by LK Farlow
Jesus, he’s insane. But there are those three words again. I grind my molars together and give him a terse nod.
“Good boy. I knew you’d come around. Now, next Friday night, Hal Burkett and I have planned an engagement party for you and Amanda at the clubhouse. Be there no later than half past six.”
It fucking kills me to smile and agree, but I do because surely Mom has a plan that will work.
AJ
The past week has been nothing short of pure misery. Everything fucking hurts, and my mood is piss and vinegar.
My heart hurts from losing Brock.
My pride hurts from being so easily fooled.
My body hurts from hiding out in my bed anytime I’m not in class.
My head hurts from crying so much.
I’ve never in my entire life felt more pitiful than I do now. I’ve always thought I was strong, but this has proved that I’m not.
Then again, maybe I’m not giving myself enough credit. I’ve at least been strong enough to ignore his calls. The Saturday after everything went down, he called at least every other hour—to ease his guilty conscience, I assume.
Sunday, he only called four times.
Monday and Tuesday, he only called twice.
Wednesday and Thursday, only once.
And today…nothing. Nada. Zip. Which I guess means things are really and truly over. Stacia has been on me relentlessly to either answer or call him back. She’s adamant that there’s more going on than what it seems, but I call bullshit.
Even though she thinks I’m doing myself a disservice by not hearing him out, Stacia has been my rock this week. She’s like my very own fairy godmother. Every morning she shows up with a coffee, some type of pastry, and a pep talk. And every night she brings me dinner, and we watch some sort of girl-power movie.
I’ve always known she was the best bitch on this planet, but this week has shown me she’s so much more amazing than I thought. She doesn’t push me to talk about Brock, other than raising her brow at me when I don’t answer.
But tonight, she says we have plans and that I’ve moped long enough.
“AJ?” Stacia yells my name as she lets herself into the house.
“Bedroom,” I holler back.
She flounces into my room not even two seconds later, her arms loaded down with shopping bags. “Get out of bed. We have plans.”
I sink deeper into my plush bedding. “Do we have to?”
She scrunches up her nose as she takes in my rumpled appearance. “Yes. We very much do. Seriously, get up. I booked us at the salon.”
At this I perk up—after all, a little pampering certainly can’t hurt. In fact, I’d say it’s just what the doctor ordered.
I amble into my closet and come back out dressed in cropped yoga leggings and an oversized T-shirt. “Ready.”
“Great. Let’s go.” She starts for the door, but then stops and turns back to me. “Oh! Give me your phone. Today’s about us.” Begrudgingly, I do as she says.
Stacia drives us across town to Color Me Crazy—our salon of choice. “Any idea whatcha want done?” she asks me as she whips her little coupe into a spot in front of the shop.
“I dunno yet. I’ve been toying with the idea of adding some purple. We’ll see. What about you?”
With a waggle of her brows, she says, “As blonde as possible. Maybe even silver.”
“Ooh!” I clap my hands together. “Yes! Do that!”
We enter the funky little salon, which is housed in two pink-painted shipping containers that have been welded together. Music is pumping through the speakers, loud enough to be heard over the whirring of the hair dryers. So loud, in fact, the receptionist has to raise her voice to speak to us.
Once we enter the main area, it’s a little quieter, but I’m not complaining either way. “Hey girl!” Alessia, my stylist, greets me. “Long time no see!”
I plop down into her chair, eager for her to work her magic. “The perks of being a natural blonde. But…I want to change it up today.”
“Okay. Tired of the pink?”
“No. I just…it’s time for a change.” I twist my fingers together. “New hair, new me, right?”
“Girl. You are fabulous as is. So, why are you looking for a ‘new you?’ ”
I heave out a deep sigh. “Just a lot going on, and I need a pick me up.”
“I can get behind that. Let’s talk—whatcha wanna do?”
“I’d show you a picture, but Stacia’s confiscated my phone.”
Alessia fishes her phone out of her apron pocket and asks me what to search for. A few taps and swipes later, she’s gushing about my proposed new look. “Girl! No lie, I pinned this exact pic last night. Oh-em-gee! I’m so excited!”
Four hours later, Stacia and I are all finished—me with a root-y ombre that fades from a dark purple to shades of pink, giving way to almost translucent white ends, and Stacia with a pretty silvery hue.
“What next?” I ask, because knowing her, our day is just beginning.
“Mani and pedis. Duh.”
By the time we make it back to my apartment, I’ve been waxed, plucked, scrubbed, masked, and moisturized within an inch of my life. I swear to God, I could put a gold-medal-winning show dog to shame in the primping department right about now.
“Now we can relax?” I ask with a hopeful tone. “Maybe eat some ice cream, watch some PLL?”
“No can do, bit-chacho.” I give her a toddler-worthy whine and shoulder shimmy, but Stacia ignores my antics. “We have plans tonight and going is non-negotiable. Sorry, not sorry.”
All I offer her in return is a blank stare. But she’s in no mood to deal with my shit. “C’mon, AJ. Time to get you lookin’ extra pretty.”
“Do I have to dress up?” I really don’t want to dress up. As stupid and immature as it is, the last time I got all gussied up, I found out that the love of my life viewed me as nothing more than a hot little premarital rebellion.
“You absolutely do. And I get to pick your outfit.”
“And let me guess…you also get to do my makeup?”
“Look at you, ya smart cookie. Now, hush up and lemme work.”
Forty-five minutes later, Stacia has me contoured and highlighted to the nth degree. My eyes are slicked with a shimmery gold shadow, and my lips are a bright fuchsia. All in all, I look way hotter than I feel.
“Now, let’s get you dressed.”
“You wanna tell me where we’re going?”
“Not really, nope.” Ugh. Figures.
She rifles through the shopping bags she brought with her and pulls out a stunning velvet dress in the most spectacular dusty rose color. “Here. Put this on.”
I know I won’t get my way, so I don’t bother arguing. I slip the material over my head and check my reflection in the mirror. I’m not sure what our plans are, but this dress will certainly turn heads. The fabric hugs my body like I’m sewn into it—undies and a bra will for sure be a no-go. It hits mid-thigh and sports a deep vee with straps so thin they may as well be dental floss.
Oh. Oh, no. Maybe turning heads is part of her plan. What if she’s planning to parade me around at some club in hopes of finding me a rebound hook-up? Oh, God. I feel sick. I don’t think I can do that. I’m not ready to move on—even if he never loved me.
“Stacia.” My voice breaks. “Please tell me where we’re going?”
My best friend looks at me with eyes full of sympathy. “You’re gonna have to trust me. I know you, and I want what’s best for you. Please just trust me?”
I shrug and turn back to my reflection.
“AJ, babe, I know this is hard. So, let’s make a deal. If you end up hating it, you can shave my head—or wait, I know…you can raid my closet and take anything you want. Seriously, just—trust—me.”
For Stacia, those are pretty high stakes, so I decide to follow along.
That is until she drives us to the fucking country club, and I see the huge banner that reads Congratulations
Brock and Amanda in a sickening powder blue script.
BROCK
Fuck-a-duck. Getting through the past week has been hell on earth. And that’s not an exaggeration. I feel as though I’ve walked through fire and brimstone, and I damn sure know I’ve dined with the devil—aka Daddy Dearest. Pretty sure the dude’s a full-blown sociopath. Lucky for me, the apple fell very far from the tree.
And not banging down Abby Jane’s door? Yeah, the struggle was real. I also fought the urge to stalker-call her. Well. I mean, almost. Those first few days weren’t so pretty. But Stacia and West helped me get it under control—mostly Stacia after she explained to me that Abby Jane needed space to sort through her emotions. Personally, I thought that was bullshit, because she doesn’t have all of the facts. But, whatever. I figured one call a day was plenty of fucking space though. Plus, what if she actually answered?
Now, here I am hoping like hell everything goes according to plan. The sheer number of variables is freaking me the fuck out, though. I need everything to run smoothly. My mom, West, Stacia, and me…we all have a part to play tonight, and if one of them fucks this up, I might explode.
Can’t forget the Abby Jane factor, either. That girl doesn’t do a damn thing she doesn’t want to. God, please let Stacia get here so I can win her back. Notice I didn’t say try to win her back. I’m taking a page from Yoda’s playbook: “Do or do not. There is no try.” So, fuck yeah, I’m gonna do.
I tug at my tie—that not so coincidentally matches the dress Stacia bought my girl—as I step into the room for my sham of an engagement party. It feels like a noose around my neck and as I take in the expertly decorated space, I struggle to breathe.
From the white linen tablecloths and ugly blue runners to the twinkling string lights wound around the vases sitting on every available surface, I can’t help but cringe at the wrongness of it all.
While Abby Jane and I weren’t anywhere near getting engaged—fucking duh, we hadn’t even said the “L” word—I feel like we’re headed that way, and I know for sure our party wouldn’t be anything like this. Hell. We’d probably go out to Vinny’s with West and Stacia and call it a day. That’s one of the things I love the most about my girl…how unpretentious she is. My firecracker is down to earth, and real as fuck.
I startle when I feel a strong hand clamp down onto my shoulder. “Son,” my dad says. Should have known it was him. “I’m so glad you finally came to your senses. I know you think you love that girl, but it’ll pass.”
I shrug out of his hold and offer him a tight-lipped smile.
“Try not to look so angry. You don’t want your bride or the guests to think anything’s wrong.”
My teeth mash together as I restrain myself from saying all of the things I desperately want to say. In time, Brock. In time. Just be patient.
I take a deep breath and paste a pleasant smile across my face before turning and walking away without another word. I only have so much willpower.
Ten minutes later, guests begin trickling in, not one of them looking shocked over this impromptu engagement party to a woman I’ve never even dated. Just goes to show how warped their minds are. None of these people matter, however—there’s only one guest I’m interested in, and she’s definitely not on the invite list.
Luckily, I don’t have to wait long.
My heart stutters in my chest when my eyes land on my girl. Her hair’s different, but I fucking love it. It’s loud and edgy and sexy—just like her. And Jesus, that dress…it looks like it was made for her and her alone. The look on her face though? It’s killing me. She looks absolutely gutted to be here, and that means it’s time to get the ball rolling.
ABBY JANE
I’m ready to snap my best friend’s neck. I’m not really sure why she thought bringing me here was a good idea, but I’m ready to throw down.
I want to rip down the ugly Congratulations banner and burn it on the fucking lawn. I want to pop every single hideous powder blue balloon that’s tied to the porch railing. I want to drown Brock and his cunt of a fiancée in the gaudy cake sitting front and center in the entry hall.
I resist the temptation. Not because I care what these people think of me, but because I don’t really want to end up in jail, and even more than that, I plan to tell that assholey little weasel exactly what I think to his face.
“Take a breath, AJ,” my soon-to-be-former best friend whispers in my ear as we step into the actual party space.
“I fucking hate you.” I grit out the words through clenched teeth, yanking my hand from hers, only to stumble back and cling to her when my eyes land on the man of the hour.
Brock’s standing in the middle of the room, looking like a dream in his charcoal suit and dusty rose tie. Great…now I’ll look like the psycho ex. Maybe I’ll wear white to their wedding—snap out of it! You will not be attending his wedding!
He’s talking with his and Amanda’s parents, while she clings to him like a damn sloth. A full-body shudder rolls through me, and bile churns in my gut. Brock and I make eye contact, and I turn to flee. Telling him off isn’t worth this kind of pain and humiliation.
I don’t even make it two steps when Stacia wraps her hand around my wrist, effectively halting my escape. “Sorry, girl. You’re just gonna have to trust me.”
I glare at her. Some fucking friend she is. “Why are you doing this to me?” I ask, my voice cracking with emotion.
“Oh! Look!” she exclaims ignoring the fact that I’m about to break down. “There’s West. Let’s go say hello.”
Stacia sets off, practically dragging me behind her. I dig my heels in, but it doesn’t deter her. Not at all.
“Ladies.” West tips his head toward us. “How are y’all this fine evening?”
“Nothing fucking fine about it,” I mutter under my breath, loud enough for only me to hear.
“We’re just waiting for the show,” Stacia tells him. They launch into mindless conversation that I promptly tune out—because fuck this and fuck them. I’d leave, but Stacia’s still gripping my wrist like it’s a lifeline.
They fall silent when the sound of someone tapping a microphone filters through the speakers hidden around the room. “Looks like it’s starting now,” West says, rubbing his hands together.
Frustrated to no end, I stomp my foot and ask, “What? What’s starting now?”
Stacia shushes me as Mr. Larson begins speaking into the microphone. Meanwhile, West walks away from us, moving to stand beside Brock.
“Hello and welcome!” His voice booms with manic glee, and a shiver rolls down my spine. “What a momentous occasion. We’re here to celebrate the upcoming nuptials between two lovely, upstanding individuals. This day has been a long time coming, and I know I speak for all of us when I say we’re honored you’re all here!” He raises his glass in the air and the party-goers follow suit.
Fucking gag me with a spoon.
Brock extricates himself from Slut-Manda and steps up to the mic. “Thank you, Dad. And since tonight is, as you said, such a momentous occasion, I’ve actually prepared a little something for everyone.”
BROCK
I rub my sweaty palms against my slacks and try my hardest not to fidget as two country club employees pull down a large projector screen. After one of the men gives me a thumbs-up, I grab the mic from the podium, suck in a deep breath, and address the crowd.
“You ever have one of those moments that just knocks you on your ass? I’m talking a life-changing, you-know-shit-will-never-be-the-same-again type of moment?
“That’s what I had when I first laid eyes on the woman I love. I couldn’t have been more than five years old. I remember looking at her and thinking, I’m gonna marry that girl. But then, we drifted apart. Well, that’s not entirely accurate. I fell victim to preteen hormones and tossed away a treasure. But, my God, when fate placed her in my path again—I was still too stupid and prideful to see what was right in front of me. But I figured it out pretty quickly, and I’m certainly n
ot dumb enough to let her go twice.”
I crane my neck and search out Abby Jane in the crowd. My gaze bores into hers as I try to silently communicate that she’s the girl I was talking about. My heart climbs into my chest as Stacia wraps her arms around her, dipping her head to whisper words of comfort in her ear.
I refuse to take my eyes off of Abby Jane as I continue speaking, because really, she’s the only one here who matters.
“There’s so much in this life we don’t get a say in, so much that’s beyond our control. On the flip side, there’s also a lot that we do get a say in—or at least we should. Things like what you spend your life doing, and who you do it with. Yet, according to my father, I don’t get a say in either.”
I can tell dear old dad wants nothing more than to throttle me, but he’s too cunning and calculated to make a move in front of everyone. Nah. He much prefers to keep his demons locked behind closed doors.
“I’ve taken the liberty to prepare a little presentation for y’all. Enjoy.” I step to the side and after a bit of static and fuzz, the video begins to play. The room falls silent as everyone watches the events that played out in my father’s office last week. The very same events that led to me being here today.
Throughout all of it, I keep my eyes glued to my girl—she looks as nervous as I feel. As the video progresses, I can see the wheels in her mind turning. Every single emotion she’s feeling dances across her beautiful features: anger at how my father speaks to me. Outrage and disgust when the truth about my relationship—or lack thereof—with Amanda comes to light. And then hot, molten fury when my father punches me.
When the screen fades to black, I want nothing more than to go to her. Nothing more than to pull her into me and never let go, but I stick to the plan.
Silence blankets the room. That is until Amanda lets out an ear-piercing wail. “Are you shitting me with this?”