“Oh God,” Brent said hoarsely, sounding as if he’d been punched.
I had never seen him like this, white as snow, shocked to the bone.
Time crawled painfully to the next second, then the next, and then the next. Soon, he managed to string more words together. “I called you that morning.”
I tried to keep my emotions at bay. “I was a little busy.”
He held his hands out wide. “Yeah, now I know, Shan. Now I fucking know. And now I know yet another thing you kept from me.”
Something inside me snapped, like an electrical wire sliced to the ground from high above.
“No,” I said, shaking my head, with some kind of dangerous cocktail of anger, shame, and hurt mixing up inside me. “Don’t pull that on me.”
He lifted his chin, planted his feet wide. I knew that stance. Had seen it once before. It meant he was angry, and Brent was rarely angry. The only time he’d been mad was when I’d kept my family secrets private. “But you did it again,” he said tightly. “Keeping everything to yourself and punishing me.”
I tried to keep the pot on simmer, rather than boil. “That’s not what this was about. It wasn’t about keeping things from you.”
“Like hell it wasn’t. Everything has been. You assumed the worst about me. You thought I cheated, and you never gave me a chance. And then you never told me you were pregnant. Why? Why didn’t you tell me?”
The pot boiled, emotions bubbling over. “I flew to LA! I barely had two dimes. I broke my piggy bank, for all intents and purposes, and bought a ticket to surprise you to tell you. So you don’t get to claim I was never giving you a chance. That’s bullshit. I was eleven weeks pregnant, and I was emotional. I was hormonal. And then I lost the baby.”
Brent wobbled. The world seemed to sway in front of him. He grabbed the doorframe, nearly crumpling. I wrapped my arms around him. Thankfully, he didn’t shrug me off. In the smallest voice, he croaked out, “But why didn’t you tell me after? Even if you thought I cheated, even if we were through, why didn’t you tell me?”
My throat squeezed painfully as I gripped his shoulder. “Because we were over then, Brent. When I got home from the hospital with Michael, you and I were over. You’d sent your note. I had no reason to believe anything else,” I said, then I took a deep breath. But the words still came out shaky, marked with tears. “And because there was nothing to tell. It was a miscarriage. It’s awful, but it happens all the time. I didn’t keep a child from you. I didn’t have a child and give it up. I didn’t even know the gender of the baby. I didn’t even make it past the first trimester. What was I going to say?”
He yanked away from me, pointing at me accusingly. “That. Say that. You should have said that.” He looked me in the eyes. His were full of fierce determination. “I would have been there for you. I would have been there for you in a heartbeat.”
Emotions roiled in me. “You say that now, but how was I to know?”
He held up a stop sign hand, angry again. “Don’t mention the cheating that never happened.”
“I wasn’t going to,” I said, flames licking me as anger rose up. “I was going to mention the three canceled trips. Oh, wait. Four. Tell me again how I was supposed to know you wanted to be there for me. You didn’t exactly demonstrate that.”
He huffed through his nostrils. “That’s not fair.”
“Life isn’t fair.”
He made a fist, banged it against the doorframe. “I hate that you went through it all alone without me.”
“Me too,” I gritted out. Then sadly, I whispered, “Me too.”
“You should have told me.” He shook his head over and over, repeating the same words. “You should have told me. You should have told me. I hate that you went through this alone. I wanted to be there for you, and you didn’t give me the chance.”
I choked back the tears. “I wanted that too. But how was I to know what you wanted?”
16
Brent
This was getting to be a problem.
She’d made assumptions about me.
That was unfair.
She’d assumed the fucking worst, and I couldn’t be there for her because of that.
And I’d just learned I was a bigger schmuck than I’d initially thought. I had done something far worse than walk away from the love of my life. Turned out, I’d abandoned the mother of my child when she needed me most.
I pictured her in Vegas, her world changing, and now I couldn’t fathom what to do next . . .
I paced the hallway. I opened my mouth, but I had no clue how to respond. I was a fish out of water, gasping for air. Everything had come easily to me. I’d never suffered bad news. I’d never lost someone I loved. But now, I felt the sting of devastation for the first time ever. I was experiencing all sorts of things that had become far too normal for Shannon. Unlike her, I had no road map to navigate this new terrain.
“I don’t know what to say,” I muttered.
“It’s okay. You don’t have to say the perfect thing,” she said softly. She followed me into the kitchen and clasped my hands in hers, consoling me. “And I’m sorry that I made assumptions. Forgive me.”
Our anger was cooling.
But I didn’t know what to replace it with.
And I couldn’t let her comfort me. Not when I’d failed her abysmally.
When we’d failed each other.
I pushed her hands away because I didn’t know how to touch her. I didn’t deserve her affection. “I’m sorry I looked through your frame.”
She flashed a small smile, absolving me. “It’s okay. Though I wish you hadn’t, because I was planning on telling you tonight.”
In a flash, my guilt vanished because that sounded awfully convenient. I arched an eyebrow in question and shoved all my hurt on her. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”
She stepped back. “I only started seeing you a few days ago. It’s not really the sort of thing you say at a first meeting. ‘Sorry I haven’t seen you in ten years, but hey, thought you might like to know it turned out I was pregnant when we split.’”
“That’s a start,” I said, even though those words felt all wrong, out of sync.
“Brent, that’s not a start. That’s not how you tell someone something hard.”
She had a point, but I could barely see it. I was brimming with self-loathing. I hardly knew what to do with all this horribleness, so I threw her apology back at her. “This whole time you’ve assumed the worst about me. You need to give me a chance.”
“I am giving you a chance,” she said, her voice breaking with tears and anger. “And you know that. I am more open with you than I have been with anyone in my entire life. You just expected it from day one. And I’m so sorry I’m less than perfect at finding the best moment to tell you about the tragic circumstances that have trailed behind me.”
I tossed my hands in the air and huffed. “There you go again. It’s always about you. It’s always about the shit you’ve been through.”
She flinched, as a fresh stream of tears rained down her cheeks. “What? What did you just say?” Her eyes narrowed,
and a fissure opened in my chest.
Damn it. That wasn’t what I meant.
I had to get out of there.
Because I didn’t know what to say, what to do.
I didn’t have the skills.
I didn’t have the words.
I’d just dug a hole so damn deep, and I couldn’t scramble out of it in front of her.
“I didn’t mean that,” I said, grabbing my keys, backing up.
She swiped her hand across her cheeks, wiping away the tears. They seemed to be falling faster now, relentlessly streaking down her face. “I guess it’s nice not to have to deal with shit, isn’t it? Bet it’s nice when everything is sunshine. Maybe if you could think about it, you’d realize it wasn’t so easy to tell you on our first date in college that my mother was in prison. That she sent me letters that ripped me to pieces. That pri
son made her go insane.” Her words flew, firing like bullets. “And I’m so sorry that I didn’t tell you at the Waldorf Astoria, or at your friend’s bar, or at our amazing dinner tonight that I’d lost a pregnancy.” She held up two fingers. “If you think about it, we’ve only had two dates. The bar and dinner. That’s it.” She took a breath, slowed her pace, cooled her voice. “You need to give me a chance. And if you would, maybe you’d realize that it’s hard for me to just serve up more of the pain. But I guess now you know how it feels to lose something. It’s pretty awful, isn’t it?”
I nodded and clamped my lips shut. I swallowed, and the lump in my throat was like a jagged rock. It cut me to pieces, and I had no clue what I’d say if I spoke again.
Ten years ago, she’d made assumptions about me. But I’d done the wrong things too. Ten years ago, I hadn’t done enough for her and for us. Hadn’t tried enough before we’d split and after.
But now, in our present, I didn’t know what was enough. What was too much.
And what was needed.
All I knew was I was treading dangerously close to fucking up again.
I couldn’t chance it happening a second time. I headed to the door.
She followed me, grabbing my arm and spinning me around. Devastation was written in her eyes. “Are you leaving me?”
I took her hand, peeled it off me, then cupped her shoulders. “I’m not walking away,” I said, taking my time with each word. “But I’m pissed at myself for not having the right words to say. I’m leaving because I don’t want to say or do another wrong thing. I will call you tomorrow. I promise. But if I don’t leave right now, I will do the wrong thing. And I can’t let that happen.”
I opened the door and left.
17
Shannon
The next morning, I scratched Nick between the ears. The tabby arched his back.
Purring contentedly, Nick rubbed against my legs, a thank you for feeding him again.
“You’re a sweetie,” I said as I crouched in Ally’s condo, stroking the happy creature. My voice sounded empty to my own ears, a hollow noise, mirroring my insides.
Eight hours later, and no word from Brent.
I was a big girl. I could handle eight hours; I could give him time. Even though it felt like an eternity. My body was keenly aware of every passing minute, and each one wore me to the bone. Running a hand down the cat’s back, I wished my life were as easy as his—eat, purr, be happy.
But the universe insisted on throwing hurdles and roadblocks at me. The universe kept moving the line. Jump higher. Run faster.
Then it cackled at me and demanded I do it once more.
Right when I’d started to feel good again, considering the wonderful time we’d had last night at dinner. Our date had felt like the true start of something wonderful, the brand-new beginning of us.
That was what hurt so much. After ten years of barely getting over him, I’d let down my guard in just a few days. And here I was with a raw, beating heart, broken thanks to the mess I’d made, with no one here to tend to it.
But me.
“Be a good boy. Ally will be home later today,” I told the cat, who answered me with one final silky rub of his head against my leg.
I locked the door and texted my friend.
Shannon: Nick is fed, rested, and ready for your return. Meow!
With a heavy heart, I popped back into my place, grabbed my purse, dropped a big pair of shades over my eyes, and drove to the airport. At the gate, I saw Colin, ready for our quick in-and-out day trip. He leaned against the window looking at his phone. An airline voice blared overhead. “Flight twenty-three from Las Vegas to Burbank will board in ten minutes.”
Colin tucked his phone away when he saw me walking to him. “You look like hell,” he said.
I rolled my eyes. “Thanks. Good to see you too.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Didn’t sleep much,” I said, yawning.
“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”
I shrugged a shoulder. “Bad thing.”
“Man trouble?” he asked, arching an eyebrow.
“Something like that.”
“Be a nun. Easier that way.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “You be a monk. How about that?”
He shook his head. “Hell no.” He tipped his forehead to a Starbucks across the concourse. “Let me get you a coffee. We can’t have you yawning like that in the meeting.”
On the short flight to Burbank, I downed my coffee, the caffeine rejuvenating me, temporarily erasing the sleeplessness. I touched up my makeup as Colin walked me through his goals for the meeting with the reality show producers who wanted me to choreograph a one-night reunion, but my mind kept wandering to Brent walking away last night.
It was déjà vu.
The door shutting.
The two of us on opposite sides.
The trouble was, he was right.
We were both at fault.
We’d both made mistakes.
I had assumed the worst years ago because that was what I did. That was my normal, my yardstick, and it had been ever since I was thirteen and lost the person I’d thought would always be there.
Then I’d lost another person to a life behind bars.
After my family was shattered, I’d had no reason to think there were happy endings. Not in life, not in love.
The only love you could trust was brotherly.
I choked up at the thought, touching Colin’s arm as the plane hurtled across the sky. “Do you ever feel like we’ll never be normal?”
He cocked his head to the side, stroked his chin, then shrugged. “Screw normal. Also, what’s going on, Shan?” His tone was kind, caring, reminding me that my brothers were my men. We were each other’s rocks. That was our promise to each other.
I sighed heavily, then fashioned words out of my thoughts. “Sometimes I think I can never trust anyone. Do you ever feel that way?”
He rubbed my shoulder. “Sometimes I do. But I hope that changes.”
I rested my head against his shoulder. “I don’t know how to assume the best.”
“When you’ve had the worst happen, it can be pretty hard to believe anything else. It’s taken me a long time to have any sort of positive outlook.”
I lifted my face. “But do you now?”
“Sometimes. And sometimes that’s all I can hope for,” he said, with a what can you do smile.
“Is sometimes enough?”
“Maybe it is, Shan. Maybe it is for people like us.”
People like us.
That was who we were.
We were broken. We were cleaved down the middle. Our world had been knocked upside down.
Would I ever be able to believe in love?
Part of me wanted to. Part of me wanted to stop assuming the worst. Another part knew I carried the weight of years of doing so with me. Because the worst had happened. The worst was my world.
“Let’s talk about something else. Tell me what to expect from the meeting. Business—I can handle that like a Sloan,” I said, false bravado in my tone.
He raised a fist for knocking. “Be a Sloan.” Then he segued into his advisor role. “The meeting should be short and sweet, and I have some key thoughts on how to make this a good deal for you,” he said, then rattled off his thoughts.
I squeezed his arm. “You’re the best. Thank you for always looking out for my interests.”
He waved a hand as we pulled apart. “You make it easy.”
When we landed in Los Angeles, my phone was silent. No messages. No texts. No calls.
My heart sank. Brent had been radio silent all through the night and early morning.
But he’d promised, and that had to be enough.
We deplaned on the tarmac, the sun shining brightly.
Keep on living, keep on moving, and keep on fighting.
18
Brent
As my real estate attorney talked about neighborhoo
ds in Chicago that were ripe for nightclubs, I stared at an abstract piece of art that hung on the wall—a series of red, gray, and yellow geometric shapes jutted across the canvas at harsh angles. I studied it, as if I could make out the meaning, but I saw nothing. I let my eyes go blurry, let the shapes melt into each other, into a jumbled rainbow. The one color I could still make out was yellow.
Like those damn sunflowers.
Why did she have all those pictures of sunflowers? Where were they taken?
I didn’t know. Because she didn’t let me in.
Was that her fault? Or mine?
I wanted to blame her, but I had to shoulder the load too. I had canceled the Alvin Ailey date in college. I had canceled three trips to see her after graduation.
Most importantly, I had backed out of the last trip.
Not being there had been enough of a pattern, and as much as I wanted to blame her for her quickness in jumping to conclusions, I had myself to blame too.
Ten years ago, I should have said no to that Marvel sketch. Should have said no to Jed. Shouldn’t have gone out with Holly and the rest of the crew.
“So there you go. We should be able to secure the property in Chicago, and I hope we can get that one you had your sights set on in Atlanta. Ten-four, gentlemen?”
Tate raised his eyebrows and glanced around the conference table, waiting for an okay from me and James.
But I was lost in the past, thinking of Shannon. And in the present too. Maybe I didn’t know how to handle a complicated woman. Maybe I wasn’t equipped to be the right man for someone who’d had so much thrown at her.
Guilt clawed at me. Would I ever be right for her?
Tate and James were asking me questions, but they might as well be speaking Swahili. Hell, everyone was speaking in foreign tongues today. Sanskrit and Latin and Greek rained down on me. I had no clue what anyone was saying.
“Sounds great,” I somehow managed to say, finding those words deep within some primordial part of me that remembered how to communicate.
My Sinful Nights: Book One in the Sinful Men Series Page 12