to find out where you get those pens you love so much.” Trevor scans my desk before picking up one of the items in question, holding it up like I don’t already know what he’s fucking talking about.
“I think I’d like to order some for myself since you threatened my life when I attempted to borrow one of yours. ”
“You weren’t going to borrow it. You were going to steal it.” I finally manage to get my limbs working again and quickly snag my pen from his hand. “I’ll email you the link.” I make an awkward shooing motion. “You can go now.”
Surprisingly, Trevor stands, like he’s actually going to heed my request. But he doesn’t leave like I’m hoping. Instead he leans closer, eyes darkening in a way that makes me think maybe he’s also contemplating our… Togetherness.
His voice is low and filled with suggestion as he says. “Perfect. Feel free to email me anytime.”
I fucking gulp like a cartoon character as his eyes drop to my lips, lingering there a second before he finally turns and walks away, leaving me gasping for air.
Air I immediately choke on when I see how my best friend is now staring at me.
“What the fuck was that about?” Brooke looks in the direction Trevor just left before bringing her eyes back to me. “Did something happen between you two?”
“Of course not. Why would you ask that?” I sound defensive. I am. Guilt will do that to you.
“Because he’s an asshole and he picks fights with everyone. So it’s not a big stretch to assume he picked a fight with you.” Brooke scowls.
“Oh. A fight. Yes.” I decide to run with this new trajectory.
“He picked a fight with me. About…” Oh God.
Trevor has actually picked countless fights with me, but for the life of me, I can’t remember what a single one of them was about.
“It was over one of the people we interviewed yesterday.” Yeah. That’s what it was over.
Actually, we did have words about one of the people we interviewed yesterday.
The one I don’t like because…
Because I don’t wanna talk about why.
“Really.” Brooke leans forward, voice lowering conspiratorially. “Because Toby said he hired all of them.”
Of course he did. Especially the pretty blonde one. Luckily, I’m still in my right mind enough I don’t mention the pretty blonde part to Brooke. “I’m not sure that was a good idea.”
That part is actually true. I don’t know if hiring Lindsey was a good idea. Not because she wouldn’t be great at running the supply room, but because I’m afraid she might also be great at finding her way into catching a lot of attention.
Generic attention. Not specific attention. She could simply be distracting. Generally speaking.
“Why is that?” Brooke seems fully invested in what she rightly believes is gossip. “Because Toby said Trevor thought he found someone who would be great at helping Walker manage the warehouse.”
“Really?” Now it’s my turn to be confused. The guys were fine, but none of them really had the experience to manage the entire retail warehouse. “Which guy?”
Brooke picks up the pen Trevor is so obsessed with, giving the end a click. “Not a guy. I heard it was a woman.”
Oh. That’s…
Not at all what I expected.
Hiring Lindsey as the supply clerk would have put her in Trevor’s face every single day. And why wouldn’t he want that? She’s friendly and personable and easy on the eyes. Hiring her to run the warehouse means Trevor would rarely see her.
And I’m going to choose to ignore how much relief I feel over that.
I don’t get jealous of other women. I want other women to succeed. More than succeed. I want them to ruin men’s lives and be their best selves. And technically, that includes Lindsey.
Especially if she’s gonna be running the warehouse. That is an amazing opportunity for her. She’ll make great money, have wonderful insurance…
And be in Walker’s face every day instead of Trevor’s.
I think something’s wrong with me. Thankfully, I have a free evening tonight, because I’m pretty sure vodka will fix it.
It might not, but it’s worth a shot.
I stew on the information Brooke’s given me for the rest of the afternoon, choosing to focus on it instead of the lingering dampness between my thighs thanks to a particularly infuriating man in a particularly well-cut suit who possesses particularly skilled fingers.
“Fucking Trevor.”
I slam down the pen I now completely associate with him and rub my eyes, doing my best not to smear mascara across my lids.
I need to figure out how to fix this whole mess I’ve made.
I should have never fucked him at Brooke’s wedding.
I definitely shouldn’t have let him finger bang me in a meeting room.
But by the time the day is over, I have zero ideas how to rectify the situation.
No clue how to undo the tangled web wrapping around me.
Quickly packing up my things, I go out to my van, tossing my bags across the seat before climbing behind the wheel.
As I pull through the lot, I pass a very familiar car.
Not just familiar because it’s Trevor’s, but familiar because it was freaking parked outside my house this morning. A fact I completely forgot about.
But now that I’ve been reminded, I can’t help but wonder if my issues with Trevor are bigger than I realize. If they involve way more than bathroom fucks and office finger bangs.
Vodka definitely isn’t gonna fix this. This is a job for tequila.