When I initially heard my little brother’s ringtone, I lunged at my phone to answer right away. I was excited when his name popped up on my caller ID. Ashton knew tonight was mine and Brock’s first formal and official date. He was nervous about it going as it should, and the cameras rolling if things didn’t. Initially, I thought he was calling to offer a piece of his immature nineteen-year-old advice. But when his voice came out broken, I knew he was close to tears.
Dad’s sick, Brooke. He’s in the hospital. Mom’s a mess. You need to come home.
Those words hit my chest, settling in as dead weight, and doing their best to suffocate me. My eyes closed, angry at Ashton because he wouldn’t take them back. I wanted him to tell me he was kidding. I nearly demanded he admit it was one of his jokes said in bad taste.
He didn’t.
Rather he went on to explain that Mom has refused to budge from my father’s bedside, and that the medical staff are finding her impossible to deal with. Ashton said he needs me to come home to take care of her because he doesn’t have the wherewithal to do it himself.
“Willow and Matt are on their way up now,” Addie advises me as she grabs my second suitcase. She filters through the mess I’ve already started to make and hands me an old T-shirt and pair of jeans. “Here. I need you to put these on.”
I’m still wearing the same dress I chose to wear tonight for Brock. I’d been looking forward to spending tonight in the public eye with the man I’ve started to fall in love with. He promised Mexican and margaritas. After, he promised a night together I’d remember forever. Looking down at my matching high heel stiletto shoes, I frown in shame.
Anything and everything that’s happened since being in L.A. is trivial.
Dad’s sick, Brooke.
“Addie,” I call out, grabbing her arm before I fall.
My knees are weak, and my head is light. Childhood memories of my dad and I invade my mine. In my own, I feel his large hands, which I’ve always found safety in holding. His broad shoulders that I’ve cried on countless times beckon me to burrow myself against them again, and his gentle voice as he always called me ‘Button,’ chastises my ears in memory.
With tears streaming down my face, I chance a look at Addie, only to find her tears doing the same.
“My dad, Addie” I croak.
Within minutes of hanging up with Ashton, I’d emptied every drawer, grabbed all the clothes from my closet, all the toiletries from the bathroom, and had both suitcases out of the closet and open to pack. My irrational thoughts were reeling, brainstorming ways to get home as fast as I could.
“Honey, let’s get you changed first before we finish packing. Focus for me, okay?”
Nodding, more tears fall, and I wipe them away as I follow her to the dresser where she starts to unzip the back of the black dress I’d put on only hours before.
“I’ll call the airlines after Willow and Matt get here. They’ll sit with you while I make all the arrangements to get us home. Don’t worry about anything else, okay?”
“Why did I come here?” I question, looking into the dresser mirror. It’s a question I ask out loud, but only to myself.
If something happens to my dad before I’m able to make it home, I’ll always regret the time this absurd trip caused me to lose with him.
“You came here because the man you’re rushing home to see told you to come, Brooke. He’s proud of you.”
Do you remember when you were six years old and I took you to the fair?
You never let go of my hand.
And don’t think about us back here missing you, either. We’ll see you soon enough.
What if I don’t see him again?
Once my dress is off, Addie tosses it on the bed and moves in to finish putting my clothes on. My eyes are red and swollen, leaving my makeup an unfortunate mess. My hair, which was loosely swept up from my neck earlier, now hangs in dangled strands at my shoulders. In my panic, I run my fingers through it again and again.
“Arms, honey,” Addie gently prods.
When I pull the hem of my shirt down, it’s then I notice it’s grossly oversized. The Van Halen logo stares back at me in the mirror. Addie recognizes who it belongs to.
Brock.
“Shit,” she curses. “Do you want me to call him? Let him know?”
“No.”
It’s irrational why I feel any anger toward him, I know this. None of this is his fault. He didn’t ask me come to L.A., to leave my family behind and set out on some selfish exploit. He had no way of knowing the time I spent with him was ultimately taking me away from what could possibly be the last with my dad.
“No?” Addie questions. Her eyebrows are furrowed. She doesn’t understand, and I don’t have time to explain.
“I just want to get home, Add. I need to find out what exactly happened. I’ll call Brock then.”
“Okay,” she hesitantly agrees. “Whatever you want.”
The knock at the door comes. In a way, it serves as a rescue, so I inhale a quick but nervous breath. Sharing my burden with my best friend is one thing. In her company, I’m allowed to cry, scream, panic, and shake. Sharing my heartache and worry in front of people I still deem as mere strangers is another.
“I’ll get it,” Addie advises, pointing to the small round table in our room. “You sit. Drink this.” She pushes a lukewarm bottle of water in my hand, and I turn to do as she’s asked.
Once the door opens and Willow’s sad eyes, along with Matt’s concerned gaze turn to me, I look down and bite my lip.
Yes, facing strangers in a time like this sucks.
“We’ve already made all the arrangements.” I hear Willow explain to Addie.
Addie turns back to me and offers a careful smile.
“I’m sorry this happened,” Matt quietly expresses, coming to stand at my side. “I spoke with the hospital administration, verifying all the information they were willing to give. In light of what’s happened, you’ve been released from any and all contractual obligations to the show.”
It’s of small relief, but at least there’s that.
“Is there anything else we can do?” Willow gently asks. The care in her eyes is heart-wrenching. Her pity feeds my already weary state.
“The press.” I have the forethought to consider. “I don’t want them to know—”
“Won’t happen,” Matt tersely advises. “This is a private matter, and we’ll explain it as such. No room for negotiation.”
“Thank you,” I utter, genuinely thankful for another small piece they’ve offered.
“And as far as Brock is concerned—” Willow starts.
I stop her immediately. “I don’t want him to know anything either.”
Willow’s head tilts to the side. “But I thought you two—”
“No, not now. I don’t want him to know,” I assert, this time with added confidence. “I’ll contact him when I can.”
“Anything you say,” she replies with sincerity.
Matt comes to my side again and gently rests his hand on my shoulder. “It was really nice to meet you, Brooke. I can say, even without knowing him, I’m sure your father would be proud of how you’ve handled yourself during your stay here. Dignity and grace are characteristics not too many of the contestants we’ve had on this show have had an abundance of.”
I turn my gaze to Addie, wishing she’d get them both out of here. I’m appreciative of his sentiment, but my only focus is getting home to see my dad.
Willow comes to me next, her arms extended for a hug, so I stand.
“Addie has all the travel information, and there’s a driver waiting downstairs to take you to the airport. If you need anything from us here, anything at all, you have my number.”
“Thank you,” I tell them both as they turn to file out.
Chapter Fifty-One
And so it goes.
Brock
-
“My guess was spot on,” Matt comments as he hangs up the phone. He looks up at me, sit
ting in the chair in front of his desk. “As of now, all indications tell us the audience will no doubt choose Kylee.”
Fuck me.
Neither Willow nor Matt has told me anything in regards to why Brooke left me sitting in that fucking restaurant alone. He’s kept tight-lipped about her reasons for fleeing the show as she did. His version suggested nothing more than she had a change of heart and found a loophole in her contract big enough to get her out of it.
All of that is fucking bullshit.
“Why the hell did the audience choose Kylee?” I snap.
Thus far into the airings and audience polls, they don’t have Brooke as a match for me. And it’s understandable they wouldn’t, considering they haven’t seen much of her on camera. I’ve done my best to keep Brooke out of the spotlight, and now my overprotective worry for her privacy has bitten me in the ass.
“Kylee has no reservations in putting herself front and center, Brock. Surely you can understand why the audience has gravitated toward her.”
I can in a way, and that further pisses me off. Home viewers love drama. I know this firsthand, as my sister is one of those very same people.
“She’s beautiful. She’s friendly,” he attests in Kylee’s defense.
“When the cameras are rolling, sure,” I counter back. Matt’s been around. He’ll get it.
“When the cameras are on, yes,” he replies. “Unfortunately, she’s who it appears they’ll choose. You’ve cast aside each girl so far, meaning you can’t backtrack and choose from them. The panel already has your votes.”
“Brooke was it for me, Matt. I didn’t have a choice but to cast them aside.”
Looking around and taking in the large expanse of his office, my thoughts tread to more anger in wondering why Brooke left. I could text her, but at the same time, I highly doubt she’d answer. If she did, I doubt I’d listen to what she had to say anyway.
I know she cares about me. If I’m right, she may have truly loved me. Just not enough to commit to that love in a way that encompassed marriage.
“What do I do now?”
“We won’t need you again until the final taping. I’ve talked to Willow, and she agrees in light of what’s happened, you could use some time off to take this in. Last year, we did the same for the groom.”
“Time off to do what?”
“Go home. Be with your family, prepare them if you have to. Get your thoughts clear and ready yourself for what’s to come.”
“How long do I have?”
“Two weeks. That’s solid. When you return, we’ll help settle you back in before the final episode is aired live.”
The final episode.
“The wedding,” I correct. I want to hear him confirm it.
“Yes. You’re welcome to bring your family back with you, as well. They’ll have a section in the audience reserved just for them.”
To sit front and center as witnesses to my life’s biggest fuck up? No thanks.
“When will the announcement of who I’m to marry be made?”
“Very soon,” he answers. “We’ll run the last taping a few days prior to the wedding.”
Throwing back the third shot Matt poured me before breaking the news as gently as he could, I finish and immediately thirst for another.
And another.
And another.
But drinking myself into oblivion would be pointless. It won’t change the fact that Brooke left, and it’s highly unlikely I’ll ever see her again.
“Is there nothing I can do to stop this?”
“Aside from moving to another country?” he half-heartedly quips. “No.”
“No way to buy myself out of this, either?”
Shaking his head, his jaw gets tight. “No. You signed a contract.”
“And if I break the contract?”
“Public ridicule for one. The sad eyes of Kylee Simmons will haunt you as I’m sure she’d be more than happy to ruin your name in any way she can. They’ll believe her side of the story because they love her.”
“Right,” I clip.
“Not to mention, the network has a legal panel with enough backing to take down anyone who may cross them.”
Fuck, I know he’s right again. My father has a similar team of men at Merritt.
Looking at me with careful caution, Matt suggests, “This may not be what you want right now, Brock. However, there’s still opportunity here. You may find after Kylee settles away from the spotlight, she’s not such a bad person. Women are fickle when they feel they’re being threatened by other women.”
“I won’t be happy with Kylee,” I assure, but avoid going into detail of how much I already hate the woman. The label bitch comes to mind, but I don’t voice it.
“Then you’ll have to endure her temporarily until you’re legally allowed to let her go. It’s not my business; however, I suggest you have her sign a prenup.”
Of course it’s not a bad idea, I just hadn’t gotten that far into thinking this through. I had my hopes on marrying Brooke. Now that that has fallen through, I have all the more to think about.
And, to add to my frustration, the realization of how much my mom will hate Kylee clouds my thoughts. I’m going to lose Merritt Media, no matter what happens from here.
“Is there anything else you need from me right now?” he questions.
“No,” I reply as I stand. “That’s it.”
“Then we’ll see you in two weeks, Brock.”
Chapter Fifty-Two
I still don’t want to ride the pony.
Brooke
-
“Whatever business we have left at the inn can wait,” my mother assures, resting her hand on the small of my back.
I’m standing at my father’s side, willing him to wake up so I can tell him I’ve come home. Since fleeing L.A. as fast as I did, and feeling the stress of what I was coming back to, I haven’t seen the light in his eyes that I wish so badly for now.
“I can go in and cover a shift, Mom. Really.”
Mom’s eyes are glassy. Her tears have been endless, yet she’s still trying to be strong for Ashton and me.
When I stepped out of the airport terminal, Ashton rushed me. His embrace was strong. On the way home, he told me Mom wasn’t good, and Dad’s heart attack was bad. He’d slipped into a coma soon after they revived him. I hated myself for not being close when my family needed my support the most.
“You could work, yes, but you’re not going to. Ashton hasn’t come to see your father, Brooke. I need you to stay with Dad while I talk to him.”
“Ashton hasn’t been here at all?”
I’m incensed. It’s an emotion I’ve rarely felt. Being that most of my life has been both carefully planned and executed, surrounded by the love and continuity of my family, it’s rare I’ve ever felt bitterness toward any of them.
Mom’s head shakes, and her lips quiver. “Ashton can’t...” she pauses. “He’s so young, and doesn’t realize this time could be all he has left.”
Turning back to Dad, I study him closely and pause for his eyes to open, his brows to furrow, anything at all that tells me he’s listening. He’d know what to do about Ashton. He’d know what to do about Mom. I don’t know what to do about anything because the one person who’d give me guidance doesn’t even know I’m in the room.
“I’ll talk to Ash,” I whisper, taking the seat next to Dad’s bed. “Because you’re right, he’ll regret this.”
Mom places her hand to the top of my head where she strokes gently before running it down my back, just as she did when I was a kid. My eyes close, allowing me a moment to appreciate all I had growing up, but also regretting everything I always took for granted.
“I know he will, Button. But you won’t, so you’re not going to work. If needed, I’ll close the inn until we’re ready to reopen.”
“Okay,” I reply.
Mom walks to the door where she stops to turn and say, “Addie needs to talk to you. She said it’s urgent. Y
ou know whatever it is she has to say must be urgent if she’s called me three times and you not once.”
Addie has called me, but since coming home to find my father so sick and frail, I’ve not answered. She’ll have to forgive me, and she will. I need this time to myself.
“I’ll call her later.”
My mom’s expression turns to thought. “I haven’t given her any updates about Dad. I thought you would do it once your grandmother gets in. This is our time now.”
“Thank you,” I return, truly appreciative for her forethought. I have none.
Before Willow left my room three days ago, the look on her face as I pleaded for silence was concerning. As we sat at the airport, she called again to ensure Addie and I had made it to our flight. She advised me the plan was to play off my absence with, “Well, this is why we have an extra girl this season,” then promised she’d cover things from there.
I still have no idea who the audience will choose for Brock to marry, or if he’s chosen anyone for himself. I’d be lying if I didn’t admit I hated the fact that it could be Kate. He liked her. I think they’d be good together.
But who am I to decide? I don’t know anything.
I don’t know how to get time back with my dad.
I don’t know how to make him hear me.
I don’t know the first thing about how to push forward with my life without him.
The slow steady pulls of the machines helping him breathe hum around us, so I break the silence with sarcasm I know he’d appreciate. “You know, Dad, if you’d wake up, I’d have a lot to tell you. My drama would keep your mind spinning for hours. You could help keep track of everything I’ve messed up.”
A small voice in my head, which in my exhausted state I believe is his, urges me to keep going.
“I knew Brock was going to choose me. I don’t know, maybe I’m wrong. I’ve been wrong before.”
Would you have said yes? In my head, his strong and steady voice lovingly questions.
Tears come that I can’t control. They spill down my cheeks one at a time, each taking their turn in submitting to my grief.
“I would’ve said yes,” I confirm. “You would’ve liked him for me, I think. He’s fun. He makes me laugh.”
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