Rebel Heart Page 11

  “What sounds good to you, Abby Jane?” Brock asks, and it takes everything in me not to answer with you. I’ve missed him so much, but my Spidey senses are tingling, telling me tonight might change everything—I can only hope it’s for the better.

  Scanning the menu, I take my time replying. “I’m thinking the seafood risotto. I love scallops. You?”

  I sweep the restaurant again. But still, nothing. “Mmm. That does sound good. Think I’m gonna get the shrimp and grits.”

  Our server comes by to greet us, and we go ahead and place our order. Moments later, another server deposits a basket of rosemary rolls along with two plates. I help myself to one, sighing as the flavors burst across my tongue.

  I move to get a second roll when my stomach clenches with nerves. Quietly, I excuse myself to the restroom. I desperately need to get a grip. All night, it’s felt as though someone has been watching me, but I’m pretty sure I’m just projecting my own paranoia about my relationship with Brock, and it’s making me fucking crazy.

  Inside the restroom, I close myself into a stall, even though I don’t actually have to go. I just need a moment to breathe—a moment to get my emotions under control. After a few deep breaths, I’m ready to head back out to my table. As I’m opening the stall door, a beautiful, curvy blonde breezes in, setting up shop in front of the sink.

  Not paying her much attention, I place my clutch on the countertop and turn on the faucet, lathering my hands, when the blonde turns to me. “Hello there, Abigail.”

  I tilt my head to face her and suck in a breath through my teeth. “Amanda, right?” What are the fucking chances she’s here at the same time Brock and I are here?

  “Oh, honey.” Amanda coos the words like I’m a child. “I simply cannot let this charade go on a moment longer.”

  “Wh-what charade?”

  She places her left hand across her heart and the shiny oval diamond she’s sporting glints in the mirror. “You and Brock.”

  Her words and condescending tone sparks fury within me. “I don’t know who the fuck you think you are—”

  Amanda cuts me off. “His future wife is who the fuck I am, as you so crudely put it.” She wiggles her left hand in front of my face. “See this ring? It was his Mimi Jean’s. I know you think y’all have something, and goodness, maybe y’all do. But here’s the thing—he was promised to me. His daddy and my daddy made a deal a long time ago, and I’m not going to let your white-trash-fallen-from-grace-skank-ass ruin my future.”

  My mind races, desperately trying to make sense of her words. She steps closer to me, backing me into the marble countertop. “I know this hurts, honey, but it’s the truth. I know it. Brock knows it, and now, you know it. He and I had an agreement. I told him he could go and sow his wild oats before we settled down, but playtime is over.”

  My eyes sting, but I hold my tears back, unwilling to cry in front of her. “I-I don’t believe you.”

  Her lips twist into an ugly scowl. “God, you’re pathetic. Has he been acting different lately? He has, hasn’t he? Wanna know why? He brought you here to end things. He planned on doing it right after dinner. I’ve been waiting at the bar so I could join him for dessert.”

  No. No-no-no-no. There’s that favorite word of mine, only right now it’s failing me, because everything she’s saying makes so much sense. I mean, aside from a hug when he picked me up and helping me down from his truck, he hasn’t touched me at all tonight. We haven’t seen each other in days, and he didn’t even try to steal a kiss.

  Surprise, surprise! Brock Larson is exactly who I thought he was from the start, and the bastard knowingly made me fall for him just so he could fuck me over in the end. Talk about the story of my life. The only man who’s never let me down is my gramps, but at the end of the day, the only person to blame for this is me.

  I let him back into my life. I let him into my bed. I let him into my heart. But now…now I’m going to rid my life of him entirely. “You know what, Amanda?” I calmly grab my clutch as I move her away from me and step toward the door. “Y’all deserve each other. Have a nice life.”

  I rush out of the restroom, making a beeline straight to the exit. As soon as the muggy evening air hits my face, I let the tears fall. I move away from the restaurant as fast as my heels will carry me, finally slumping down onto a park bench a good two blocks away.

  With trembling hands, I fish my phone out of my clutch and order an Uber. Five minutes later, I’m sitting in the backseat, silently weeping the entire ride back to my apartment, tears rolling down my cheeks and off of my chin. I can only imagine how crazy I look, but I can’t find it in me to care.

  The driver idles in front of my building, and I grab what little cash I have in my clutch and give it to him as a tip. With every step I take the soft silk of my dress—the one I wore especially for him—burns like acid as it rubs against my skin. I rip it off as soon as I’m safely locked inside my apartment, and like the pathetic girl I’ve somehow let myself become, I slip into one of Brock’s shirts.

  I bring it to my nose and inhale; his scent sets off a fresh round of tears as I sink down onto my bed, burying myself in the comforter and my grief.

  BROCK

  Abby Jane’s been in the restroom for what feels like forever. And I’m not even exaggerating. I’ve already had my drink refilled and a second basket of bread brought out.

  I’m about to go and check on her when Amanda fucking Burkett slides into my girl’s vacant chair. “The fuck do you want?” I snarl at her.

  She blinks slowly at me before breaking out into a beaming smile. “Brocky! That’s no way to speak to your future wife.”

  Her words cause me to choke on thin air. “My what, now?”

  Not missing a beat, the little psycho reaches across the tabletop and takes my hand in hers. It’s then I notice she’s wearing my fucking grandmother’s ring. “Where the fuck did you get this?” I growl, trying to pull my hand away from hers, but she digs her nails in.

  “Oh, Brocky.” She shakes her head like she feels sorry for me, but who she needs to worry about is herself, because if she’s the reason my girl’s not back, she’s gonna fucking feel my wrath. “You’re being so silly. You knew this was the plan. You’ve known all along that I’m the only future you have.”

  I yank my hand back, knocking my glass of water off of the table in the process. I shove my chair back and jump to my feet. “What did you do? Where is Abby Jane?”

  Amanda laughs lightly, like I’ve just delivered a witty one-liner. “I ran into her in the restroom and sent her home. She understands now, Brocky. I did your dirty work for you, baby.” She stands as well and steps closer to me. At this point, other patrons are staring, watching the shitshow unfold.

  “You did what? You fucking bitch! You had no fucking right—”

  “You will watch how you speak to me!” she shrieks. “You will respect me. I’m not some two-bit whore. I’m a lady, and you will treat me as such!” She pinches the bridge of her nose and takes a deep breath. In a much calmer voice, she continues speaking. “She needed to know, Brocky. You’re mine—you’ve always been mine. You were promised to me, and I’m ready to collect. I’m ready to build our future—”

  Over her shit and all of the insanity flowing from her pastel pink lips, I flag down a passing server and slip him two crisp hundred-dollar bills. “This should cover everything. I’m so sorry for all of the trouble.” With the bill taken care of, I step around Amanda, but she follows behind me, hot on my heels.

  I burst through the door and out onto the sidewalk. Unfortunately, I have to wait on the valet to bring my truck around, which gives Amanda the perfect opportunity to keep spewing her bullshit at me. “Don’t you walk away from me, Brocky! We are not finished! Brock! Are you listening to me?”

  Unable to listen to her drivel for another second, I spin to face her, a menacing look on my face. “Are you listening to yourself? You sound fucking crazy. We’re not together. We’ve never been togethe
r, and we never will be. You need to stop this nonsense.”

  “My future isn’t nonsense!” Her voice wobbles, but I can’t find it in myself to feel sorry for. This girl needs serious help. “You are mine. Mine! Why can’t you just fall in line?”

  Those last three words cause me to freeze in place. Fall in line. The exact same thing my father said to me earlier today. Oh, my God. How did I not fucking see this?

  As soon as the realization hits me, my truck is ready. I rush the attendant, snatching my keys. I peel out like a bat out of hell, leaving Amanda sputtering on the sidewalk.

  I dial my mother the second my phone connects via Bluetooth. “Brock, honey, how are you?”

  I skip over all pleasantries and get down to business. “Did you know?” The anger in my tone is unrestrained, and for a split second, I feel bad—I’ve never spoken to my mother like this, but the thought of her being a part of this guts me.

  “Did I know what? Honey, what’s going on? What are you talking about?”

  She sounds sincere, but I’m hesitant. “Did you give Amanda Burkett Mimi Jean’s ring?”

  “Absolutely not. It’s safe and sound in my jewelry box—where it will remain until you settle down with the only woman worthy of it.” Her tone leaves no room to argue. She truly had no prior knowledge of this—thank God. My mom has always been even-keeled, and I’m relieved as fuck to know that hasn’t changed.

  “You might want to double check,” I inform her angrily.

  I hear rustling through the speakers. “Oh, my word!” she exclaims. “Where? How?” I listen as she connects the dots. “He wouldn’t. That dirty, no good bastard!”

  I smirk at her foul language, as it’s so unlike her. “He did. I just had the damn ring flashed in my face.”

  “That conniving little witch—just like her mother.”

  “It gets worse. All of this came after she ran Abby Jane off.”

  “Oh, honey. We will work this out. You head home, and in the morning, come by and we will start putting out fires. In the meantime, I’m going to have a very serious talk with your father.”

  The thought of her confronting him worries me. Just because he’s never laid a hand on her yet doesn’t mean he won’t. “Wait for me and we will confront him together tomorrow.”

  “Oh, I can handle your father.”

  I pull into my driveway and slam the gear shifter into park and hesitate, wondering if I should tell her about him decking me. Quickly, I realize she absolutely has the right to know. “Mom, please wait. Today in his office he punched me, and he back-handed me the other day.”

  My confession is met with stark silence followed by a sharp intake of breath. “He. Did. What?” The fire in her tone shocks me. She’s always seemed too meek and mild, but this woman now is a fucking dragon. “I will end that man, Brock. No one—and I mean no one—lays their hands on my boy and gets away with it.”

  “It’s okay, Mom. I can handle him.”

  Mom laughs darkly. “Oh, honey. I know you think I let him walk over me, but here’s the truth…I don’t love your father. I married him because our fathers arranged it and held some things over my head. The only good thing to come out of our sham of a union is you. You are my heart and my joy. And he’s gone too far this time. I know I’ve let you down, honey, but I’ll fix this. I love you.” She ends the call before I can say another word.

  I dial Abby Jane’s phone, but she never answers—not that I expected her to. Even still, I call her a few more times, finally settling on leaving a voicemail begging her to call me, begging her to let me explain.

  Pissed beyond words, I storm into the house, only to find West with some random girl humping him like a dog on the couch. I loudly clear my throat, and he dislodges his tongue from her mouth long enough to catch my eye.

  When he sees the anger in my stare, he stills her ever-moving hips. “Time to go, sweetheart.”

  She balks. “Are you kidding me? God! You really are an asshole.”

  He tsks her. “Family first, doll.”

  She storms out of the house in a huff, but West looks totally unaffected. He nods to the cushion next to him, gesturing for me to have a seat—hell no, not happening.

  “Kitchen,” I grunt. “I need a drink.” I snag two cold beers from the fridge and lean back into the counter.

  “What’s up?”

  “Fucking everything.” I launch into the events that led to tonight, detailing everything out for him—from realizing I love Abby Jane, to my dad, to Amanda’s crazy self. By the time I’m finished, his jaw is damn near on the floor.

  “So, whatcha gonna do?”

  “Fuck if I know. What can I do? At this point, Abby Jane isn’t answering my calls…not that I blame her. I wouldn’t either.”

  “You tried going by her place?”

  I shake my head. “Nah. As much as I want to storm the castle, so to speak, I know it wouldn’t get me anywhere—except shanked. She would probably kill me.”

  “Truth.” We both take a moment and polish off our beers. “Well, you can only fight one battle at a time, so let’s start with that douche-ant you call Dad.”

  “I wanna fucking kill him,” I say honestly. “I’m talking cold-blooded murder.”

  “Can’t let ya do that—especially since you just made my ass an accessory.” He chortles at his own joke. “But what I can do is help you come up with a plan to fix this shit.”

  “But how? How can I fix this? You know how stubborn Abby Jane is. She’s not going to willingly talk to me.”

  “And that’s where I come in. You worry about sorting shit out with your dad, and I’ll worry about getting you and your girl in the same room.”

  The minute the sun rises, I’m out the door and on my way to my parents’ house. I’m running on no sleep, a bad attitude, and too much alcohol—but this can’t wait another second. Hell, if I would’ve had my way, I’d have been here last night, but I respect my mom enough to let her have at him first.

  On the drive over, visions of a future without Abby Jane by my side assault me. Sure, I messed shit up between us in middle school, but deep down, I know I’ve always loved her—that she’s always been the one for me. And, finally, I got a second chance, only for life to shit all over it.

  She’s the splash of color in my world, and I’m not letting her go this time around. I’ll fight for her—for us—as long as it takes. Until I’m fucking blue in the face. Abby Jane is meant for me and I won’t stop until she sees what I already know.

  I storm up the steps and pound on my front door. I’m shocked when Mom answers the door instead of Marta. She glances over her shoulder and steps out onto the porch.

  “What’s going—”

  “Oh, honey. I have a plan.”

  “You do?” I ask, wondering just what she has up her sleeve.

  “Yes. You’re gonna go inside and confront your father, and I’m going to film it from the hall. I won’t tell you what to say or how to act, but to an extent, play along.”

  “Play along?” I whisper-shout, outraged. Why would she fucking suggest this?

  “I know it sounds crazy, but your father is well-respected in our community, and if we’re not careful, he’ll take us down with him, honey.”

  “Do you really think it will work? That it will be worth it?”

  Mom pauses, choosing her words carefully. “He’s a snake, Brock. I think it’s the only way. No one would ever believe what he’s really like, so we need to show them his true colors.”

  I don’t know if I totally approve of this plan, but reluctantly I agree, and we head inside.

  “Your father is in his office. Head on back.”

  I do as she says, feeling all kinds of conflicted about her plan. But at the end of the day, I have to trust her.

  I rap my knuckles on the open door of the office and step inside. “Brock,” my dad sneers. “Why are you here?”

  “We need to talk.” It’s a struggle to keep my tone even when all I want is to t
hrottle him.

  “Come to your senses?”

  “About what?” I ask, stepping farther into the room. “About my major?”

  “Among other things.”

  “Other things like the fact that you’re trying to force me into marrying Amanda Burkett?”

  He replies with a humorless laugh. “Force is a strong word, son.”

  “Yet so accurate, because here she is with a ring on her finger that I didn’t give her. Where did she get it, Dad?”

  “That hardly matters. You act like marrying her would be a hardship. Tight little body like hers? I know I wouldn’t complain.”

  I wish I could say his words shock me, but they don’t. He’s always been a fucking dog. “I don’t love her. I’ll never love her.”

  “Love has nothing to do with it!” He screams the words so loudly my ears ring.

  “So, you’re saying you don’t love Mom?”

  “You truly are naïve, son. Your mother was a stepping stone. I wanted a certain type of lifestyle, and she had the purse strings to provide one. Didn’t hurt that she spread her legs for me like a whore. Unfortunately, that led to you.” He spits the words at me, and I’m shaking with barely concealed rage.

  “You disgust me.”

  As soon as the words pass my lips, his fist slams into my face, sending me onto my ass. “Likewise. But here’s the thing, son. You’re going to do as I say, or you can kiss this comfortable lifestyle goodbye.”

  I rub a hand over my cheek before hefting myself up from the floor. My anger turns to incredulity, because what the fuck is he even talking about? He’s acting like he foots the bill for my life, but that’s a fucking joke. I live—very comfortably, I might add—off of a trust from my Mimi Jean and have a full ride to school. I fight the urge to set his ass straight since Mom asked me to play along.

  “It’s like that?” I ask him, trying my best to sound scorned.

  “Yeah, son. It is.”

  “I see. I guess my hands are tied then, huh?”

  At my compliance, it’s like he’s a totally different person. Fucking split personality or some shit. “I don’t want to force anything, but promises and plans have been made, and you need to fall in line.”