by Naomi West
Standing up, Carey realized that her legs were shaking. She steadied herself as she walked back to the party, wanting nothing more than to grab the keys to whatever luxury car she could that was parked out front and drive until she was far, far away from this nightmare of an engagement.
Before she could make her way back to the party, however, a sound cut through the din of the party. It was a low, rumbling sound that made her ears perk up by instinct.
It was a motorcycle. Many of them, to be exact.
“What the hell is that?” asked Brady, rushing through the party towards the front door.
The attention of the entire place was on the growling of the motorcycles. But before anyone could say or do anything, Brady’s phone rang in his pocket.
“Yes?” he said. “What? ... Who is it? … Are you serious? ... Fine, fine.”
He hung up and slipped his phone back into his pocket.
“Some assholes on bikes,” he said. “Said they want to talk to you, Carey.”
Carey felt her heart pound in her chest. She knew that this could only mean one thing.
“You friends with bikers?” asked Brady.
“They were, um, associates of the artist in Holyoke. She did some research with one of the local MCs—I mean, motorcycle clubs. They probably just have questions about the project.”
Brady’s eyes narrowed, and Carey was fairly certain he didn’t entirely trust her. But she could tell that he didn’t want to create a scene.
“Fine,” he said. “Go talk to them and see what they want, but make sure they leave as soon as possible. And stay near the security booth.”
Carey nodded, doing all she could not to telegraph just how excited she was. Once out the door, she burst into a near-full sprint down the road to towards the large gate that allowed entrance into Brady’s exclusive community.
Sure enough, parked outside of the gate were three men on bikes.
One of them, of course, was Owen.
Carey was overcome with emotion as she approached the gate. Owen’s ice-blue eyes locked onto her, his expression firm, almost grim. Once at the gate, Carey placed her hands on the iron bars, wishing nothing more than to be on the other side of them.
“Owen,” she said softly, tears forming in her eyes.
Owen gazed at her hard for a long moment.
“You seem pretty happy to see me for someone who dropped off the face of the earth,” he said, his voice low.
“I … I didn’t know what else to do,” said Carey. “I just felt so overwhelmed by everything. I’m … sorry.”
“And now look at you,” said Owen, glancing over Carey’s shoulder at the sweeping view of the estates behind her. “Looks like you made the right call. Nice neighborhood.”
“I … don’t want it,” she said, her voice soft. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”
Carey had trouble forming words. Part of her wanted to just climb the fence, hop on the back of Owen’s bike, and leave all of this behind. She knew that it wouldn’t be so simple, however—she didn’t even know if Owen could forgive her for what she’d done.
And, of course, there was the issue of the baby. Carey didn’t even know where to begin with that.
However, the more she looked at Owen, the more clear that it was to her that there was something going on his stoic expression. There was a softness in his blue eyes, almost … a pain. She could tell that him being there was just as painful for him as it was for her.
“Listen,” he said. “I’m not here to cause any trouble. I’m here just to make sure you know that in spite of everything, I’m going to be looking out for you. I don’t know what it is that made you change your mind about me, that made you run away without a word, but that doesn’t change how I feel about you. And I know that it doesn’t change how you feel about me, either.”
Carey didn’t know what to say. She opened her mouth, but no words came out. All she could do was hold onto the gate helplessly as Owen regarded her with his pain-stricken eyes.
“That’s all,” he said. “Just know you’ve got someone watching out for you, kid. See you around.”
With that, he gestured to the other men to start their engines and head off. The bikes roared to life, and within seconds, Owen and his men were tearing down the road, disappearing slowly into the distance. Carey watched Owen leave, the longing in her heart like nothing she’d ever felt before.
Chapter Thirteen
Carey
After the party at Brady’s, a small portion of the group decided to head out to a nearby bar for drinks. The day had gotten on, and the sun had long since begun its dip down into the sky.
“What a great afternoon,” said Brady, a big, beaming smile on his face as he drove through the curving roads around the country club. “I don’t know about you, but I had a wonderful time.”
“Yeah,” said Carey. “It was nice.”
Brady flicked a skeptical glance in her direction. “You sound less than sincere.”
“No,” said Carey. “It was a really nice time. I’m just not used to being the center of attention like that.”
“Well,” said Brady, “you’d better get used to it. We’ve got the wedding to look forward to, and after that I plan on showing off my new bride to everyone I can. Don’t worry—you’ll learn to love the spotlight.”
Carey opened her mouth to speak, but before a single word came out the car lurched and bumped. Looking around frantically, Carey realized that Brady had swerved a little off of the road. A sharp pull on the steering wheel brought them back onto the road, but not before the sudden movement snapped Carey’s neck abruptly to one side.
“Ow!” she exclaimed, rubbing the now-sore muscles on the side of her neck. “What the hell, Brady?”
“Sorry,” he said, his eyes now fixed on the road ahead. “Hard to pay attention to the road when you’ve got such a beautiful passenger.”
“More like it’s hard to pay attention to the road when your liver’s floating in a pool of whiskey.”
“Excuse me?” he asked, his tone turning sharp.
“I mean, you’ve been partying pretty hard all day,” she said, softening her tone in an effort to not be confrontational. “Maybe I should drive? I’m sober as can be.”
“The man drives,” he said, not giving an inch. “Just sit there and stop arguing with me. We’re almost there.”
Carey sat back in her seat, her neck still pained from the turn. Looking down at her tiny baby bump, she couldn’t help but wonder what would happen if Brady’s drunk driving had caused something more than just a little muscle overextension. She couldn’t help but compare how on edge she felt with Brady to the feeling of safety and security she had whenever she rode with Owen. Never once had she felt anything but taken care of when riding on the back of his motorcycle, and she realized that at that moment he’d give anything to be with him, her arms wrapped around his body as they drove down the highway together.
“Here we are,” said Brady, pulling sloppily into a parking spot in front of the bar, a wooden building trimmed with green neon lights. “Ready to keep the party going?”
“Sure,” said Carey, doing her best to mask her disappointment and frustration.
Brady took her hand and the two of them entered the bar. The party was already well underway when the pair arrived, and cheers sounded out from the group as Brady and Carey stepped into the place. Carey, just at the party on the balcony, felt trapped and alone. She scanned the crowd for Lily, but found her already talking with one of Brady’s friends, a sly smile on her face as she shamelessly flirted with her catch.
“Next round’s on me!” shouted Brady, causing more cheers to break out.
Carey navigated the bar, making her way to an open booth. She slid into the seat and did her best to avoid talking to anyone. After asking for a cup of coffee from the bartender, she sat by herself, sipping her drink and thinking back to the strange encounter with Owen only hours ago.
What did he mean that he’d
always be watching out for me? she wondered, dumping a packet of artificial sugar into the mug and stirring it with her spoon. He had to have seen my ring; he had to have an idea of what was going on.
She sipped her drink and let her eyes blur over the crowd of partygoers around her.
Does that mean he’s going to back off? Does that mean that he’s going to admit that he lost and that there’s nothing he can do?
Her mind raced as she considered the possibilities.
And even if he’s going to be backing off, is that even what I want? Owen giving up would mean that I have no other option besides marrying Brady and passing off the baby as his.
Then, the thought of the baby gripped her mind.
And that’s another thing, she thought, even if this plan works, even if I pull it off without a hitch, it means that this baby, this boy or girl, whatever it is, will grow up thinking Brady is their father. They’ll never know who their real dad is. I’ll have to take that secret to my grave. Then again, after what I’ve done I suppose it’s a punishment that I deserve.
The bright shattering of a glass commanded Carey’s attention, along with that of everyone else in the bar. Looking through the crowd she spotted Brady standing near the bar, an explosion of broken glass at his feet along with the pooling foam of a beer.
“Whoa!” said Brady, a drunken and stupid look on his face. “Party foul!”
Carey rolled her eyes as the bartender rushed to his side.
“Hurry and clean this up,” said Brady, his voice now taking on a slur. “You know how much these shoes cost? I don’t want to be standing in shitty beer all night.”
The bartender quickly wiped up the glass and beer, hurrying away from Brady as fast as she could. Carey looked around at the other partygoers to see if any of them were going to say anything about the state that Brady was in, but no one said a word. Carey realized that they were almost all about as drunk as he was.
She wanted to leave; she wanted to call a cab and get back to her parents’ house as soon as she could, to sleep in her old room and do nothing but cry and look at pictures of her and Owen on her phone. Standing in that bar, the jukebox music blasting on the speakers, the commotion of the partygoers all around her, Carey felt more alone than she could ever remember.
Turning her attention to the bar, she watched as Brady ordered another round of shots and passed them around to his friends. They toasted to one thing or another before downing them, and Carey realized that Brady was only going to get worse. She knew that if she was going to get home, now would be better than later, especially since going back with Brady would mean risking being in the car with him if he happened to wrap his car around a telephone pole.
Taking a deep breath, she gathered her nerves and approached Brady.
“Hey,” she said.
A beaming, drunken smile formed on his face, his eyes bleary and red.
“There’s my fucking girl,” he said, wrapping his arm around her and pulling her close. “Hey!”
He gathered the attention of everyone around him.
“Can you believe that this is the girl I’m gonna marry? Am I fuckin’ lucky or what!”
A cheer sounded from the partygoers.
“And show off that ring of yours!” he said, grabbing Carey’s hand much harder than she would’ve liked and holding it up. “They said three-months’ salary or some shit, but a girl like this, you gotta pull out all the stops!”
Then he pulled back his hand gave Carey a firm slap on the ass.
“Can’t wait to get at this,” he said, whispering into her ear. “I think tonight’s gonna be the night.”
Carey’s eyes went wide. There wasn’t a thing less appealing to her at that moment than sleeping with Brady. Just the thought of his drunken, naked body flopping on top of her was enough to make her feel like she might vomit right then and there.
“Maybe,” she said. “But I really need to get home now. I’m just so worn out from today.”
Brady stepped back and looked at her through squinted eyes.
“What the hell are you talking about?” he asked, his tone hostile. “We’re only at the first bar; we got a whole night of partying ahead of us. And you just want to leave now?”
“I don’t know what it is,” said Carey. “I think I might be getting sick or something.”
“Sick, tired,” he said, shaking his head. “It’s always fucking something with you. I do all of this, just for you, and all you can do is complain.”
Before Carey had a chance to react, Brady’s hand shot out and grabbed her by the wrist.
“Fine,” he said. “Get out of here. But you’d better learn to get your attitude right; I’m not gonna be marrying some woman who can’t provide what I need.”
He dropped her wrist from his hand and turned back to the bar. Carey took her opportunity and rushed out of the bar. Back in the cool evening air, she felt immediately better. She pulled out her phone and called an Uber, eagerly awaiting its arrival so she could go home and cry more bitter tears into her pillow.
Pacing back and forth, the parking lot gravel crunching under her feet, Carey decided to pass the time by looking at pictures of her and Owen. She knew that she was running a risk, that if she was caught by one of the partygoers or, God forbid, Brady, there’d be hell to pay. But she didn’t care; she needed some reminder of a time in her life when she wasn’t so miserable, so trapped.
Pulling up the photo album of her and Owen, she swiped through the pictures, a smile forming on her face as she thought of happier times. There was a photo of her and Owen back at the waterfall that he’d shown her on their first date, a photo of them out to dinner, and various other pictures. Carey went through them all, tears forming in her eyes as she considered just what she’d thrown away.
Owen might not’ve had the money that Brady did, but he did love her, and she loved him. But now there was no going back; she’d made her decision and now she had to live with it for the rest of her life.
Before she could give the matter more thought, the bar door yanked open, the music from inside disturbing Carey’s silence.
It was Brady.
Carey quickly hid her phone behind her back, hoping he wouldn’t see it.
“There you are,” he said, walking towards her with a drunken stumble. “I wanna talk to you.”
“About what, Brady?” asked Carey impatiently.
He closed the distance between her and him until he was only a few inches from her face.
“I want to know why you and I haven’t fucked.”
The words were like razor-sharp ice. His breath was heavy with whiskey and beer, and his eyes were narrowed menacingly.
“We’ve already fucked,” he said. “Or do you not remember? And now, here you are, little Miss Good Girl, coming back to town like she’s some fucking church girl who can’t believe that the man she’s marrying would want to touch her.”
He grabbed her wrist again, this time squeezing it tight.
“I’m about to give you everything,” he said. “I’m about to give you a beautiful home, more money than you know what to do with, and a life that other women would kill for. But you can’t even give me the one thing I want. What’s the fucking deal, Carey? You think you’re too good for me now that you’re some prissy artist with a master’s?”
“Let me go,” said Carey, her voice small. “You’re hurting me.”
“I won’t let go until you tell me that tonight’s going to be the night.”
Carey couldn’t believe what was happening. She’d known that Brady had this edge to him, but she’d never seen it come out so forcefully, and with such rage behind it. She opened her mouth to speak, to say something, anything that might get him to let her go.
“And what the hell is in your other hand?” he demanded, reaching behind her back.
Carey wasn’t quick enough to put her phone back in her pocket before Brady snatched it out of her hand and brought the screen close to his face. Terror build
ing in her stomach, she watched as Brady’s expression twisted in anger as he realized just what he was looking at.
“Who the fuck is this tattooed freak?” he demanded, holding up the phone like the damning piece of evidence it was. “Some piece of shit loser you met in town?”
“No,” said Carey. “It’s not that!”
“Just how stupid do you think I am, huh?” he said.
Then he raised the phone into the air and threw it down hard on the ground, the device shattering into several pieces. Carey looked at the remains of the phone in shock.
But before she could say a word, the growling of a motorcycle sounded in the distance, growing louder by the second. Moments later, Carey and Brady were in the middle of the glow of headlights; Carey raised her hand in front of her face to block the light.