Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 57891 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 289(@200wpm)___ 232(@250wpm)___ 193(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 57891 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 289(@200wpm)___ 232(@250wpm)___ 193(@300wpm)
I got my wealth, and I left. For the past few years, I’ve tried to do better, but this feels like karma showed up and decided I didn’t do enough to right my wrongs. Fuck, I didn’t do anything to right them.
“It’s got to be him,” I murmur, thinking her father won’t ever let me have her too.
“Who?” Gerald turns to me, pulling his gaze away from an interception.
The dull roar of the TV is nothing compared to the pounding of my blood in my ears. I can’t look him in the eyes.
“She told Aspen. She wouldn’t have said shit to her if she didn’t think I did it.”
“Told her what?” he asks and looks at me like I’m a madman. How has he not caught on yet?
I ignore Gerald’s questions, my head foggy with exhaustion and also alcohol. Texts and emails have flooded my phone, and I can’t answer another fucking one.
Her father hit me with a lawsuit today, claiming I leaked the video. As if I could ever do that to her? Just the thought of a random stranger seeing her like that makes me fucking furious. “He’s gotten into her head, I think… I’m going to lose her.”
“Told her what and whose father? Aspen’s or Brook’s?”
I finally look Gerald in the eyes. Darkness rests under them, creating bags, and I glance at the clock and see it’s nearly three o’clock. Two hours is too many to be rambling conspiracies because I have nothing else.
“You think her father planted a video but removed you from it?” he asks, his eyes narrowed with confusion. “He hates you, not her.”
My head falls back against his sofa, and I stare at the ceiling, realizing that it doesn’t make a lick of sense.
“I don’t fucking know, man. The PI can’t find shit but a bouncing IP address, and I don’t know what the hell to do.”
“I don’t really understand what all is going on. Probably just some ex-friend or ex-fuck of Brook’s posting revenge porn, right?” Gerald guesses, and I realize he doesn’t know shit about the other half of it.
About how it’s not real.
About how her father is suing, and I initially sued him for what he did to Brook.
About the board nearly firing me and the web of lies we’ve told.
I dragged her into my old ways. She doesn’t deserve that. She wouldn't be going through this now if I’d never gone to her that morning. I would have lost any chance at tenure, but it would have never gone public. I doubt it even would have been shared among our friends. I should have stayed away. She’d be happy, off being her wild and carefree self. She wouldn’t be crying her eyes out to Aspen and thinking I’d do that shit to her.
Fuck, it hurts. My father is right. I’m meant to be alone.
“I would never hurt her, but I already did and didn’t know it,” I conclude to Gerald as emotions tighten my throat.
I reach for the crystal tumbler on the coffee table and throw back the rest of the amber liquor.
“Dude, what the fuck are you talking about? Did you do that? Did you send the video?” Gerald’s concern is clear as he shuts off the TV and squares his shoulders to look at me.
“No. Never.” I stare back at him with my what the fuck expression.
“Tell me what’s going on,” he urges, and against my better judgment, I do. Because I don’t know what the fuck else to do, and I’ve already hurt her too much.
I pray this doesn’t come back and bite me in the ass, fully aware that it might. But I tell him everything, and I admit I need help. I need this to stop before I lose my Brooklyn forever.
CHAPTER 21
Brooklyn
My chest heaves with a steadying breath. I glance down at my phone, knowing Aspen will be here in a second if I need her.
I tug on the black lace blouse collar, feeling as though it’s suffocating. I glance at the door to Ro’s place, then down at my black skirt.
All black is for mourning, Aspen said when I left her to return here. That I know, and it’s exactly how I feel. I ring the bell and wait. My heart hammers, and the little voices in the back of my mind argue and worry, not knowing what to do.
He opens the door, looking like a sex god in silk pajama pants.
No shirt means I’m met with instant heat. I wish that was enough to make it all better.
“Brook.” He breathes my name like it’s a prayer, and I second-guess everything.
“Did you lose your key?”
I shake my head and respond, “It didn’t feel right to use it.”
It’s then he realizes. I see the flash of recognition in his eyes, but he’s quick to play it off and opens the door wider.