F*CK Reality: Take One

by Raegan Matthews

  As I open the door, fully expecting to find my dinner, I’m taken aback. It’s not room service.

  Brooke’s standing just outside my door. She’s clutching the handle to a small, black suitcase, which sits at her side. She looks happier, livelier, than the last time I saw her at home.

  “He’s awake,” she breathes. “Dad woke up.”

  Her face is flushed, and her smile is wide; her relief undeniable.

  “Brooke,” I whisper.

  I don’t know what else to say. The woman I love, who I’ve come all this way to see again, is standing outside my hotel door, and I can’t put together a cohesive thought.

  “Can I come in?” she prompts, straightening the bag in her other hand. “Can we talk?”

  Looking down, taking in all she’s brought with her, I question, “Are you going somewhere?”

  Shaking her head, she smirks. “No, Brock.”

  As I step to the side, Brooke aims to rush past me. I grab the suitcase and bag before she can get away, then settle them in the corner. As I turn around, I don’t get a single word out before she’s at my chest. Her arms are draped over my shoulders as she stands on her tiptoes, clutching me as if I’ll disappear.

  “Hey there,” I greet, taking in the smell of her hair, the scent of her skin, and the feel of her body against mine.

  My hands reach to her waist, where I try to push her away, but Brooke’s having none of it. It’s not until I hear her quiet sob and feel her body’s subtle trembles that I know she’s crying.

  “I...” she hiccups. “I’m so sorry, Brock. This is all my fault.”

  Stepping back, her hands cup my cheeks as I stay quiet and take her in.

  Her eyebrows are furrowed as she scans my face. “When are you leaving? When do you have to go...”

  “Back to L.A.?” I fill in when her words trail off. “Three days.”

  “So soon,” she utters. “Three days is so soon.”

  It is, but only now that she’s with me. An hour ago, I was contemplating, counting the minutes until I left.

  “Why are you here?”

  Brooke takes one step back, then another. The distance between us serves as a reminder to all I’ve been missing. I hate how much I’ve missed her. Using both hands, I reach out and grab her waist. She stumbles into my chest, bracing her hands there for balance.

  “I’m here because there’s nowhere else I want to be,” she quietly admits. “And Dad’s okay right now, so I packed my bag and took a chance you’d want—”

  “Yes,” I cut her off. “I’m not here because I like Iowa, Brooke.”

  When a small smirk tips her lips, my mouth crashes down on hers. She doesn’t hesitate. She opens, inviting me in as she always has, but this time, she’s attempting to take control. Her soft lips and gentle moans ignite an already fueling flame. My hand fists her hair. When my other reaches her waist, the skin beneath her shirt welcomes it.

  Grabbing the hem and lifting it over her head, my greed demands, “Everything off. All of it.”

  Momentarily she studies me, but says nothing more. Without waiting, I grab my shirt from behind my shoulders, then toss it to the floor. With appreciation, she bites her bottom lip, looking up at me as if for the first time. My cock strains against my jeans, rigid and aching to be inside her. When I step close, the hasty and painful score of her fingernails glide down my stomach until she reaches the button and zipper of my jeans.

  “How long can you stay?” I curtly question, stepping into her before pushing her on the bed. When she doesn’t answer, I find her eyes are soft and appreciative. “Baby, tell me how long?”

  “I’m here until you leave,” she explains, then robotically adds, “I thought there would be more time.”

  “Hey,” I call. She’s lying on the bed, her weight held beneath her elbows, and she looks lost. “What’s wrong?”

  “I couldn’t remember what you looked like,” she admits. Her gaze stays trained to mine in reflection.

  “What?”

  “I just realized I couldn’t remember your face,” she adds.

  Crawling up on top of her, I brace my elbows on either side of her head and use my thumbs to wipe away the tears.

  “I’m here now, right?”

  She nods and swallows hard.

  “Help me,” I prod, using one hand to remove the rest of her clothes.

  Once we’ve settled, I slide into her without warning. She gasps, but spreads her thighs to grant me further access. My mouth tastes the skin of her neck, while my hands explore her body. My mind burns every part of her to memory.

  “Three days, Brooke,” I tell her. Reaching beneath her, I cup her ass in both hands, then tilt her hips in line with mine, lending room to drive in harder, deeper. “For now, don’t think past that.”

  When she locks her ankles, securing them tightly behind my back, she grabs my face and brings it to hers, where her kiss serves as her promise.

  Three fucking days.

  Seventy-two hours.

  Then time as we know it ends.

  And, eventually, all I’ll have left are these moments of memory with a great girl who made me laugh, frustrated me to no end, but loved me the only way she knew how.

  Fuck you, Karma. Fuck you, Fate.

  Three days left.

  Chapter Fifty-Eight

  He’s going to meet my family.

  Brooke

  -

  “She’s awake,” I hear Brock tell the lie into the room before I have a chance to open my eyes.

  The bright sun is casting its harsh rays against the bed I’m still comfortable in. The subtle sounds of the television play in the background.

  Baseball.

  “After she gets her ass up and moving to eat, I’ll bring her by,” he says next.

  Lifting my head, I watch Brock toss random pieces of clothing into a pile next to the dresser. He’s up and showered, but hasn’t shaved. When he smiles and winks, I almost miss the fact that he has my phone.

  My phone.

  “Who is it? Who are you talking to?”

  Who is he making plans with?

  “All right,” he bids, then waits as the caller speaks. “It’s no problem at all. I’m happy to help,” he says next. “See you then.”

  Tossing the phone to the hotel chair, Brock turns to me with an expression I can’t place.

  “That was your brother.”

  “Ashton?”

  Brock walks slowly to get closer. His playful smirk wreaks havoc on my already aching body.

  “Yep. He called twice. When your phone went off the second time, you didn’t budge, so I answered.”

  I didn’t hear it. After all that’s happened over the last two weeks, I was finally able to get a good night’s sleep. Maybe it’s because Dad waking up came as such relief, or maybe because I spent last night with Brock holding me tightly against him. Either way, I’m thankful for it.

  “Is my dad okay?”

  “He is,” he assures. “But Ashton said he’s awake, and he’s waiting for you.”

  No, he’s not.

  Dad’s awake and waiting to meet Brock, Ashton meant to say. I know my dad, and the way we left things yesterday, I also know he’ll soon get impatient.

  Sitting up, I run my fingers through my hair, then rest my arms over my knees. Brock takes a step forward, but not in my direction. He gets comfortable in the chair not far from the bed. I bite my lip to keep from laughing.

  “What’s funny?” he questions, sounding almost irritated.

  Pointing to this chest, I note, “I gave you another hickey.”

  Brock smiles, but doesn’t look down. “Bloodsucker,” he jokes. “Saw it when I showered.”

  Noticing the space between us, I ask, “Is everything okay?”

  His just jovial expression morphs to suddenly pained.

  “Brock?” I push.

  “We’re down to two,” he says quietly. “I leave Wednesday morning.”

  “I know,” I conf
irm, with a sadness I don’t bother masking.

  Last night after sex, Brock and I talked, but it wasn’t about plans for the future. We lay in bed, talking as we always did. He asked about my dad, so I explained his long road ahead to recovery. Brock talked about his family and friends, and how nice it was to see them again.

  Neither of us mentioned the future, already knowing ours was undoubtedly about to end.

  “There are things to say,” he advises.

  My voice trembles when I reply. “I’m not ready to say them.”

  “I’m not either,” he agrees. “But before we leave this room, we should.”

  “Can I shower first?”

  Brock smiles. “Am I invited?”

  Shaking my head, knowing what’s to come, I say, “Talk first, play later.”

  Looking down at his chest, he studies his new mark. He’s wearing only a pair of old jeans—no shirt or socks. His hair has grown since I last saw him. It’s not styled for the cameras, but rather it’s been left wavy and natural.

  Without looking at me, Brock says, “My dad is helping. He’s looking into the contract and doing what he can to get me out of it.”

  This comes as a surprise, considering his dad is the one who pushed him so hard to get married. “Your dad is helping?”

  “A lot has happened,” he says.

  He’s right. Uninvited events have detoured everything I thought was going to play out. I would’ve told Brock yes. I didn’t believe this before Dad got sick, but I believe it now.

  “You’re going to get married.” I needlessly remind him.

  Leaning up, bracing his elbows to his knees, Brock laces his fingers together.

  “I’ll get married,” he assures. “But only if there’s nothing I can do to stop it.”

  Swallowing hard, I brace for his answer before I’ve even asked. “Who will you choose now?”

  Kate. I know it’s Kate. Part of me will be happy for him. She’s so nice and sweet— genuinely so.

  “I’m not choosing anyone, Brooke. Because none of them matter. Whoever the audience picks, fine. But I don’t want anyone else.”

  Standing, Brock takes two steps in my direction. My eyes cloud with tears, realizing that in two days all of this will be gone. There won’t be his voice, his laugh, his touch, or us together. Not anymore.

  Sitting at my side, Brock rests his hand on mine. “I told Ashton I’d bring you by the hospital.”

  “Then let me shower so we can go.”

  “Brooke, honey, shouldn’t you and Brock be heading out soon?” my mother suggests quietly. She’s standing next to my dad, who’s sitting up in the hospital recliner, reading the paper. When he peers over its edges, he finds me standing next to Brock and winks.

  “He has an early flight tomorrow morning,” Dad remembers.

  They all know what’s about to happen and not by my voice either. Brock wasted no time in shaking both my parents’ hands, then Ashton’s, before he spoke the inevitable truth into a room filled with my family. Eventually, they’d have found out anyway, but hearing him break the news to them the way he did was rough.

  Rough.

  My dad’s jaw ticked, my mom’s eyes widened, and my brother walked out of the room without so much as a word, good or bad. An hour passed before Ashton found his way back with a deck of cards in his hands. I assume he used this time to calm down since he walked in a lot less angry than he walked out.

  Thank you, God.

  “Yeah, we’re going,” I return, not about to chance a look in Brock’s direction.

  Ashton and Brock are still sitting at the small round table playing cards. The two haven’t said much to each other, but Dad’s been at Brock with non-stop questions about his life in Dallas, the show, and his future plans. All this led me to shoving the morning paper in his lap and my request for him to tell us about next week’s weather.

  “We’ll head back to the hotel when you’re ready,” Brock assures.

  Ashton, obviously sensing I could use a distraction, grabs the television remote and flips it on. Muted sounds of commercials dance across the screen as everyone goes back to what they were doing.

  “Jason came by here earlier,” Mom announces, and my jaw drops. “He came to check on your Dad and find out if you’d be coming to visit him today.”

  The clearing of Brock’s throat focuses me to drop my head and look to him. “Jason is my—”

  “Ex,” Brock clips. “Got it.”

  “He’s an idiot,” Mom announces, much to Brock’s satisfaction. “Anyway, we sent him on his way. Can’t say he’ll be visiting again anytime soon,” she states casually, running her fingers through Dad’s hair as he ignores her for whatever he’s reading.

  “Do you think you’re really going to have to marry one of those women?” my brother questions, throwing down another card. “And if you do, do you get to choose?”

  “He doesn’t,” I assert.

  “I was going to choose Brooke,” Brock informs, doing the same as Ashton and tossing in another card. “That’s not an option anymore,” he says quietly. “So, yeah. I’m going to have to marry one of those girls.”

  “That’s messed up,” my brother comments. When his eyes come to mine, the support in his gaze is there as always. “So, what happens between you two?”

  Brock lays down all his cards before standing. His heavy sigh is heard, and my dad steps in for reassurance.

  “Things work out the way they’re supposed to, Ashton. Leave Brooke and Brock alone.”

  As Brock explained to my parents the role his dad was playing in trying to get him out of the contract, my parents took this in and appeared seemingly relieved. At least if Brock is forced to marry someone, it wasn’t because he hadn’t tried to get out of it.

  “Brock,” My father drops the paper and extends his hand. “If there’s anything you need from us before you go...”

  My dad stops talking as Ashton rudely turns up the television. The sound of Matt’s voice so close after being away this long causes a daunting shiver to crawl up my spine. He’s standing in the same room Brock and I saw each other for the first time. No one is with him as he stands alone in front of the camera with that million-dollar plastic smile.

  “Shut it off,” I snap, but I’m ignored. “I don’t want...”

  As my words trail off, a photo of Kylee Simmons comes first, front and center, before it’s positioned at the side. She’s wearing a small red dress and clutching a diamond studded purse.

  Next, a picture of Brock enters the screen before it’s positioned at her side. He’s wearing a suit. I remember it being one he wore right after the tapings had begun.

  “They chose her,” I whisper to no one. The ticker at the bottom of the screen reads, ‘Kylee Simmons to marry Brock LaDuece in this season’s Marry A Millionaire.’

  Bile and anger make its way to the back of my throat, sitting there twirling like dead weight before I finally gasp for a shred of air. My heart beats heavily in my chest as I drop my focus from the television screen, only to find Brock carefully waiting for my reaction.

  He already knew.

  “Her?” my brother spits, turning from the television to Brock. “She’s such a little bitch!”

  “Ashton!” Mom admonishes. “Mouth!”

  “She’s awful,” he sends back without delay. “You said it yourself.”

  “Brock, I’m sorry,” my mom apologizes. For what, I don’t know.

  Leaving Brock’s heavy gaze, I turn back to the screen. A picture of Evan, in all his stated glory comes as Kylee’s did. The next picture is Leslie. Barbie girl number two. The screen settles their pictures together as well. ‘Leslie Miles to marry bachelor number two, Evan.’

  Dear God, it’s all really happening.

  Standing, I run my hands down my thighs to dry them. Brock stands as well and comes to me in quick steps. His hands grasp my shoulders, and his head positions back and forth in an attempt to get me to look at him, but I can’t.

/>   “I need a ride back home,” I whisper to myself. In my panic, I finally meet his eyes. They’re soft, gentle, but above all, knowing. He knew this was coming, and he said nothing. “Can you take me home?”

  Nodding, he holds me steady and turns to my parents, where Dad speaks first. “Son, I’m not sure what your dad can do, but tell him to do something.”

  Brock doesn’t answer, but nods, then turns to look at my mom. She’s got her hand on my dad’s shoulder, biting her bottom lip as her eyes flood with tears—for me.

  “Good luck, Brock,” she murmurs before we turn to go.

  Brock’s going to marry Kylee Simmons, head bitch of reality television and heartless cow to those who know her as I do. He’s leaving in less than twelve hours, and I’ll never see him again.

  I want to go home.

  Chapter Fifty-Nine

  No, really. Fuck my life.

  Brock

  -

  The ride home is quiet. Brooke hasn’t said a word since I grabbed the keys from her hand and loaded her in the car.

  As soon as I looked up and saw Matt Sutton on the hospital television screen, readying to make the announcement, I knew there was nothing more I could do to shield Brooke from the truth.

  Kylee fucking Simmons.

  “Baby, I’ll fix this,” I express in false assurance.

  If my dad can’t find a hole in that contract in less than seventy-two hours, the wedding will go on. I’ll have lost Brooke, along with my self-respect, and the respect of those who’ve stood by me.

  “You can’t fix this,” she replies, sullen with truth and drowning in doubt. “You heard Matt. Everyone did.”

  Grabbing her hand, I squeeze it gently.

  Brooke stares out the window as we finally make it to the hotel. With the same sad voice, she opens the door while whispering, “It’s been a shitty week. I almost lost my dad, and the man I love is leaving in the morning to get married.”

  Fuck, that hurt.

  Grabbing her hand on the way to my room, I stay a step in front of her. The same solemn spirit I recognize from the day I arrived is back. She’s broken, and once again I’m the cause.

  Brooke passes me as she enters, skipping over the lights. It’s dark with only the moon coming through the curtains.