Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 78016 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78016 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Because I’m still half drunk—as Declan pointed out—and hungover, I’m slow to realize what’s happening, so before I can block, his fist meets my face, knocking me back on my ass. My face stings from the brute force of his punch, and I can taste blood in my mouth.
“Punching me won’t change anything,” I point out. “She was a fucking liar, just like—”
“Braxton, stop!” Declan barks, jumping between Gage and me.
“—my mom and Kaylee.”
“Enough!” Camden yells, pushing Gage back while Declan remains in front of me.
“Why?” I say, standing and walking over to where the alcohol is. I grab a bottle, crack it open, and chug it down. “It’s the truth. Women want love and affection. They lure us in and make us dependent on them. They want loyalty and the promise of forever, and for what? So they can string us along and then fuck us over? Fuck that and fuck them.”
I don’t know what comes over me, but suddenly, everything feels like it’s been built to the highest point and placed on my back. I can’t stand, can’t walk, can’t carry all these fucked-up feelings anymore. The pain, the anger, the resentment. It’s all become too much, too heavy, and I need it off me, off my back.
And before I realize what I’m doing, I’m swiping everything off the table, as if all that shit is the weight on my shoulders and in my heart. Fruits and bread go flying every which way. Glass bottles shatter when they hit the floor. Realistically, I know what I’m doing isn’t helping in any way, but the release feels good, so I continue destroying everything around me.
At some point, my vision goes blurry, and then hands are on me, pushing me against the wall.
“Brax, chill out,” Camden says, his voice calm as always.
“I...” I open my eyes and look around at my best friends, who are more like brothers. They’re staring at me with genuine concern and sympathy in their eyes. “I feel sick.” I push Camden out of the way and just barely make it to the toilet to throw up the entire contents in my stomach, which is mostly liquid since I’ve been drinking more than I’ve been eating.
“You can’t keep going like this,” Camden says, keeping it real like he always does. “We can’t.” His gaze swings over to Gage, and my heart plummets into my now empty stomach because his tone makes me realize I’m only adding to the stress Camden carries since he’s the person who handles everything for the band, and that’s not fair.
“I’m sorry,” I choke out.
He nods. “We need to get your face covered before we go out there.”
Declan grabs a makeup artist, who quickly covers the bruise that’s already forming on my cheek, and then we go out and handle the interview like the pros we are.
On our way to the hotel, I consider calling Kaylee, but I don’t know what to say or where we stand. We’ll be home soon, so I decide it would be better if I wait until we can talk face-to-face. I’m not sure what I want at this point, and I know I need some time to figure it out. Even if it means we go our separate ways—a thought that feels like my heart is being squeezed by barbwire—I don’t want to have that conversation until I’m sober and thinking clearly. Camden was right. I did forgive her—at least I thought I did—until the shit with my mom happened, and then I lumped her into the same category with my mom.
When we arrive at the hotel, we all go our separate ways. I head to the gym to get a much-needed workout in, hoping to sweat some of the lingering alcohol out of my pores and work on getting back into shape—not that I’ve fallen too far, but up until the past couple of weeks, I’d been working out once, sometimes twice a day for years.
While I’m running on the treadmill, Fallout Boy’s “Sugar, We Goin’ Down”—yeah, I prefer old school music, sue me—blares in my ears, forcing me to think about shit. The song cuts off for a second, indicating I have an email. I slow down to check it, since only work and personal shit go here, and press the stop button when I see it’s from Easton with the subject: Denise Cohen.
When I was drunk and curious one night, I learned through a search of my mom that she met her husband, Aaron Cohen, while on the set of a movie he was producing—while she was still with my dad. They were married shortly after my parents’ divorce was finalized, and soon after came Adam, my apparent half brother. Her husband is worth millions, and after she got pregnant, she took a few years off to be home with their son. She appeared in a few more movies before she got pregnant again with the twins, who I guess I’m also related to. It’s crazy... I went from thinking I was an only child to finding out I have three half siblings. She’s since remained out of the public eye, her husband the sole provider.