Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 83718 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83718 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
She chews on her bottom lip and looks everywhere but at me. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know how he did this.” She presses her hand to her mouth and whispers, “Or . . . why anyone would hate me so much.”
She never wanted a relationship. She never wanted more.
But it doesn’t matter if we were officially a couple when Austin took this video. It doesn’t matter to me that she told me she can’t do relationships. None of that matters when this awful betrayal is roaring in my ears that I’m an idiot. That I’m blind. That Jason has something to offer her that had her pulling him into her office the same day I—
“I deserved to know.” I swallow hard and look away—toward the building, the place we built together. She let him touch her there. “If you were fucking him and me at the same time, I deserved to know.”
She gasps. “What?”
“We weren’t using protection, Molly. I fucking deserved to know.” I can’t look at her. It hurts too much. And this feeling like maybe I don’t have a right to be angry? That just makes my rage worse.
“You should get back inside.” She swipes at her cheeks. “They’re cutting the cake soon.”
“That’s all you have to say?”
She laughs, a hollow, empty sound. Her long inhale is so jagged that it sounds like it’s running over a hundred razor blades on the way to her lungs. “Do you want me to say it’s a lie? Would you even believe me? Go celebrate with your family.”
I don’t move. I’m not going to walk away from this conversation—I have no business being in that reception while I’m this angry anyway.
But she walks away from me, and I know this conversation is over.
Brayden
The rest of Ethan and Nic’s reception passes in a blur. I smile when I’m expected to, dance with whom I’m expected to, and generally give the performance of a lifetime. Only Shay knows what’s going on. I suppose everyone else will soon enough.
Molly is scarce through the end of the party, though if I’m honest, I’ve avoided any moments when I thought she might show up.
When it’s over, I can’t get home fast enough, and I don’t bother changing out of my suit before pouring myself some of Dad’s bourbon.
How am I supposed to be okay with this? Do I just swallow my pride and pretend it doesn’t tear me apart? What am I supposed to do when she gets home?
I must be a masochist, because I play the video again. And again. I listen, as if the sounds she makes might tell me why she was with him when she had me. The useless clunking thing in my chest fractures more and more each time I watch that door close. Each time I hear those moans.
But the third time—the fourth?—I notice a glitch in the video between the moment the door closes and the moment the sounds start.
Maybe Austin trimmed the middle out to give the full effect in the short clip . . . but I listen again, turning the volume as loud as it’ll go until I can almost make out the murmurs on the other side of the door. I know those sounds and those whispered pleas. I have them imprinted on my brain.
And then I hear it. My name.
“Brayden,” she says. “Brayden, please. Oh my God . . .”
This isn’t audio from her and Jason at all. It’s audio from when I sat Molly on her desk, spread her thighs, and made her come through her panties. We were supposed to be alone, everyone done for the day, but when we came out of the office, Austin was in the hall playing on his phone. Or so I thought.
The sonofabitch was recording us.
He spliced together two different videos to hurt her, and it worked. He used her old reputation against her, against us, and I bought it. She believes she’s not good enough for a real relationship, and tonight I let her think I believe that too.
Molly
I sit in my car for fifteen minutes after parking in Brayden’s driveway.
I don’t want to go inside. I don’t want to see Brayden, because I’m sure if I do, I’ll fall apart. And I don’t want to see that he never came home, because I know if he went somewhere else to avoid me, that’ll kill me too.
I’m going to stay at my mom’s—Noah has the couch, so I can handle the floor for a night—but I need to get a few things first. Maybe even find the courage to tell Brayden the video is fake. Not that it matters.
Taking a deep breath, I climb out of my car and head inside.
Brayden’s sitting in the living room with a glass of amber liquid—bourbon, if I know him like I think I do.