Everything Unexpected (31 page)

“I don’t want to throw anything back in her face,” I say, yanking the manual out of his hands. “It’s not about that.”

I know, in his own way, Bryan’s only trying to help. Defending me like any friend would. He’s the only one who’s seen me these last few days. The only one to witness what I’ve been going through. It’s easy for him to put the blame on Leah.

“Well maybe it should be,” he argues. “It’s time for her to give
you
a chance to speak. She got her chance! If you ask me—”

“I’m not asking you,” I say rubbing my eyes, exhausted.

Bryan heads over to the couch, taking a seat. “I still don’t get why she’s so pissed. It’s not like you two were together when you banged that girl,” he says, shaking his head. “So what? You had sex with someone else. Is her pregnancy brain not letting her compute when it happened? It’s not like you cheated. She’s just punishing you because she thinks she can. Like all women think they can.”

I swing my office chair to face him, leaning back and raising a brow. “All women?”

“All of them,” Bryan reiterates before taking a sip of his coffee.

“Right,” I say, folding my hand over my stomach. “So that includes Kendall?”

Bryan snorts. “That one for sure,” he says. “She’ll punish me for anything. If I say the wrong thing, do the wrong thing. One minute she wants this, then the next it’s that. How am I supposed to keep up? She’s a fucking lunatic.”

I know, as does Bryan for that matter, that she’s not. I actually really like Kendall. She’s a nice girl with a good head on her shoulders. Except for when it comes to Bryan.

“Like last night,” he starts, sitting up to face me. “She kicked me out of her apartment for doing the exact thing she asked me to do.”

I raise my brow, waiting to hear more before I pass judgment.

“We were in the middle of a great fuck when I spanked her. Why? Because for years all I’ve been hearing is Christian fucking Grey this, Christian fucking Grey that. Those fucking books sit on her nightstand like some kind of shrine or something. So I do what she obviously has been asking for. I spank her ass and tits a bit, just like he does. Maybe call her a name or two. But do I get a fucking thank you blow job? Fuck no. Instead she pushes me off her, telling me that I don’t understand or respect her. Loses her fucking mind and kicks me out,” he finishes.

I bite the inside of my cheeks. “You read Fifty?”

“I watched the movie,” he says dismissively, rolling his eyes. “Point is, women say one thing but expect another. Like we’re fucking mind readers or something. And then they want to punish us for getting it wrong.”

I study him as he says all this. I’ve never honestly asked Bryan why he continues on with Kendall in part because it’s amusing to watch. But now, after having gone through what might have been some of the worst days of my life, I wonder why he chooses to go through something similar over and over again with her. It’s obvious to anyone he’s in love with her. No one would continue to go through that if they weren’t. Even if he won’t admit it—to her or himself.

“You ever think maybe what she
wants
from you is not,” I pause, trying to think of the right word. “Physical? Maybe she’s looking for something more on an emotional level from you?”

His eyes come my way. “I’m not a fucking moron,” Bryan says, dropping his head for a moment before taking another sip from his coffee. “I know what she wants.”

“Then why do you keep doing this to yourself?” I ask, dumbfounded. “Why not just give it to her. Tell her. You wouldn’t keep going back to her if you didn’t want it too.”

“Because I was never supposed to find
her
this early! I was twenty when I met Kenny,” he says, adamantly. “I was supposed to party, bang chicks until I was thirty and
then
maybe start thinking of settling down.
Then
think about falling in love and all that shit. These years were supposed to be all about
me
. But she fucked that all up. And sometimes,” he looks at me, a little rattled at what he’s finally admitting, “I blame her for it.”

Bryan has never said anything so honest about Kendall and his feelings for her. Leah and I have only been going at this for a short time and it’s nearly killing me being away from her. How Bryan has lasted years of doing this with Kendall astonishes me.

“So it’s not just me,” I say.

He quirks his brow, not understanding.

“In fucking love or in fucking misery,” I remind him. “You’re in both too.”

He lets out a small laugh. “Who finds their fucking soul mate when they’re twenty?” he asks.

I copy his laugh. “I guess we do,” I say. “And now we’re being punished for not realizing it like we should have.”

“And you’re okay with that?” he asks.

“Hell no,” I state. “Every minute that goes by and she doesn’t reach out to me is fucking torture. Every minute that slips away, keeping us from working things out, I need to hold in my anger. I need to remind myself she’s hurting because of me, regardless of how much I disagree. I need to remind myself I love her more than how resentful I am of her staying away. Every minute that goes by, I need to fight the urge to go over to her place, tie her in a chair and make her listen to me. But I
know
her. I know if I go over there now, she won’t listen. She’ll only fight me twice as hard. So instead, I have to sit here. Biding my time until she is ready. Even if it kills me. So, no. I’m not okay with any of this.”

Bryan raises his coffee cup and smiles. “To being in fucking love and in fucking misery. What fucking bullshit,” he says before taking a sip.

I return his smile. “And to the women who put us there.”

THAT AFTERNOON, AFTER still not having heard from Leah, I head downtown towards a building which holds several mixed feelings for me. Happy memories of going to see my father at work as a child, running to the elevators, wanting to be the one to push the buttons. Looking out his office window, plastering my head to the glass to peer down at all the people below. It’s because of this building and what goes on inside it I was gifted with the upbringing I had. The lifestyle I was afforded, the one my parents were able to give me.

But this building also represents the conflict that has come between me and my father. Our continued failure to see each other’s point of view. For the longest time, this building was a symbol of what I didn’t want for my life. This building made me equally determined to achieve things in life on my own, as well as make me the narcissistic asshole who thought I was too good for it.

I ride up the elevator to the twentieth floor where Carlisle Corp runs a small fraction of the marketing world. Today, instead of feeling captured or restrained by these walls, they give me solace. A new hope. A step closer to the future I want if my plan is successful.

I walk past the front desk, waving at the receptionist who’s seen me come through here enough times to not worry about checking my ID or asking who I’m here to see. I walk down the busy halls, watching everyone furiously at work. Carlisle Corp is one of the busiest marketing firms in the city that plays with big money. In order to stay working at this firm, there are two things expected of you—always put your best work forward and never let someone steal your thunder. It may seem a little cut throat, but these people live in the world of marketing and advertising. It’s a competitive industry and if you’re good at it, a healthy dose of competition will only make you stronger. I’ve heard rumors that if you can last a year at Carlisle Corp, you’ve essentially stamped yourself in the world of advertising.

Outside my father’s office, his secretary Maureen sits at her desk. She’s been with him since the beginning. Her hair may be a little grayer, her wrinkles a little deeper, but don’t let that fool you. Getting by her to see my father is tough. Unless you’re me.

“Baby Boy, let me look at you,” she squeals, getting up from her seat. Maureen has called me Baby Boy for as long as I can remember. When I was a teenager, I begged my father to tell her to stop calling me that, mortified that others on the floor could hear her. But today, it puts a smile on my face. Considering how chaotic life is at the moment, it’s nice to have something familiar and consistent. Even if it is just a nickname.

Rushing around her desk wearing her customary skirt and suit jacket and reading glasses hanging from a long chain, she engulfs me in a warm hug. For as long as I can remember, Maureen has always smelled like cookies. Today is no different. As soon as she releases me, I notice she’s still wearing the pearl necklace my mother gave her on the twentieth anniversary of being my father’s secretary. Some might find it odd that my mother would present my father’s secretary with such a gift, but not to anyone who really knows our family.

It’s no secret how my father made it to my school presentations on time, who arranged dinner reservations for wedding anniversaries, who reminded him of birthdays and other celebrations. My mother and Maureen created their own kind of camaraderie years ago, becoming one functional team.

“Hi, Maureen,” I say as she takes my face in her hands, examining me.

“How are you, dear? Oh and a baby! How could you not have come here and told me yourself?” she scolds. “Now when is that bundle coming to meet Aunt Maureen?”

I laugh. “Just as soon as he’s born,” I promise.

“He?”

I tip my head side to side. “Just a feeling.”

She laughs, taking a step away and moving back behind her desk. “He isn’t expecting you,” she says, pointedly. Her expression screams interest as to why I’m here.

“I know.” I nod. “I was hoping he could spare a few minutes. Is he busy?”

“Always. But for you,” she cocks her head towards his door, “go on in. Don’t knock! It’s always fun surprising him with an unplanned interruption,” she says, giggling.

“How you still have this job…” I tease.

“Oh please. He’d fall apart without me,” she says, waving off my comment.

I smile and head to his door, stopping myself from knocking before walking straight in.

“Maureen, how many times—” my father starts before looking up from his desk. “Shane,” he says surprised.

“She told me to come right in,” I answer like a snitching child.

“Of course she did,” he says, shaking his head. He waves his hand, inviting me further into his office.

I walk into the center of the room, mindful of each step I take. I feel my father watching me, waiting for me to come closer. He isn’t one to meet you halfway. He waits for you to come to him, no matter how long it takes. I slowly walk in front of one of the two chairs across from his desk and take a seat. He already knows I’m here to ask for his help. It’s written all over my face. But that doesn’t make it easier for me.

“I hear you got yourself into a situation with Leah. A different kind of situation this time,” he says, leaning back in his chair.

“Something like that,” I answer, crossing one ankle over my knee. It doesn’t surprise me he already knows. My mother must have told him because Leah told her. Over the course of the last few months, Leah and my mother have grown much closer. I’m not exactly sure what Leah said to my mother, only that we got into a fight and we both needed some space. The amount of times I’ve had to send my mother’s calls to voicemail is obscene. The worry in her messages only escalated my own, so I had to stop listening to them.

I look around my father’s office, and much like the one he has at home, it’s made up of dark furniture and endless amount of books filling shelves around the room. The window I used to press my forehead against allows for the sun’s light to shine through, giving an amazing view of the buildings in the downtown core.

My father takes off his glasses and places them on his desk before raising his eyes back in my direction, an indication he’s waiting for me to begin. But I remain quiet. I sit in his overstuffed brown leather chair, playing with a stray strand of thread from the inseam of my jeans.

“I assume you came here for something,” my father says after a while.

I nod once because it’s true. I did come here for something. Maybe for more than one thing. Some advice? A sounding board? His simple company? “Leah’s pretty pissed at me.”

“I know.”

“I’m not sure how to fix it.”

“And you came here thinking I might have the answer?” he responds, a menacing grin mocking me.

“You usually have something to say,” I reply, a tight smile forming.

I watch my father shake his head, his grin only growing. He stands from his chair and makes his way around his large mahogany desk, taking a seat in the empty chair next to me.

“You usually never like to hear it,” he says.

“Probably still won’t.”

“Then why are you here?”

I blow out a deep breath. “Because, Dad, you know how to fix things.”

“Not always,” he says, tapping his hand over his leg repeatedly. “Your mother left me once.”

My head snaps in his direction. “No she didn’t,” I say, disbelievingly.

“Oh, she did, I promise you,” he says, seemingly now able to smile at the memory. “This was before you were born. Before she was even pregnant. She says ‘left’ is too strong a word, but trust me, that’s exactly what she did.” He points at me. “It was back when Carlisle Corp was just one rented office on the other side of town. I used to spend hours there. Early in the morning and long into the night. Working non-stop to build this company to what I knew it could be one day. What I envisioned it would be one day. What it is now. At the time, I thought nothing was more important than getting this company started. Making the Carlisle name known to everyone! This was going to be our future. Your future,” he says adamantly. “Any other responsibilities I had, I let slip because what I was building I believed was worth the sacrifice. Worth seeing your mother less and less. Worth the long days and sleepless nights. Because
my
sacrifices were going to build something for our family.” He says this all with such conviction, such pride. It reminds me why I thrive for my father’s approval even when I spend so much time fighting him over it.