Ready to Wed (16 page)

“Brendan asked me to marry him when I was nine,” I said.

The crease in Grant’s forehead softened. Clearly he was relieved, but he probably wouldn’t be if he knew I hadn’t stopped thinking about that moment with Brendan under the sink since it happened. My roommate was becoming more than the boy who’d proposed with a Life Saver. Right now he was crossing over to an amazing maybe that I was tempted to try.

But here I was with the guy who I’d once promised to marry, and after our initial strained interactions post-failed-nuptials, this one felt more like the us that used to be. Still needed some work, but the comfort that he knew me and I knew him was there.

Grant took my hand in his, the way he’d done hundreds of times before. “Thanks for coming with me today. It means a lot.” He beamed at Jaden as he came down the short slide, pride glowing in his eyes. “I was so scared about being a dad, but I didn’t realize how awesome it’d be.”

Jaden ran over, a giant grin on his face. As he excitedly told his dad something about the slide in his little kid talk, I could see that glimpse of the family I’d always wanted with Grant. Unlike when Grant sent me the pictures of his son that felt like someone else’s generic family in a frame, this one was an image I could reach out and touch—especially with Grant’s warm hand still wrapped around mine.

The memory of Brendan telling me Grant was trying to manipulate me popped into my head. Admittedly, seeing him with his son did soften me toward him. But after watching their interaction, I didn’t think he’d use his son to win me over. Sway, maybe. More than anything, I think I was just the person he’d gotten used to coming to for help problem-solving, because he knew I’d find a way, despite the cost to myself.

Jaden took off again, and Grant waved at him, then he tightened his grip on my hand. “Like I was saying, I didn’t realize all the fun that’d come along with the responsibility, but something’s missing.” He brought my hand up and kissed the back of it. “You’re good with him. I really think we could make this work.”

The imprint of loving him was still written on my heart, but I wasn’t sure I was in love with him still. It felt like I was standing on a ledge. Step one way and slide back in love with Grant. Become a part of his family, with a mother-in-law who treated me like a daughter and a son I’d eventually call my own, too. It wasn’t the way I’d expected it, but I had to admit it had its allure. The security I’d always wanted. And it’d be so, so easy.

On the other side of the ledge was the unknown. Risky, yes, with no promises or guarantees, but totally mine. There was a possibility of Brendan in the mix, but even without it, I wanted to know that I was worth keeping around for more than my problem-solving skills. I wanted to know I could be strong alone if I had to, even if it wasn’t the most fun path, and even if it was the harder one.

Being alone was better than being with the wrong person, and in this moment, I wasn’t 100 percent sure Grant was the right one.

The real question, though, was could I live always wondering what if?

…

Brendan was on the couch when I got home, remote in one hand, his other resting on Cupid’s head.

My boys
, I thought with a smile. The day with Grant still had my gut tied in knots, and a heavy side of guilt that I couldn’t give him the definite answer he’d wanted was rolling around in there, too. Add the confusion, and I was like an emotion collage, all pasted pieces in a mess that made it hard to see anything clearly.

But at least being here made all the clashing noise in my brain move to the background.

“You have a good time?” Brendan asked, turning down the volume of the TV.

I shrugged. “It was good to see him, nice to meet his son, and he said all the right things. But the more I’m around him, the more confused I feel.”

“I don’t see why. Seems pretty clear to me.”

“Then explain it to me, because I could use some clarity.”

The muscles along his jaw tightened. “He’s an ass. End of story.”

“You don’t know him,” I said, irritation rising up and dissolving my momentary contentment. “He’s a nice guy, actually, and he’s been going through something huge.”

Brendan was off the couch and in front of me with a couple long strides. “Nice? He left you on that shore alone, D.J. If he cared about you at all, he’d know you have abandonment issues. He would’ve known that there was no worse way to hurt you.”

A hole opened over my heart, raw and aching. “I don’t have abandonment issues.”

He placed his hands on my shoulders, his eyes softening. “You don’t have to pretend with me. You don’t have to be tough. Your mom sucks for leaving you the way she did. And your dad was a good guy, but he was gone a lot, too. If your
fianc
é
knew you like I do, he would’ve grown a pair of balls and told you about his pre-wedding jitters instead of leaving you waiting there for an hour. If you want him, that’s your choice. But don’t expect me to not hold that against him.”

A lump formed in my throat and suddenly I was blinking back tears. Grant didn’t know that about me, but part of it was my fault. I’d never told him that I still had internal scars from my mom, because I didn’t want him to see my weakness. I’d been trying so hard to be
his
support system, the girl who made everything okay and was on top of her life.

Brendan ran his hands down my arms, the sensation of his skin on mine calming the storm inside. “I guess that makes me a hypocrite, though, because I left you, too. I told my parents I didn’t want to move, but there was only so much I could do, and that killed me.”

“You didn’t abandon me.”

He let out a long exhale that seemed to carry the weight of the world. “I did. And I can’t help thinking if I would’ve been around—if I would’ve moved back here sooner—I could’ve prevented the whole Grant thing from happening in the first place.”

I was going to tell him that was silly, but the fierce determination in his eyes and the set of his jaw told me he was dead serious.

“But it’s not about me,” he said. “It’s about you. What do you want?”

“It’s not that simple,” I replied. “Grant regrets what he did, and he’s trying so hard to make it up to me. Everyone makes mistakes—I can’t punish him forever for it.”

“That’s not what I asked.” Brendan’s hands moved to mine, and he stepped closer. “What do
you
want?”

I was about to tell him that I didn’t know—that was the problem. But as his fingers curled over mine and the tingly love hope I’d felt earlier came back, zipping underneath my skin, I knew that wasn’t true. At least in this moment, I knew what I wanted. “To finish what we started under the sink.” I squeezed his hands. “Only I’m afraid that I’ll feel guilty about it, or that it’ll mess things up between us, and I just got you back, and my life is still pretty messy and—”

“All I’ve been thinking about for the past few hours is finishing what we started. Actually, I’ve been thinking about kissing you for weeks.” He leaned in until his warmth and cologne invaded all my senses, and his voice dropped even lower than usual. “Will it make you feel less guilty if I initiate the kissing?”

I swallowed, finding it more difficult than usual.

Brendan pulled me flush against him and my breath lodged in my throat. My heart thudded against his as he lowered his lips and brushed them over mine. “You just stand there. I’ll do all the work.” I felt him smile, and then he pressed his mouth firmly against mine. Using his grip on my hands, he pulled my arms over his shoulders, then his fingers ran down my back, settling on my hips. He parted my lips with his, and after that, I couldn’t stay still anymore.

I curled my fingers into his hair as I opened my mouth, inviting him to deepen the kiss. His whiskers brushed my skin in the most delicious way, and I gently sucked his lower lip. His tongue moved to meet mine, a gentle sweep that made me burn from head to toe, and my body melted into his.

“I…” Thoughts were fuzzy, but I knew if I didn’t say something, I might let him carry me into his bedroom, and that’d be way too fast. I sucked in a deep breath, working on catching my breath. “Like I said, I’m still a bit broken, and I think it’s a bad idea to just dive into another relationship.”

“Okay,” he said, brushing my hair off my face and resting his hand on my neck. “But I don’t think I can sit back while you continue to date Grant. I’ll still be your friend if that’s what you choose to do, but I need to know, one way or the other. I can go slow, but I can’t be second string. I’m not built that way.”

For the first time today, things were crystal clear. I was going to have to fully break things off with Grant, no halfway, dragging out the pain anymore. Not just because Brendan didn’t want to be a standby, which I understood, but because I still felt the thorn of his rejection in my heart. I’d pretended I could get over it, but I couldn’t. I wasn’t even sure I could ever let someone else in fully because of it.

As I focused on Brendan again, all I knew for sure was that I couldn’t go back. “I want you. Just you.”

A slow smile curved his lips, and then he gave me a gentle kiss. “With how often you kept telling everyone we were just friends, I was worried this was totally one-sided on my part.”

“Definitely not one-sided.” I moved my hand directly over his heart, smiling when it was beating as fast as mine. “I was serious about going slow, though. Kissing, dating—that’s all fine. But the rest…” I glanced toward our
separate
bedrooms.

“Slow. Got it. I won’t make a move in that direction”—Brendan tilted his head toward the hall—“until you tell me you’re ready. Deal?”

I nodded. “Deal.” Then worry seeped in, because my brain hated me. “What if we don’t work out? I mean, we’re freaking living together, and this could ruin a friendship that started when we were seven.”

Panic wrapped its tentacles around my chest, trying to choke out the happiness I’d experienced moments ago.

Brendan lowered his forehead to mine. “I’ve loved you one way or another since the first day we met, Dakota Jane Halifax, and I’ll keep on doing it, no matter what happens. Even if we find out we’re better as friends.”

I tipped onto my toes and kissed him again, because I wanted to, and because I could, and because most of all, I believed him.

Chapter Nineteen

I tied the seafoam-colored ribbon around the bouquet of pink and white peonies on my desk and held the knot in place with one hand as I glanced at my ringing cell phone. When I saw it was Tess, I picked up, sure she was checking in on the course she’d required I take. “I’m all over the anger management thing, I swear. I’ve got my second session in a few hours.” I tucked the phone between my ear and shoulder and looped the ribbon into a bow. “Unless I can just skip it? I’m good now, really. Got it all figured out.”

“That’s actually not why I was calling, though I think completing the entire course will be good for you.”

“I plan on passing with flying colors.” I resisted adding
So Phoebe can suck it
, since it might undermine the statement in Tess’s eyes.

“That’s what I like to hear. Now, I wanted to talk to you about your next column.”

“I’m still brainstorming a few ideas and should have a better idea on what topic I’m going with by the end of the day.” It wasn’t due yet, and she didn’t usually call to check in, but I wanted to assure her I wasn’t slacking. I’d actually started one titled “How not to look like a desperate hussy while catching the bouquet.” Funny, but possibly too mean, and too short—how many ways could I really say “please don’t give the other females competing black eyes for a superstition that started back in medieval times”?

Of course, then I could go into how people used to think it was lucky to get a piece of the bride’s gown and that led to the bouquet toss, which was supposed to avoid ripping dresses, not encourage you to rip someone else’s off.

“Well, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about,” Tess said. “I usually give you free rein to write whatever, but…”

I flinched at that “but,” worried it held all kinds of things I wasn’t ready for.

“People want to know about you. How you’re doing after not getting married. Your dating life. How you feel.”

“How I feel?” Ugh, it was even worse than I’d imagined. “Why would people care?”

“You’ve made a name for yourself, and with you planning the wedding between Valentina and Marcus, the buzz is only getting bigger. Our readers like your advice, and the way you put it in your cute, witty way.”

Cute? People think my columns are cute? Here I thought I was more “edgy.
”

“But seeing you struggle with love has hit a nerve,” Tess continued. “I can’t tell you how many emails we’ve gotten about it. They want to know more.”

My fingers went to the silky petals of one of the peonies, rubbing and rubbing until a few of the petals were balled between my fingers. “I, uh, don’t know about putting my personal life out there. I regret doing it in the first place.”

“I hear you, and I’m not going to force you to do it. But this is what people are asking for. Either they hear it from you, or Phoebe keeps trying to get the scoop on your life. Which would you rather see in the paper? Her version or yours?”

…

“Hey, Wild Bill,” I said as I settled into the seat next to the guy I’d first thought of as Skull Crusher. Honestly, I was a little tempted to ask if he’d care if I called him that. But I supposed it was a bit contrary to the calm mood Ron was so diligent in trying to cultivate.

The lights were dimmed—well, maybe that was just bad lighting and not Ron—and he’d put on instrumental music. Harp was heavily featured, with a little flute mixed in. I swore it made my heart rate hitch instead of calm.

Wild Bill held out his fist, and I knocked mine into his.

Then Ron cleared his throat and held up his hands, announcing it was time to get started. As his monotone voice filled the air, I sat back in my chair. My mind was still spinning over what Tess had asked me to do, and those words:
Which would you rather see in the paper? Her version or yours?

Good thing I was all versed in controlling my irritation now, because I’d wanted to ask why the option wasn’t not being in the paper
at all.
But I’d held it in.

“…bottled-up emotions are also dangerous,” Ron said, and I swore he was looking right at me, too.

I’m working on it, sheesh!

He kept on glancing my way as he talked about how harmful that method could be, leading to hypertension, high blood pressure, or depression. It was like a problems buffet where you got way more on your plate than you wanted and felt ill afterward—why I avoided the buffets on the Strip, by the way. “All you can eat” sounds like a good idea until you eat your body weight in shrimp and the mere smell makes you want to vomit.

“Now, that doesn’t mean you express all your feelings, either,” Ron continued. “The ‘let it all hang out’ way of dealing with emotions is a dangerous myth. People use it to make it okay to yell at others. And is that okay?”

I wanted to play devil’s advocate and say it depends on what that person did. But I kept my mouth shut—just like my emotions. Fingers crossed, high blood pressure was all I got from it. Ron waited till he’d gotten the required head shaking and murmured nos before moving on.

“Angry people can be cynical. Almost paranoid. They can believe that others do things on purpose to annoy or frustrate them.”

I had printed proof that Phoebe Pratt went out of her way to frustrate me, so I didn’t like the implication that I was paranoid.

“We all need to work on building trust,” Ron said. “Time for an exercise.”

“If we’re doing trust falls, I get Wild Bill,” I said, smiling at the grizzled guy beside me.

Wild Bill winked at me. “I’d catch you.”

At the front, Ron crossed his arms. “This is a group activity. We’ll all be sharing something. Miss Halifax, since you’re so eager to volunteer, how about we start with you?”

All eyes turned to me.

What was it with everyone wanting me to open up today?

“How about you start with why you’re here?” Ron asked, his eyebrows jumping up in a hopeful way that made me despise him a little.

“My boss made me come.”

“Because…?” Ron arched his eyebrows even higher.

I held up a finger—not the one I really wanted to, but one to ask for a moment. Was I really going to confess? In front of all these people I barely knew? Tess wanted me to tell the entire city, so I supposed a handful of people who understood feeling out of control of your life at times was as good a place to start as any. “Well, it all started when I got stood up at the altar.”

Wild Bill leaned across his desk. “You point me in the right direction, and we’ll take care of that guy good.” Yes, he was threatening my ex, but anger wasn’t the right word for the way he did it. More like solidarity, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t appreciate it.

Ron shook his head and sighed. “Healthy ways, Bill. Violence isn’t the answer, remember?” He cast me a glance that made it clear he blamed me for the outburst. And he wondered why I didn’t open up more. “Go on.”

“Anyway, this awful woman at my work—”

“Healthy words.”

Seriously, dude, I’m trying not to be angry here, and you keep prodding me.
I took a deep breath, hoping it was the cleansing kind people talked about. “She wrote in the
Las Vegas
Beacon
about how I got stood up, and then she questioned how I could plan others’ weddings when mine fell through.”

Gina, the woman on my left, gasped.
See. She gets it. Of course, she did Carrie Underwood her cheating ex’s truck, baseball bat to his pretty little ride and all.
Truth be told, I was kind of jealous. I bet it was fun to get all that rage out in physical form, an object to destroy instead of only feeling destroyed inside.

I flashed her a thanks-for-understanding smile.

“And then?” Ron asked.

“Then I ended up here. You fill in the blanks.”

Our instructor pursed his lips. Light bounced off his shiny bald head as he tipped his chin down and looked at me over his large glasses. Seemed like an odd choice to put such an annoying guy in front of people who were in trouble for acting aggressively. I’d appreciated the tips I’d learned, but homeboy needed to back off.

Or maybe that was my bottled emotions talking—Ron had said that could cause a person to take out his or her anger on someone else, lashing out at people who didn’t deserve it. “I wasn’t
actually
going to punch her in the face. Whatever happened to jokes?”

“Jokes about bodily harm aren’t funny,” Ron said.

Wild Bill shot me a sidelong glance, as if he didn’t necessarily agree but didn’t want a lecture.

I let out a bit of the anger churning inside me, just a tiny leak as I tried to explain my side of the story. “I never asked for her to cover my
personal
life in her
public
column.”

Ron took a few steps closer, a hint of actual sympathy on his features. Finally he got it. That I was justified. “Can we control other people and what they say?”

Control. That was what it came down to, right? Well, I liked to have it. I liked to give orders and organize my weddings. I knew the answer was no, but what I really wanted to know was why not? Things would be better.

On the other hand, the lack of control when I was with Brendan, how he surprised me—how my emotions ran out of me unbidden—were all things I liked about him. He made losing control fun.

Gina nudged me with her elbow and shook her head, mouthing “no” as if she really thought I was stumped on the answer.

I recited what we’d learned last class. “We can’t control the unpredictable actions of others. Only the way the events affect us.”

My words were meant to get Ron to back off, but I’ll be damned if it didn’t help cool the heat winding through my body. It was like my brain needed to hear that I couldn’t control everything. Didn’t mean I didn’t want to, or that I’d be happy about what Phoebe said from here on out. Or even that I’d never be tempted to say things about wanting to punch her. But surely that was still progress, right?

I looked my anger management instructor in the eye and said, “Thanks, Ron. You just made me realize something.”

He blinked at me a couple of times, a goofy smile curved his lips, and then he moved on. I was still thinking about my column, though. The only thing I could control about the
Las Vegas Beacon
was what
I
wrote in
my
column. I was going to give the people what they apparently wanted and write Tess her article, and I’d make it more popular than Phoebe’s gossip section if it was the last thing I did.

The thought of letting out all the feelings I’d been holding at bay made my stomach clench. What if I couldn’t get the floodgates to stop once I started?

Worse, what if I didn’t like who I was once it was all out there?

Either way, it was time to reclaim control of my life and finally put my failed nuptials behind me. And I knew just where I had to start.

…

The hopeful lilt of Grant’s voice when I’d asked him to meet me for a late dinner had done a number on my resolve. I kept telling myself that he left me, so I shouldn’t feel bad about what I needed to do. I’d even called Jillian, filled her in on Brendan and my make-out session, and had her amp me up for the conversation I needed to have with Grant. But it didn’t stop the churning in my gut.

Good thing I’m trained to break bad news in a way that makes it seem okay.

Grant strode into the restaurant, an ear-to-ear grin on his face.

You’re killing me, Smalls.
Of course a quote from
The Sandlot
—a movie I’d watched with Brendan a dozen times growing up—popped into my head. But it helped me be strong. To remember why I needed to do this—this was for my future wellness, and so I could give my relationship with Brendan a real shot.

Meeting at my place would’ve been weird considering I lived there with Brendan, and Grant’s place would’ve been difficult, but I was also rethinking the out-in-public option I’d chosen. Too late now to do anything about it.

“I’m so happy you called,” Grant said as he settled across from me.

I repeat.
Killing
me.
“Grant, you know I care about you, and always will…”

His smile faded. I should’ve prepared something more original than the classic breakup starter-kit speech, but there was no reason to dance around the point any more. I sucked in a deep breath and focused on everything I needed to say, hoping it wouldn’t get all twisted up on my tongue before I could get it out. “These past few days I realized something I didn’t see before. I loved you, so I guess I didn’t want to see it. But we don’t want the same things.”

The more I’d thought about our relationship, the more I realized it’d been off-balance. I was the fixer. I’d held back talking about my problems or the stress in my life to take care of his. “I tried so hard to be the perfect girlfriend and then fiancée, and at the time it seemed nice because I was helping and doing what I did best. But I got lost along the way—I’m not blaming you for that. It was who I thought I needed to be.”

“I’m not asking you to be perfect.”

“I know. But Grant, what would you even do if I had a breakdown and started crying?”

“But you never cry.”

From his perspective I could understand his confusion, since I’d never let him see me cry, not really. It wasn’t until Brendan showed me what it was like to feel whole even when broken that I realized it was okay to not just have flaws, but to allow people to see them. If I couldn’t let go with Grant, how could I possibly expect us to work? “When it comes down to it, our connection doesn’t run as deep as it needs to for it to hold up a marriage.”

Then there was the fact that I’d always remember how he left me standing alone on the shores of Jamaica, and it’d come up in every fight. Every time we went through a rough patch. I could forgive, but I couldn’t forget, and that meant we’d always have trust issues. Maybe that made me a bad person, but if that were the case, at least I was an honest bad person. Since I didn’t think rubbing salt in a wound was the way to go, I held back—healthy words and all. “I admire you for stepping up when you found out about your son. I know the transition was a bit rocky, but you’re going to be a great dad—you don’t need me for that. And someday you’ll find another girl who you won’t hesitate to marry.”