by Shayla Black
Shealyn stomped up the stairs while glancing at her Twitter. The avalanche of ugly tweets made her cringe. She was a whore for breaking Tower Trent’s heart. She was an idiot for falling for a small-town player. She was a homewrecker for sleeping with a man who was all but married. It was a sin she should be lynched for. Her good-girl image was all bullshit. Hot Southern Nights should fire her. The opinions got uglier from there.
She cared far less about all that than the fact Cutter had lied to her.
The tears scalded her eyes like burning acid. The longer she stared, the more her display became a watery blur. This time her sobs were both shocked and angry. How the hell was any of this possible?
Wanting to believe in Cutter’s innocence more than actually believing in it would only dig her deeper into this mess. She had to get facts. And if he really was engaged, she had to make a clean break. Period.
Back in the bedroom, she heard him still in the shower and searched around for his pants. If he could break into her phone to find out the truth she’d been keeping from him, then by damned, she could do the same in return.
He’d called one of his bosses earlier, and she’d absently noted the code he’d pressed into his phone to unlock it. It hadn’t been conscious, but he’d made no move to hide it. Now she was glad that she recalled.
Digging through his pants, she found another handful of condoms— he wouldn’t be needing those anytime soon—and plucked out his device. She dialed in his passcode. The home screen appeared. She launched his messages.
The last one he’d received was from Brea early this morning wishing him a happy Sunday, saying she was off to church, followed by a picnic, then choir rehearsal. She missed him and she’d talk to him soon. He’d already read it and replied that he wanted to talk to her when she was free. He told Brea that he missed her, too.
Betrayal squeezed the air from her lungs.
She scrolled back through the text string. Brea sent him a lot of random emojis, many hearts. He always sent something similar in return. On Friday afternoon, she’d sent a picture of a gray tuxedo. He’d sent back a reply that he liked it and would get measured in Lafayette next week. Just prior to that, she’d texted a mockup of their wedding invitation. He told her they were pretty and he’d help her mail them when he got home. Not long before that, she’d messaged him that the morning sickness wasn’t so bad and she hoped now that she was in week fourteen it was finally easing. He replied that he was glad for her, that she should take care of herself until he could be there to take care of her for good.
Shealyn gripped the phone to her chest. She’d wanted the truth and she’d gotten it. Cutter Bryant was a lying, cheating, deceitful-as-hell bastard.
He’d shattered her heart into a million irreparable pieces.
“What are you doing?” he demanded from just inside the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist. His hard body glistened with water drops as he stared while she gripped his phone in her hand.
How could she feel so much anger and desire at once? How could she, in that moment, both want him and hate him?
With tears rolling down her cheeks, she tossed his device onto the bed. “Fuck you!”
She had to get out of here. Right now. She couldn’t look at this man for another moment without remembering the love she’d believed they shared. The future she’d put all her faith in. The life she’d wanted with him. Those tomorrows were ash in a windstorm now. Gone forever.
To her, he looked like heartbreak on two legs.
God, his duplicity hurt like nothing ever had. At least she’d seen her mother’s faithlessness coming. And she hadn’t been attached to Foster, so his treachery hadn’t stabbed her in the heart. But this . . .
“What’s going on? Sweetheart . . .” He stepped toward her. “What’s wrong?”
“Stay away from me, you snake.” She backed away, fumbling around for her clothes and stumbling into her yoga pants. She skipped the bra and reached for her sweater, tossing it on over her head. Somewhere, she had a pair of flip-flops . . . By the back door maybe? They weren’t essential. Getting away from Cutter was.
“I don’t know what’s happened or what you think is going on but you’re upset. Let’s calm down and talk this out.”
“I don’t want to calm down. Don’t you ever talk to me again, especially about love and trust and forever. It’s such bullshit! I can’t believe I fell for it.” She tossed her hands in the air. “That I fell for you. The worst part is, I should have known better. I learned early in life that most people are self-serving assholes. But I let you convince me that fairy tales are real. I let you sweet-talk me into the idea that you were different.”
He closed his eyes for a moment, clenched his fists. “You found out about my . . . situation back home. It’s—”
“‘Situation?’ Is that how you’re going to talk about the girl you knocked up and promised to marry?”
He ground his jaw together. “That isn’t what happened. It’s not what you think. If you’ll let me explain, I’ll—”
“No. I’m so fucking done. Get away from me. You’re fired. And don’t ever come near me again.”
Shealyn lunged for the bedroom door, hoping like hell she could get out before she started crying again.
Cutter intercepted her, grabbing her shoulders and trying to force her to look at him. “Sweetheart, stop. Don’t jump to conclusions. Let me tell you the truth.”
His fingers around her were gentle but firm. They burned. Her traitorous body was still humming from the last orgasm he’d given her, still sore from how thoroughly he’d pleasured her for the past twenty-four hours. It still sang at his touch.
“I don’t want your version of it.” She jerked free. “Didn’t you hear me? We’re over. You don’t have the right to touch me anymore, so let go. If you take your story of us public, I’ll deny it. I’ll roast you on social media. I have the bigger platform. Think about your fiancée and your unborn child. Be the man you tried to convince me you are. They certainly deserve better than who you turned out to be.”
He stepped in front of the door, blocking her exit from the bedroom. “Listen. Please. I wanted to say something sooner, but I need to talk to her. Brea and I . . . It’s not—”
“Shut up! I don’t want any more of your lies or excuses. I just want to get out of here. I want you to leave me the hell alone.”
“No. You’re not leaving until we talk this out. Once I explain—”
“Explain what? Are you or are you not engaged to Brea Bell? Is she or is she not pregnant?”
He sighed and clenched his teeth together. “Technically, yes. But—”
“Then I’ve heard everything I need to.”
Shealyn feared if she listened, she’d get suckered in by whatever story he concocted next. And really, what excuse could he possibly give her except that he’d decided to leave his pregnant fiancée because he “loved” his new celebrity girlfriend more. No thanks.
Cutter sent her a stubborn glare and, hands on hips, silently let her know that he wasn’t moving out of her way until he’d conned her into his latest spin of BS.
She refused to stay around and listen.
Bending, she scooped up his clothes strewn around the bedroom floor, then grabbed the sacks filled with the rest of the garments he’d purchased but they hadn’t yet unpacked.
“What are you doing?” he demanded.
Shealyn didn’t answer, just opened the door to the balcony and threw everything over the railing, until the wind caught it, scattering the garments all over the beach, to be swallowed up by the night.
“Son of a bitch!” He ran up behind her, stared out at the sand looking for his clothes. Then he turned to her as if she’d lost her damn mind.
Shealyn felt as if she had.
“I need my clothes,” he insisted. “You have to go get them.”
“Like hell.” She whirled around and stomped toward the door.
“What do you expect me to wear out of here?”
At the top of the stairs, she paused and turned back to him. “By the time you figure that out, I’ll be long gone.”
As soon as she spoke the words, tears hit her again. Despite the enormity of Cutter’s betrayal, she still couldn’t believe this was the last time she’d lay eyes on him. She’d loved him. She’d given her heart to him. She had opened up to him more than any other man. She had begun to believe he would be her husband, her forever love, the father of her children . . . The urge to crumble and sob hit her again. There would be time for that later, when she was alone and he couldn’t see how much he’d hurt her. Now, she just had to get away before he tore her apart anymore.
“Sweetheart, on my honor, I can explain this.”
His imploring tone was ridiculously tempting. How badly she wanted to believe he was innocent. But he’d already admitted otherwise.
“If you could talk to me about marriage and future when you were already engaged to your pregnant girlfriend, then you have no honor.”
“So you’re not even going to let me try? You’re going to convict me before hearing my side of the story? After everything we’ve said, all the plans we’ve made, the love we’ve exchanged, you’re telling me that meant nothing?”
“You did this. Don’t pin our downfall on me.”
He sighed with so much pain and regret, she almost gave in— but managed to stay strong. “Time will prove you wrong, but if this is how much faith you have in us, then we had nothing anyway. I’ll take you home.”
“I’m not spending three hours in the car with you.”
“We only have one vehicle. How else are you going to get back to L.A.?”
He had a valid point, damn him. It wasn’t as if she could call Tower to come get her. And even if she managed to reach Jessica, her friend wouldn’t make it to Pismo until close to four in the morning.
“Fine. But don’t talk to me.”
“If that’s the way you want it . . . I’ll drop you off at your house, head for the airport, and get out of your life forever.”
“Great.” She snapped the word, still hearing the anger in her own voice.
“No, it’s tragic, but I can’t force you to listen or believe in me. I hope you figure out someday how to have a full life and finally find peace. What you won’t find is a man who will love you more than I do.”
With that, he turned and made his way back into the bathroom. The slam of the door thudded with finality. It was over. They were done. She’d expected to feel crushed. She’d expected to feel hollow and aching and yearning for what might have been. She didn’t expect to feel as if she’d somehow made the biggest mistake of her life.
CHAPTER 17
The ride back to Shealyn’s house was the longest, most terribly silent three hours of Cutter’s life. She spent the entire drive with her earbuds firmly in place, staring either out at the deserted highway or at her phone, utterly ignoring him.
A million times he wanted to reach over and make her listen. A million times he stopped himself. If it wasn’t this tangle that split them up, it would be something else. If she trusted him so little that she couldn’t have a simple conversation, he saw no future for them.
He didn’t blame Shealyn. The angry part of him wanted to. But mostly he blamed himself for not telling her before everything had blown up in his face. His decision to break the news to Brea first because he’d owed it to her? Foolish. In retrospect, he owed the woman he wanted to spend his life with all his consideration first and foremost. Brea would have understood his decision. And damn it, he also should have realized that if Shealyn found out about Brea from someone else, his “fiancée” would be a huge betrayal to her.
Now it was too late.
Still, Cutter had to place a sliver of the blame on Shealyn’s mother. Yeah, he’d fucked up utterly, but if the woman hadn’t left her little girls for an unsteady man and drugs, Shealyn might have learned to trust, at least enough to hear that Brea was his sister, not his lover. Since her mother had shaken Shealyn’s faith to the core at such a tender age, she’d never recovered.
Hell, maybe the two of them had been doomed anyway. He had no experience with the rabid press, devoted fans, and social media that wouldn’t quit. And while he’d been trying to work out in his head how to make himself happy and still protect Brea, someone had let loose the secret he hadn’t intentionally been withholding at all. If he’d handled everything differently, would he still have Shealyn in his arms? Or would she have let fear and mistrust shove her into mental dark corners regardless?
Woulda, coulda, shoulda. None of it mattered now. He and Shealyn had different lives, different worlds. He should never have forgotten that. But everything between them had felt so real and right and meant to be.
Fuck.
They were nearing the outskirts of L.A. when his phone buzzed. The screen said it was Brea. Shealyn caught sight of it, too, and shot him a censuring glare before focusing on her own device once more.
“Hi, Bre-bee. Why haven’t you called?” He’d been waiting hours.
“Cutter, I’m scared.” Her voice was shaking. “What’s going on?”
He swore under his breath. He’d planned to call her again as soon as he dropped Shealyn off. Even with the time change, he hadn’t expected her to be awake much before then. It was barely five in the morning now in Sunset. But if the press was reporting his personal business, they were spreading hers far and wide, too. He’d been so wrapped up in his heartache with Shealyn that he hadn’t realized Brea could be eaten alive by the social media wolves.
“Your secret is out around town?”
“Everyone knows everything. I hear my father pacing on the other side of the door. I’m sure he’s waiting to ask me if I’m pregnant. I know I have to tell him the truth . . .”
“I’ll stand with you, whatever you choose to do.”
“I appreciate that. But what about you and Shealyn West?”
“Done. Over. I’m coming home today. Do the best you can with your father, and I’ll help you mop up when I get there. Everything else all right?”
“Not really. Daddy isn’t the only one who’s heard I’m pregnant.”
One-Mile. Shit. “What happened?”
“Pierce started knocking on my bedroom window about three this morning, demanding answers. I’ve ignored him so far, but I don’t know how long I can fend him off . . .”
That explained why Brea was awake so early. “Dodge him a little bit longer. I’ll take care of him when I get there.”
“He knows this baby is his and he’s getting really insistent.”
Cutter had no reason to doubt it, just like he could tell One-Mile was rattling her. The question was, why did the big operative keep hanging around? Whether he genuinely had feelings for Brea or merely wanted to steal her away as a giant fuck-you to Cutter didn’t matter. She shouldn’t have to handle the asshole who had stolen her innocence when she’d merely been trying to save her best friend.
“That motherfucker.”
“Cutter Edward Bryant!”
He winced. Brea really disliked bad language. Another reason she and One-Mile would never get along. Every word out of that man’s mouth was four letters long, and more than half started with F.
“Sorry,” he muttered. “Any chance you telling him to buzz off would solve the problem?”
“Are you kidding? He’s already making noise about getting married. I can’t . . . Having Pierce and my dad in the same room would be a disaster of World War Three proportions.”
Cutter couldn’t see the preacher accepting the inked-up, foul-mouthed, snide-as-hell operative as his son-in-law any more than he could understand why One-Mile was making noise about marrying her. “Just do your best to stay calm
and—”
“Pierce made an appointment for me to do his hair tomorrow at six o’clock.”
The bastard needed to back off, goddamn it. “Like I said, I’ll handle it.”
Brea paused. “I hate to lean on you. I can hear the upset in your voice.”
“I’ll be fine.”
“Your heart is breaking.”
She read him so well because they’d known each other virtually all their lives. Right now, Cutter wished she couldn’t. “I said I’ll be fine.”
“I’m sorry. Even though marrying you would make my life easier, I kept hoping, for your sake, that Shealyn West would see what an amazing man you are and steal you out from under me. You deserve a happy marriage and a full life.”
“That didn’t happen, so I don’t see any reason to change course.”
Brea hesitated. “Are you sure?”
Far more than he’d like to be. “I’ll call you when I land, Bre-bee.”
When they hung up, Cutter realized they were less than five minutes from Shealyn’s house. This was it, his last moments with the woman he loved. She would go on with her life as a big, bright star. He would go back to Louisiana with a broken heart, taking small consolation in the fact that he’d given his all to this woman.
A week ago he would have said it was more important to take care of those he loved than worry about his own selfish desires. The man sitting beside Shealyn now understood that, along with duty and honor, he had to pursue his own happiness. If he had one life to live, he should do it to the fullest. He’d tried. He’d taken a chance.
It had failed spectacularly.
When they pulled up at the guard gate in front of Shealyn’s area, the press was camped out around the little building. Barney was hiding inside, door shut, avoiding anyone who asked him for comment.
The reporters who had been on the curb languishing all jumped to attention when Cutter slowed as he neared the hut in his SUV. Thankfully, Barney waved them through and raised the arm so they didn’t have to stop. Still, he saw Shealyn wince and try to hide her face as the press shouted questions and cameras flashed.