F*CK Reality: Take One Read online

  “I get it.”

  “Do you?” he counters, his eyebrows lifting in surprise. “Because it took you months to get that woman to leave you alone. Restraining orders were about to be placed, son. The woman was batshit crazy.”

  “All this happened three years ago. That’s not fair.”

  “That’s the whole reason I’m making this point. Don’t you see?” He shakes his head while walking back to his desk to sit down. “Three years have passed since you’ve been in a committed relationship, and look how unhealthy the outcome of that one turned out. Somewhere, when I wasn’t looking, you lost your way. I want to help you find it.”

  I don’t comment. My feelings are hurt, and I’m a guy, we don’t revel in admitting that.

  “I want more for you than a waitress or a bartender, Brock.”

  Those positions he speaks so lowly of aren’t worthless. They’re real. It doesn’t matter how little money may be in either occupation, not everyone works to secure a luxurious standard of living. Some actually want to do those specific jobs to earn their life’s keep. Waitresses and bartenders included.

  “So, six months to find what, Dad? A lawyer? Doctor? Because, to be honest, women like that bore the fuck out of me.”

  “Watch your mouth,” he scolds. “I’m not saying whomever you choose has to be more of a success than you are,” he explains to my insult. “I’m saying, at the very least, when they open their mouths to speak to or in front of your mother, they know what the word media in all aspect means.”

  “Fine,” I clip, responding to a burden of fury toward my father I don’t remember ever feeling. “Are we finished? I need to get Tate to the mall.”

  Dad’s face gentles ever so slightly, likely because she’s ridden his ass so much today. He’s probably happy to finally have the little ice princess out of his hair.

  “Six months from today, Brock. If you’re not ready, everything you stand to inherit will be changed.”

  “Seriously?” I bite out. This is ridiculous.

  “You’ll inherit of course, but you’ll get the same as Tate.”

  Which is enough to live comfortably, but not the vast fortune I once thought I’d receive.

  “Got it.”

  “And don’t test me. Don’t pick up some random woman and throw a ring on her finger. The caveat to this agreement is that your mother has to approve of her in a way that will bring her peace in knowing you’ll be happy for the rest of your life.”

  “Mom only?” I question. “You don’t have to approve?”

  “No,” he returns too quickly. “I have no faith you’ll pull this off. Thus, I don’t necessarily plan to meet anyone.”

  Part of me is angry.

  I’m a grown man, and the only father I’ve truly ever known still treats me as an errant child. Thus far, our relationship has always been good. Even as a kid, Martin Merritt ensured I never felt the void of my biological father in any way, and he certainly never set out to make me feel as though he was trying to take his place. Rather, Martin did the exact opposite. He sat back, helped me progress into a teenager, and let our relationship take its natural course. He made my life easier, if only because he made my mom happy.

  The other part of me is disappointed in myself.

  I’ve let him down. He’s relied on me all these years to pull my head from my ass, and I haven’t done it. If I’m being honest, I haven’t wanted to. My life isn’t his. I don’t relish in working long hours forever, wining and dining clients, or spending most weekdays away from home. I do as I’m told, add input when I have it, but other than that, I have no desire in being his replica or clone.

  However, at the same time, I also don’t want to relinquish his company into the hands of another man. A man who technically only bests me because he has a wife, two kids, and lives in the suburbs of Dallas.

  “Six months,” I clarify. “I have six months to put a ring on a woman’s finger. Mom has to approve.”

  “Yes,” he nods. “I’m having Darrin draw up the contract.”

  This is yet another surprise—a contract?

  “I’ll be signing a binding agreement for this?”

  “You will,” he confirms. “Simple terms, but specific terms nonetheless. This way, there will be no way for you to contest my will should I pass...” He pauses and looks to the open door of the hall, probably listening for my mother, then continues, “...should I pass unexpectedly.”

  “You’ve really gone all out, haven’t you?” My disappointment is etched with anger, the snide question meant to hurt.

  “You’ve given me no choice.”

  “Right.”

  “If you aren’t successful in this venture, Brock, I need you to know I still love you as I always have.”

  “Right,” I snap again. I have nothing more to say.

  “This is business,” he adds.

  “I get it.”

  Dismissing me, he nods to the door. “Now please, find your sister. Get her out of this house, and don’t bring her back until she’s no longer pissed at you.”

  “So, never?”

  He laughs the first true laugh I’ve heard from him in a long time. I’m grateful to hear it, even if it is at my expense. It lessens the sting of the disappointment he feels for me.

  “Tate loves you, as do your mother and I.” Standing, I start to turn away. I don’t get far before he adds, “I mean it. You’re better than you’re giving yourself credit for.”

  “Do mail-order brides still exist?” I joke, but then consider it as a valid option.

  Dad shakes his head, pours himself another drink, and replies, “I don’t know. But if anyone could have a woman your mother approves of delivered right to your front door, I have no doubt it’d be you who could.”

  Chapter Two

  Brad Woodbury may or may not have cooties.

  Brooke

  -

  “Did you not hear me?” I snap my fingers in front of Samantha’s face again. It’s a futile effort as it does me no good.

  The small faced, blue eyed, recently engaged woman appears sick. Her long, blonde hair is covering her face as she sits back in her chair and attempts to take a few deep breaths.

  My friends and I are sitting next to each other in oversized, luxurious chairs at our small town’s only salon. We’re all getting pedicures before the party tomorrow night, which was planned to celebrate Samantha’s marital engagement.

  Supposedly, it’s important to her to have the entire female wedding party go out and drink till we puke. She sold this to us as a ‘bonding’ experience. I’d settle for a stay-at-home evening, indulging in a few glasses of white wine, and playing mindless board games. Or maybe watching a couple of romantic movies. However, my ideas were labeled as boring and immediately cast aside.

  “Am I really getting married? Are we really about to plan my wedding?” the bride-to-be asks, trading glances between myself and Addie as we flank her sides. “I mean, do you think Sean really loves me enough to commit to me forever?”

  This is not the first time she’s freaked out. Thankfully, she has months to prepare herself for the big day. She’ll come to terms with what’s happening, I’m sure, but it’ll take some time. However, now that she’s finally chosen her perfect wedding party, she’s started having mini-rounds of nervous bouts, which have led to full-fledged meltdowns that ultimately required dark chocolate and cheap wine.

  I look to her feet and conclude the paint isn’t finished drying. If she starts to freak out like she did hours earlier, she’ll ruin a perfectly good pedicure.

  “Sam, breathe. Relax,” Addie soothes, gently placing her hand on Sam’s shoulder.

  Addie’s not so good with people crying. She sees one coming and, as a self-made rule, takes off in the opposite direction. Tears have no place on Addie’s pillow unless they’re hers alone.

  I’m not great with soothing a sad soul either, but I’m better at it than Addie.

  “You and Sean were meant to be together
since the third grade, Sam. You two are going to be very happy.” Addie throws in for comfort.

  “Second grade,” Sam corrects. “He sat by me in Mrs. Heller’s class all year, remember? He always had something in his mouth.”

  “Glue,” I remind her, my lips curling in disgust. “He went at it all the time.”

  “Glue,” Sam repeats, finally smiling. “Yeah, I think I loved him even then.”

  “See?” Addie points out with her surprising second effort to comfort. “Breathe in and out.”

  All of us grew up in Peace Hope, Iowa where we still live today. It’s a small and quiet place, which brags a population of four hundred and thirty-seven. It’s a one stoplight, one church, one bar, and several farms kind of town.

  My parents own and operate a quaint little bed and breakfast, just outside our city limits. Baskin Inn has been part of this town’s heritage since my great grandparents had it built. They passed it down to their daughter, then she passed it on to my dad. I love the place, and I don’t mind that I’ve finished college with a degree in business only to come back here to help run it.

  My nineteen-year-old brother will be taking over as the rightful owner once he’s ready. Until then, it falls on me to help my parents keep it up as we wait for him to finish college.

  “Do you think I’m making the right decision?” Sam looks to me for guidance, but I don’t answer.

  I don’t necessarily believe in love. Not to say I don’t believe in it for others, but I’ve recently been burned. My ex-boyfriend and I broke up three weeks ago, so her asking me this at the same time I’m stewing over a broken heart and crushed spirit isn’t a good idea.

  “You’re making the right decision,” Addie assures with wide eyes, disciplining me because I’ve said nothing.

  Jason Evers and I were together four, almost five, years. We met our senior year of college, located in the city not far from this one. From the moment I laid eyes on him, I thought he was beautiful.

  His blond hair, blue eyes, and bronzed skin caught my attention at a fraternity party I let Addie talk me into attending. Before that night, I’d never been interested in anyone. I mean, I had a boyfriend or two in high school, sure. However, those relationships never lasted past a casual handhold or chaste kiss.

  Living in a small town means you know everyone’s business and they know yours. Privacy, in any realm, is never a guarantee. Because of this, I had kept my virginity, if only to avoid the loss of it becoming the town’s leading coffee time gossip.

  Once Jason and I began seeing each other though, it wasn’t long before we started having sex. In the beginning, he was very sweet. He was the type of guy who bought you flowers, took you to dinner, then brought you back to his place for a drink before he took you to his bed. I loved him. I had nothing to compare our relationship to, considering I’d never been in one before. Maybe that’s why I was so blinded by our young relationship.

  Ultimately, as time went on, things between us changed. To this day, I’m still not sure exactly how it happened. At first, he started hanging out more with his friends, drinking, than spending quiet nights at home with me. I refused to believe it was because he wasn’t happy, but looking back, that was clearly the reason.

  Three weeks ago, I found him and a woman I’d never met having sex in the driver’s seat of his expensive German car. When Addie called to tell me what she thought she was seeing, I rushed over to the bar where they were parked. The woman was mortified at the state I’d found them in. Jason was merely pissed at being caught.

  The next day, I moved out of our small rental house and back in with my parents.

  “Brooke!” Addie calls. I snap my head to find her and Sam staring at me with angry eyes. “Tell Sam she’s not making a mistake.”

  “You’re not,” I wave them off with a hand gesture. “He loves you. He’s always loved you.”

  Sam’s eyes shine, welling with happy tears. “Are you going out with us tomorrow night? I know you hate bars, but the rest of the wedding party insisted we go to Cub’s after dinner.”

  She’s right. I hate bars. I’m quiet and reserved on most occasions. When all of the girls do go out, it’s usually Addie who raises hell and brings unwelcome attention to our group.

  “I’ll be there,” I assure, but wishing I didn’t have to go.

  “You’re finished!” Shirley, the owner of Glamour Nails, happily exclaims as she runs the pad of her finger over Samantha’s toenail to ensure it’s dry.

  “So pretty!” Sam returns, looking at her perfectly painted pedicure.

  I move my gaze to Addie’s fingers and toes, then laugh. Both are painted black.

  When Sean proposed to Sam, Addie mourned over her jealousy and told me she refused to wear pink at the wedding. We both already knew before asking Sam’s choice of wedding colors, she would choose pink and black. In sixth grade, Mrs. Lance forced us into creating our own do-it-yourself project where Sam, the most girlish of us three, insisted we plan our own weddings. Mine was simple—black and white. Addie’s effort and imagination extended far enough to find a random bobblehead she coined as Elvis, insisting she’d be eloping in Vegas.

  Sam, obviously, chose pink and black.

  Turns out, lucky enough for Addie, the wedding colors are alternated between the five bridesmaids. Since I’m the maid of honor, I’m sporting pink. Addie will come up behind me in black.

  “All right. Now, onto lunch,” Samantha announces as she sits up to collect her things.

  Addie follows up next with, “Thank God. I’m starving.”

  Addie works as a waitress in a truck stop about thirty miles from here. She makes good money and loves her job. She didn’t go to college at the same time Sam and I did. She chose to stay back and help her ailing father heal after suffering from his second round of severe skin cancer. Now that he’s back on his feet, he pays for Addie to take classes online here and there.

  After Addie and I walk with Sam to her car, getting her situated inside, Addie turns to me and smiles.

  “What are you looking at?”

  If there’s anyone who makes me nervous by delving out only a look, it’s her. From personal experience, anytime she looks like this is when she’s up to no good.

  “I was thinking...”

  “No!” I bark out.

  “Come on, Brooke. Hear me out!”

  “No.”

  I hate her ideas.

  Opening my car door, I stare at Addie as she rounds the hood with her eyes never leaving mine. Once she’s inside and buckled up, she exhales a heavy breath, then sits back to get comfortable.

  “I know you and Jason just broke up,” she starts.

  I roll my eyes in reaction. She can’t see it, and what I’d really love to do is close them and forget the world I once had with Jason ever existed, but I’m driving.

  “Yes, we did. As in three weeks ago. So?”

  “Don’t get testy,” she clips. “But Brad Woodbury may or may not have asked my mom for your number this morning when she went by the post office to pick up stamps.”

  Brad Woodbury.

  Brad Woodbury.

  Brad...

  “Oh my God. She did not give him my number, Addie!”

  Shaking her head, she raises her hands in surrender. “Don’t get pissed.”

  “I’m not pissed,” I calmly explain. “But if she gave him my number, you’re paying for my new phone.”

  Brad Woodbury was three years older than us in school. He was the high school quarterback, as in he was the all-American boy this town adored. His long time girlfriend, Laura Pickett, was equally admired, but only because she was Brad’s girl.

  “Well, he’s single. He divorced Laura and moved back home. He’s working at the post office now.”

  “Does your mother hate me?” I question as I steer the corner to the restaurant and catch a glimpse of Sam waiting just outside its front door. She’s on the phone, probably talking to Sean.

  “My mom loves you,” Add
ie boasts quietly.

  She’s right. I know Addie’s mom loves me; she has since we were kids. More times than not, it was Addie’s mother our friends flocked to for advice. We’d sit around her parents’ kitchen table, chatting about whatever was going on in our teenage lives. Mrs. Tindal gave good advice.

  At least I used to think so.

  “I hate Jason for what he did,” Addie continues. “You’re still hurting. Mom knows what he did. Everyone does, and we all hate him for it. She thought she was helping when she told Brad to call you.”

  “Helping?” I scold. “You do know the rumors about him may be true, right?”

  “Or they may not,” she jumps in. “We don’t know. We only know what we’ve heard.”

  “Rumors say he has herpes because Laura stepped out on him before they got divorced, Addie. I don’t want to know if they’re true or not.”

  Her lips tighten, and she keeps quiet, so I wait for her to say something else. When her eyes narrow and a small trace of a smile plays across her face, she finally admits, “Fine. You win.”

  “What?”

  “My mom didn’t give him your number, but she did tell him you were single. She said something about having you both over for dinner next weekend.”

  “No,” I whisper between us. “Your mother is nuts.”

  “You should call her and fill her in on those rumors. If I heard her right, she’s planning to make lasagna.”

  “Her best dish?”

  “Told you, Brooke. She’s serious about finding you a man.”

  A sudden rush of sadness falls between us. Addie senses this and her hand comes to my thigh, where she squeezes gently.

  “I didn’t mean to upset you,” she says quietly.

  The sting of tears threatening to release keeps my focus. Trying to hold them back is a feat in itself.

  “I know you loved him, Brooke.”

  “I did, Addie. I thought...”