The Reality of Wright and Wrong Page 8

  “That’s it. I said yes, so we left the hotel, got married, and less than twenty-four hours later, I found out that Jordan might not have even cheated on me to begin with. I dumped my fiancé—without telling him, I might add—and shacked up with…”

  Everything came to a screeching halt, like an eighty-four-car pile-up.

  “Holy shit. Holy. Motherfucking. Shit,” I mumbled under my breath.

  “What? Don’t holy shit me, Best Friend; tell me! Spit it out!”

  I blinked a few times, and then I blurted, “Holy fucking shit, Stella. I got married. To someone who’s on TV. Oh my God…is he famous?”

  “Yup. Pretty much.”

  “I’m going to be sick.”

  “Morning sickness?” Her eyes opened wide. “Oh, fuck. Are you pregnant?”

  I grabbed the pillow she’d thrown at me and beat her once with it. “No, I’m not pregnant. Did you fall on your head during yoga? Are you trying to jinx me?”

  She smacked me across the face—not hard, but enough to make me balk.

  “What the hell was that for?”

  Stella, still kneeling on the floor in front of me, waved me off. “Don’t worry; you’re not pregnant, so it’s fine. I only needed you to shut up for a second. That, and you hit me with a pillow. But back to you shutting up for a second. Listen to me…you can’t leave him. Got that? Are you paying attention to what I’m telling you right now? You. Can. Not. Leave. Wrong.”

  “Why? Is he in the mob or something? Will people come after me?”

  “Yeah.” She nodded slowly. “I will. I will cut you in your sleep if you leave him. He’s Brogan Daniels. The Brogan Daniels. Do you hear what I’m telling you?”

  “Uh…yeah. But I’m still not sure I understand why I can’t leave him—aside from you turning into some crazed deviant.”

  With a dramatic huff, she dropped back onto her haunches, where she proceeded to tick off every relative point she could come up with, and a few that weren’t relative at all. “He’s amazing in bed, can get you off unlike anyone else, has a glorious shlong. He’s gorgeous. Has a body you could lick breakfast, lunch, and dinner off of. He’s got money, which means he can support you if needed. You didn’t allegedly catch him cheating on you. He’s gorgeous. Amazing in bed.”

  “Yeah. Now you’re just repeating things.”

  “They deserve to be mentioned a few times. Have you seen him?”

  I rubbed my chest, attempting to soothe the ache that resided in it at every mention or thought of walking away from Brogan. And as if that ache had settled there for the sole purpose of bringing my hand to my chest, a dull sting spread through my skin just above my right breast. It only took a second to recall what it was, and for the smile to take hold of my lips.

  Brogan had branded me several times with his teeth, all in various places south of my bellybutton. But when he’d noticed the tank top I’d put on before trivia on Thursday night, he’d decided his mark needed to be visible for every guy in the room.

  As fucked up as it sounded…it made me swoon.

  And it had turned me on so much we’d almost arrived late.

  “Have you talked to Wrong about Jordan?” Stella asked, to which I could only shake my head. “But you’ve talked to Jordan about Wrong?”

  I shrugged and sighed and covered my face. Again. “Yes and no. I told him about meeting him, about spending the week with him, and about Savannah.”

  “Okay… What else is there to say?”

  Staring at my best friend, I fought back the stinging tears that beat against the backs of my eyes. “I don’t know how to describe it. I’ve tried…many times. To myself, in my head. And any which way I attempt to word it, it doesn’t make a single bit of sense.”

  “You mean…like you right now?”

  “Yes. I love Jordan. And if he truly wasn’t the one I saw, then realistically speaking, he should be the one I choose. But I can’t bring myself to let Brogan go just yet. Maybe I need more time to see what this is? I don’t know, Stella. Help me out here.”

  “Are you trying to say you love Brogan?”

  “No.” My head throbbed as I shook it aggressively. “Not even close. But I can’t explain what it is that I’m feeling, because I can’t put it into words.”

  “Easy…lust. But don’t worry; lust has created many long-lasting relationships. Look at Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt.”

  “They split up.”

  “So? They were together for, like, fourteen years. I didn’t say lust created happily ever afters. The key word there was long-lasting. I’d say fourteen years is about as long as you can ask when you start the relationship out doing the naked tango.”

  “I don’t know why I ask you for advice.”

  She placed her hands on the tops of my thighs and held my stare. “Want real advice? Call Wrong and talk to him. Be honest about everything. This isn’t the time to hold anything back. I’m willing to bet you’ll know what to do by the time you hang up the phone.”

  She was right.

  Which I found annoyingly awesome.

  8

  Brogan

  I should’ve told her before she’d boarded that plane.

  In my mind, if she knew about the show and wasn’t here to assure me, I’d go crazy with uncertainty. Unfortunately, she found out anyway and wasn’t here to make it right. She wasn’t here to silence the unease. And because of that, I’d gone certifiably insane.

  The only thing that kept me out of the asylum was her voice.

  I didn’t hear from her much—a few minutes a day, if I was lucky.

  But I’d take that over nothing at all.

  The day after she got home, I found out that her ex had been there. It’d be a lie if I said I hadn’t seen red when she told me. I was livid and wanted to murder the fucker, but in that moment, she needed me to remain calm. It was one of the hardest things I ever had to do. But for Mercy, I did.

  The entire time she spoke, my heart had climbed its way into my throat and rocks filled the pit of my stomach. I’d convinced myself that she was running. I knew she would. Hoped she wouldn’t.

  But somehow, by some miracle, I’d managed to convince Mercy that a decision shouldn’t be made until she got here. Either way—with me or with the loser who couldn’t keep his woman—she’d have to relocate, so it was pointless to decide anything while trying to organize the move. She’d agreed. Then she spent the last eleven days giving me heart palpitations.

  “Please, Mercy, stop watching that shit.” I cringed just thinking about what all she’d seen in old episodes of the show. There was no telling how the producers had portrayed me, or the assumptions she’d made while seeing it.

  “I can’t. I’m too invested now. On one hand, it’s a highly entertaining show. On the other, it makes me sick, and I keep hoping as each episode goes on and the closer I get to the end that you’ll stop fucking that chick in the shop.”

  My chest tightened as a groan ripped through my throat. The thought of having to watch her interact with someone she used to sleep with was enough to obliterate me, so I could only imagine how she felt watching my interactions with Indi, the only female I had working for me. “All you need to know is that I’m no longer fucking her, Mercy. I haven’t been with anyone since I met you. Haven’t wanted anyone since you. I swear on that. Isn’t that all that should matter?”

  “It would be…if she wasn’t in love with you. And you’re blind if you don’t see it.”

  “It’s television. They cut out about ninety percent of what they film, and then piece together the rest to tell whatever story they want. Trust me…it’s not real, regardless of it being called reality TV.”

  “You wouldn’t know, because you’ve never seen it.” It was the same argument she used every day, throwing it back in my face as if living it and watching were somehow different. “I’m telling you…I’m a woman, so I can recognize these things. Bobblehead is in love with you.”

  I shouldn’t have, but I laughed.
Indi nodded a lot—and I mean a lot—and for whatever reason, Mercy had given her a nickname. She claimed it was because she couldn’t remember Indi’s name, though I preferred the theory that her territorial side refused to use it.

  “It’s not funny, Brogan.” She huffed, which was a sure sign she was about to end the call. “I’ve had to see you with your wife, who—let’s not kid ourselves—could very well be a Victoria’s Secret lingerie model. Then I had to witness how heartbroken you were when the marriage ended. That means I had to sit through episode after episode knowing how much you loved her. And now, I’m stuck in what I can only describe as softcore porn between you and the coloring book with legs.”

  I had to bite my tongue, wondering how many other nicknames she’d come up with for Indi. “Then stop watching it.”

  “I can’t!” The traces of humor in her tone were the only thing that had kept me from getting on a plane just to toss her TV out a window. “I need to know these things.”

  “What things?”

  “Things. About you. About your life.”

  A knock on the door caught my attention, and when I glanced behind me, seeing Indi leaning against the frame with her thumb hitched over her shoulder, I knew that meant my time was up. “Listen, babe…my next client’s here. I would love to stick around and give you five thousand reasons to turn that shit off, but duty calls.”

  “Fine. Have fun.”

  I smiled at the phrase she used every time I had to go. “You know it.”

  “Was that the wife?” Indi asked as I slipped past her to get out of the back room.

  “Yeah. She’s hung up on the ridiculous idea that you’re in love with me.” I shook my head, laughter filtering out beneath my breath. Then I met Indi’s smiling eyes. “You don’t…do you?”

  “Fuck no.” She waved me off, and we went our separate ways.

  It had been sixteen days since I last saw her.

  Phone calls hadn’t been enough—especially because most of them were her telling me all the reasons we wouldn’t work, while I had to pacify her long enough to get her in my arms again. I felt confident that once we were breathing the same air, she’d calm down.

  At least, I knew I would.

  But as she pulled into the short, circular drive near the front door, rather than release a sigh of relief, I had to fight against my need to go to her and claim those lips again. Her voice through a phone for over two weeks, when I’d only had the real thing for one, wasn’t nearly enough.

  As I calmly walked outside to meet her at the car, Mercy stepped out of the driver’s side, looking seven shades of nervous. Whereas, I couldn’t wipe the smile off my face. I settled my hands on her hips, as though they’d belonged there all along, and leaned in for a kiss.

  It was short.

  And awkward.

  Stiff and disconnected.

  She turned out of my hold and took one step toward the rear door, where her luggage sat on the seat. But I didn’t let her get far. I’d be damned if I’d let her push me away after I finally got her back.

  Reaffirming my hold on her hips, I shifted her so that her back was against the car, chest so close to mine I could hear every beat of her heart. With an air of confidence, I lifted my hand to cup her cheek while losing myself in the warmth of her gaze.

  “Let’s try that again.” I lowered my lips to hers once more, and a split second before they touched, her subtle gasp sucked me in. Held me tight. Kept me safe and promised to never let go. And the moment her mouth opened, inviting me in, there was no going back.

  No desire to go back.

  Mercy fisted the sides of my shirt as she melted against me. Her rigid posture gave way, losing all notion of unease. She’d gone from a stone statue to modeling clay. Solid to something I could mold to me.

  When the need for air broke us apart, I dropped my forehead to hers. “Hey.”

  A sigh drifted past her smiling lips. “Hey, baby.”

  And I was home.

  I couldn’t wait one more second to get her inside. With a kiss to her temple, I stepped aside and pulled both suitcases out of the back, leaving the remaining boxes and bags for later. “Come on; let’s get these put away.”

  I led her through the front door, around the kitchen, and into my room. Excitement drove my every step, pumping my legs faster. I was unwilling to sacrifice a single moment of having her in my arms again. Of getting her in my bed again.

  Our bed.

  It was crazy and made no sense—not even to me. I knew what I believed and how I felt. All the signs and indications were there. Not one ounce of me doubted her. Us. What we had or would have in the future. I’d never felt so sure about anything in my life, even though every bit of it was completely illogical.

  However, once I had the two suitcases in the room and turned to face Mercy, doubt crept in. It slithered through the cracks and wrapped itself around my neck. Choking me. Crushing my ribcage and piercing my lungs. Every inhale strained. Every exhale ragged. The sight before me worthy of closing the casket and draping me in darkness.

  The blank stare that met mine.

  The fisted hands and labored breathing.

  Mercy had retreated into her shell.

  “What’s wrong, babe?” I asked, hoping to pass off my anxiety as concern.

  She shook her head, glanced over her shoulder—as though she expected someone else to be here—and then faced me again. “I guess I thought I would take the other room. Like last time.”

  “Why would you? We’re married.”

  One shoulder lifted in a defeated shrug. “I don’t know, Brogan. We’ve done everything backward. In the moment, I thought it would be easy. Like a switch could be flipped and boom…I’d settle in. But being back here…it feels like it did before I left. Before the marriage and the plane ride, and the time I spent away. That’s where my things were before. It was a safe space I could go to when I needed to take a moment to myself. I have no idea how this is supposed to go. How I should feel. I’m confused, okay?”

  I took her hands in mine, though it was evident in the way she hesitated to release her fists that she had already disconnected. “Let’s talk this through. It is new and, hell, I’m scared too, but we can get through this together.”

  “There’s just a lot to figure out. The last thing I expected was to catch my fiancé cheating on me. But I did—or I thought I did.” Her eyes dropped away from mine. “I’m still not sure what the truth is. And ever since then, it’s been one unexpected thing after another. I feel like I’m trapped in a wind tunnel, all my decisions and choices swirling around me. Sucking me in and yanking me in a thousand different directions. One minute I’m upside down; the next…I’m inside out.”

  Deciding to give her enough space to gather her thoughts and voice her concerns, I took a step back. I didn’t want to be a millimeter away from her, let alone three feet. But if it meant she’d feel comfortable opening up, then I had to suck it up and do it.

  Tears swam within her gaze when she fastened her focus back on me. “Seriously, Brogan. Where the hell did you come from that night? Why were you there? It’s like you just appeared out of nowhere, right when I needed you the most. I thought I could spend one reckless week to keep me from losing myself in the pain of betrayal. I was okay with that.”

  When she locked her fingers together and dropped her gaze to her wringing hands, I held my breath. There was a but coming, and I wasn’t sure I could handle what else she had to say. Yet I didn’t have enough strength—or sense—to interrupt. While I didn’t want to hear the rest of this, I knew I had to. I had to have faith and believe this wasn’t a death sentence.

  “Getting married was never part of the plan.” Her gaze met mine again, and within the heavy swirls of syrup, the pain matched what I felt in my chest. Heart-stopping agony. Though I refused to search for more.

  “Do you…” Fuck. I didn’t want to ask, but I needed the truth. “Do you regret it?”

  The seconds ticked by, each o
ne pushing the knife in my chest deeper and deeper. Had I been willing to take my eyes off her, I would’ve checked the floor at my feet for blood. I felt ripped apart. Torn in half. Shredded into pieces I’d never recover from. I’d experienced heartache before…yet never like this. Even the notion of losing Mercy was more than I could bear. More than I could handle.

  A tear tracked down her cheek, and she made no move to swipe it away. Just left it there as if it was meant to distract me from her words when she said, “I can’t answer that. Because I don’t really know how I feel about anything right now. That’s what I’ve been trying to say, but all you’ve done is tell me to turn off the TV. I’m confused, and I have no idea which way is up anymore.”

  I stumbled backward until I met the end of the bed and sat on the rail of the footboard, unable to hold myself upright any longer. “You’re confused about me?” My stomach sloshed like a rocky sea. None of what we’d done was conventional, sure, but not once had I been confused about her.

  “Yes. No.” She huffed out a wave of frustration. “Hell if I know. Don’t you see, Brogan? I don’t know anything about you. I spent a week with you, and by the end, I was willing to marry you. All because…I felt something.”

  “Like you’ve known me for a hundred lifetimes?”

  Her eyes lit up, sparking a flame of hope in my chest. “Something like that, yeah.”

  “So then why are you questioning it now?”

  “The show,” she whispered, adding a quick shrug at the end. “You have this whole other side to you, and I don’t recognize him at all. There’s Brogan…and then there’s Wrong. There’s the guy I spent a week with. And then the guy on TV. The guy I gave myself to, who brought me to higher highs that I never imagined were possible. And then the guy who’s done the same to almost every hot chick who walks into his shop.”

  “That’s why I told you to stop watching it.”

  “Why? Because you knew I’d realize I’m nothing special?”

  That angered me. Pulled me to my feet. Tightened my muscles into fiery coils beneath my skin, burning me alive from the inside. “No. Not even close, Mercy. Because you’re watching a twisted version of my life—a life I had before you—and you’re holding it against me. You’re comparing yourself to other women. Women I never contemplated marrying, let alone have any other type of relationship with. Women I never brought to my house, let alone move in. You’re taking bits and pieces of months on end that were strung together to fit into a third of that time and overanalyzing it. That’s why I didn’t want you to watch it.” I had to take a slow breath to calm down before I gave her another reason to walk away. “You’re more than special.”