Secret Regrets (Living For Today #2)

by Megan C. Smith

  “First, Darren. How are you? Was that him the night of the bachelorette party?”

  I nodded at first, pouring myself another shot, knowing I would regret it all come morning.

  “So Darren. He is back. He threatened me. Apparently, we have unresolved business. I’m not sure what role Ian is playing, but I’m pretty sure he was there that night.”

  “I knew he was a douche.” Leslie gritted her teeth.

  “Yeah. Well, I mean, I don’t know. He was trying to get Darren to leave me alone, and at school he was weird, but helpful. I think Darren may have just had something over him, or something. Ian made a comment one day about not owing someone, so maybe that was Darren? Anyway…” I paused, taking the shot. “…I ended up telling Bryant. He could tell something was up, and we filed police reports and such, so we will see.”

  “Well, I’m glad you finally told Bryant. He needed to know. Now Jordan. What did he want? He is reaching borderline-stalker material too, you know. Doesn’t he get it?”

  Floored that Leslie would speak like that about Jordan, I turned away from her, still battling what I knew needed to be done and being hurt it had all come down to this.

  “I thought it was Darren, but it was Jordan. So he knew that I was dealing with it and rushed here. He met me at school and just was typical Jordan, saving the day. Bryant came into my classroom and heard Jordan bashing him, so, you know... epic explosion. Ended up with them both verbally assaulting one another, and then Bryant punching him square in the nose.”

  “Ha!” Leslie threw a fist in the air. “Thank God!”

  “Leslie! I yelled, appalled. “No more tequila for you.” I snatched the bottle away and watched the clear liquid slosh around inside as I placed it down by my feet. All four of them.

  “Well, you know, he just wasn’t taking a hint. You and Bryant belong together. Jordan was excess baggage. Don’t get me wrong, he’s nice. And he’ll find a nice, other woman to love.”

  I eyed the bottle of tequila, but leaning down to get it in the state I was in made me nervous. “So anyway, that covers it.”

  My emotions were all over the place, and I hated how everyone saw Jordan in that moment. He was one of my best friends, but deep down I knew they were right. Unable to stand any more talking, I leaned back against the couch and closed my eyes.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  PULLING INTO THE DRIVEWAY AT NOON the next day, I knew Bryant would have something to say, and honestly, I dreaded it. When the door opened, and a muscular silhouette filled the frame, I knew I was doomed.

  After shutting the car door behind me with a thud, I made my way toward Bryant.

  “Hey,” I croaked out at him, the cotton mouth choking me.

  Stepping back, he let me inside and then shut the door behind me without a word.

  “So, how was Grant?” I probed, knowing that was how Grant had gotten home late the night before. Stepping into the brightly lit kitchen, I groaned in pain and dimmed the lights before taking off my sunglasses. As I made my way to the medicine cabinet, I inwardly prayed there would be something strong in there to relieve the migraine brewing.

  “You know, I’m starting to think Leslie is a bad influence on you,” he teased in a mocking tone.

  Rolling my eyes, I grabbed a bottled water and swallowed both pills in one swig. I could see a million questions dancing behind those chocolate-brown eyes I loved so much. I hopped up on the counter and faced him so he would know he had my full attention.

  “Did you talk?” he asked, picking at his fingernails, apparently to avoid eye contact.

  “Did Leslie and I talk after she was away for probably two of the craziest weeks of my life? No, we played Monopoly.” I couldn’t stop the sarcasm that shot out of my mouth like venom.

  He narrowed his eyes on me and pinned me down with a black glare, causing me to cringe.

  “I’m sorry.” I sighed. “I’m just exhausted. Yes, we talked, and she gave me her two cents ‘til I was blue in the face. She let me know exactly how she felt, how I was an idiot. I think I heard “I told you so” at least a hundred times.”

  Bryant laughed as he pulled me into his arms. “Aw, I feel bad for you. Grant said she looked like she might murder you when she left.”

  “Yeah, apparently letting her enjoy her honeymoon is frowned upon, at least when my own personal apocalypse is occurring. She had been trying to get me to tell you for ages now.” I murmured into his chest and breathed in the smell of cotton and his cologne.

  He tensed a moment beneath me and then chuckled again. “You won’t hear me say this often, but for once, you should have listened to Leslie.”

  I nodded against him. “Yeah. Well, hindsight is twenty-twenty, as they say.” Leaning back, I inched up onto my tiptoes and kissed his warm pink lips. “I’m glad you know now,” I acquiesced.

  “Me too. We can fight this together,” he agreed. He brought his lips crashing back onto mine and scooped me up in one swoop, pinning me against the wall.

  My libido instantly kicked into overdrive as I felt his need for me seated firmly between my legs. I wrapped my arms and legs around him and poured every bit of passion I could back into my kiss as our lips molded to one another and our tongues did a dance.

  Bryant pulled my shirt over my head and tossed it onto the banister. He allowed his hands to freely explore my lace bra. With a growl, he held me firmly to him and pushed us off the wall. He carried me up the stairs to our bedroom.

  “WELL, THAT WAS JUST the hangover cure I needed,” I said smugly, trailing my fingers on the defined muscles of Bryant’s naked back.

  “I’m going to hop in the shower. Want to join me?” Bryant’s husky voice asked as he rolled over to look at me.

  Groaning in response, I shook my head no. “Nah, I probably should get started on the laundry for the week and figure out dinner. Grant said you invited them over for dinner?”

  Bryant ducked from my swat leaped up, and quickly made his way to the bathroom. “Oh yeah.” He laughed. “Grant and I were hoping we could catch round two of the Leslie throw-down.”

  I grabbed a pillow and chucked it at the door, just barely clipping his leg as he jumped into the bathroom and out of the way. I heard him laugh heartily until the shower drowned out the beautiful sound.

  I threw on some yoga pants and a tank top and began picking up Bryant’s dirty laundry and putting it all into the elusive hamper to carry downstairs.

  Just as I reached the landing, I could hear a cell phone ringing from the kitchen. Instantly, my senses were heightened. Each ring of a cell phone put me on edge, anticipating who would be on the other end. Is it him? I froze. My body actually could not move, couldn’t take a step. I was essentially super glued to the floor.

  The ringing ceased to echo through the house, and my body was released from the hold. I shook my head left and right. I have to cope. I have to deal with this fear.

  I walked through the kitchen to get to the laundry room, then paused and wondered who had just called. After setting the basket down, I walked over to my phone and pushed the button to illuminate the screen. My phone showed no missed calls and was still muted, so I walked over to Bryant’s.

  Missed Call. Sophia Matthews.

  His mom? We’d never discussed his parents; it was as if they didn’t even exist. All I had ever heard was that the life they’d wanted for him hadn’t been what he was looking for. From what Grant and Jordan had told me, Bryant came from a pretty well-to-do family and could have become anything, as long as his parents approved. They had hoped he would be a lawyer like his dad, or even a doctor.

  His phone began buzzing against the countertop as his mom called again. Putting aside the questions flying through my head, I picked up the phone and answered it, worried it was an emergency for her to call twice in a row like that.

  “Hello, Mrs. Matthews?” I spoke into the phone.

  “Yes. Hello, I am calling for my son, Bryant. Is this the correct number?” Her voice was smooth-s
ounding with the enunciation and clarity of a bell. Prim and proper.

  “Yes, ma’am. This is Bryant’s—” I paused. What was I? What had he told them?

  “Well, spit it out. I need to speak with my son please.” Her voice was laced with irritation, urging me to move.

  “One moment.” I muted the phone and set it down, angry she was so rude and disappointed she hadn’t heard about me, even though I’d figured as much. My mind was warring with emotions. “Bryant!” I yelled, hoping I wouldn’t have to trek back up the stairs.

  “Hey, babe. What’s up?” Bryant’s rugged voice replied from the staircase as he made his way to the kitchen in no time.

  Eyeing the phone cautiously, I looked back to him. “The phone…” My eyes locked on Bryant’s.

  His body tensed up as he listened.

  “It’s your mom.”

  Confusion replaced the tense mask he had put up, “My mother?” he repeated skeptically.

  “Yes, you know, the woman who delivered you into this world, raised you.”

  “Ha, that is debatable. What the hell does she want?” he asked, growing frustrated as he stood before me.

  The light on his phone dimmed, and I realized his mother had hung up, probably tired of waiting. By the time my eyes went back to Bryant, the shrill ring sounded again, bouncing off the walls of our kitchen.

  Bryant answered the call before it could ring again. “Hello?” He paused a moment. “Yes, Mother, it is me. What do you need?”

  Another moment passed as I watched the emotions flitting across his face: confusion, irritation, curiosity, then finally settling on anger. His muscles corded, and his knuckles turned white as he gripped the phone more forcefully. “Mother. Mother! Stop speaking. Don’t Bryant me… That dimwitted woman you are speaking so foully of is my fiancée…You would do well to address her with the manners you’ve mastered faking.”

  No longer did I hear the melodic voice of his mother as she spoke to him. The kitchen was consumed in silence.

  “If that’s all?” Bryant attempted to be done with the call as his eyes found mine, expressing his apology.

  I forced a small smile to try to bring him back to me, to let him know it was okay. The woman had no clue who I was; she just knew I’d placed her on hold for far longer than she was used to.

  Just as the corner of Bryant’s beautiful smile began to tilt up, it quickly straightened back out to a grimace. “You’re what? Well, okay… Yes, Mother… Well, I can find something nearby for you… Well, yes, I have a guess… Okay... I’ll see you Friday then.” Bryant hung up and tossed the phone onto the bar hard enough it slid a good three feet after landing.

  Letting out a deep sigh, he brought his eyes back to mine. “Well, honey, looks like you’ll be meeting my parents on Friday. And they will be staying here too.” Bryant walked past me and opened the refrigerator. He stared inside a moment before he looked up at the clock. Then he nodded, reached in, and pulled out a beer.

  “Bryant, it is eleven in the morning!” I hollered, shocked at his behavior.

  “Rose, babe. It’s my mother. If you knew her, you’d be getting yourself one too.”

  I walked over to him and wrapped my arms around him from behind. “Hey, she can’t be that bad. Plus, it is about time I meet her. We will be married in a few short months.” Hesitating, I wanted to ask the burning unspoken question, but was unsure how he would react — how I would react. It just seemed like dangerous territory, but I had to know. “Do they know about me at all? About Angelica?”

  As he let a big breath of air blow out of his nose, I could feel Bryant pulling away. It was obvious that he did not want to talk about it, No doubt freaking out that I was even asking. Each muscle looked strung tight, ready to react. Ready to run.

  “Well, yes and no. They know there was a girl who had my heart and took it with her. They don’t know about Angelica, and, before you react — which is a bit late cause I already see your nose scrunching — I had a reason. My parents control everything. Well, technically, my mom does, and my dad agrees with everything she decides, so they are a force to be reckoned with. I just felt like they would taint the memories of Angelica. They wouldn’t understand our love, how all-consuming it was from the start. They would have said, and don’t—” He stopped speaking, every word and thought sitting on the tip of his tongue as he closed his eyes tightly.

  “Bryant, talk to me,” I pleaded. It pained me to see him so distraught, but I knew it was my chance to prove my strength to him. I reached out, clasped his hand, and squeezed it, urging him to continue.

  “I just don’t want you to hate them, I guess, and this will come out all wrong. They would have said us losing our little girl was a blessing in disguise. That to have a child out of wedlock is an abomination. That we had no idea what we wanted out of life or a way to provide for our daughter. They would have called us reckless and just children ourselves.”

  Tears streamed down my face. I couldn’t help it. How could someone think that way? My heart ached every second of every day for our daughter. Letting go of my hand, Bryant strode away out the back glass door. He slid it closed with so much force it slammed shut.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  THE REST OF THE WEEK WAS absolutely torturous. Bryant was not speaking — like positively mute, closed off. I had tried desperately to get him to talk to me, to give me some clue as to how he was feeling but each time, he’d stomp off and end up going for a very long run. His parents would arrive tomorrow, and tonight he was the surliest he’d been all week. It was awful.

  Sitting down to eat dinner, I hoped he’d take notice that I had cooked up his favorite meal, chicken parmesan. But as he stabbed his chicken and massacred the perfectly golden breading and melted mozzarella, I was pretty sure it was not being appreciated. As he jammed each bite into his mouth, he shifted it to the side and chewed it like cud. He wrapped his firm hand around the green bottle containing his Yuengling and tilted it back, letting the liquid pour down his throat.

  “Bryant, talk to me,” I pleaded, desperate to just hear something. I was terrified about his parents coming the next day; they didn’t know me and didn’t seem inclined to give me a chance.

  As Bryant shoved back from the table, his plate slid forward while his chair fell back, crashing to the floor. “Damnit, Rose. I don’t want to fucking talking about it! Don’t you get it? My parents will be here in less than twenty-four hours, and I’m just supposed to be this guy they expected me to be, but I’m not. I’m just one huge disappointment to them.”

  Tears welled in my eyes. I wasn’t use to Bryant yelling at me. In fact, I positively hated it. It brought back memories of Darren, the red flags that should have waved to alert me to his anger and issues, but I’d been too naïve. Unable to voice my fears, I shook my head no while Bryant just stared at me in confusion.

  “I won’t go down this road again,” I mumbled, promising to myself that I would not be a victim. Backing away slowly, I watched Bryant with eagle eyes as I inched my way toward the stairs. Every muscle in my body was prepared for him to attack me as a flashback of my prom night with Darren assaulted me.

  “Rose?” Bryant’s wavering voice questioned my retreat. “What are you—?”

  “No, you don’t want to talk? Don’t talk. Stay there,” I firmly said, despite my trembling knees. “Stay. Right. There.” As soon as my heel hit the first step, I spun around and bolted up the stairs, not stopping until I locked myself in our bedroom. I could hear Bryant’s weight pound into each step as he bounded up behind me.

  “Rose!” he called through the wood door, jiggling the door handle. “Rose, talk to me. What is wrong?”

  Tears rushed down my face in a flash flood, uncontrollable as the nightmares and memories rushed back. I could feel Darren’s weight pinning me beneath him, smell the stench of alcohol on his breath. He was there in my room with me, and it left me dripping in sweat, immobile. I couldn’t even begin to understand why he would force himself back into
my life, why I was this golden prize he felt the need to claim. To own.

  The shadows in the room dipped lower as the sun set off in the distance. Suddenly, a soft knock broke me from my desolate mood. “Rose?” Leslie’s voice broke through my terror-stricken fog. “Rose, hun, open the door.”

  “Is—” My voice caught in my throat. “—is Darren out there still?” A loud noise broke the silence that had descended after my nonsensical question.

  “He is gone now.” Leslie’s soothing voice spoke again, urging me to unlock the door and allow her access. She shimmied through the crack I had allowed, and I quickly shut the door again and clicked the lock back.

  “He will never leave me alone. He is so angry, so mean.” I spoke so softly Leslie leaned in closer to hear me, trying to wrap her arms around my rocking frame that was curled in on itself. My back slid down the wall until I fell to my butt. Just needing to feel safe, I brought my knees to my chest and held myself together as best as I could.

  “Rose, look at me. You are home, with Bryant. Look around.” Leslie stood up, walked over to our nightstand, and grabbed a framed photo of Bryant and me canoeing down the Hillsborough River last summer. “See...” she explained, pressing the photo into my vision.

  Blinking a few times, I looked up to see a very concerned Leslie.

  “You back with me?” she asked as my eyes focused on her, on my room.

  Nodding, I was still unable to speak. I felt disorientated and confused.

  “Come on, let’s go down and sit on the couch.” Leslie held her hand out to me, helping me up once I took it. Opening the door first, she peeked out, setting my nerves on edge again.

  “I think Bryant went with Grant on a walk,” she reasoned as she opened the door fully.

  Looking out, I saw a hole in the drywall. I walked up to it and touched the edges of the oval-shaped hole.

  “Bryant punched the wall when you called him Darren,” she explained.