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My mind races, desperately trying to make sense of her words. She steps closer to me, backing me into the marble countertop. “I know this hurts, honey, but it’s the truth. I know it. Brock knows it, and now, you know it. He and I had an agreement. I told him he could go and sow his wild oats before we settled down, but playtime is over.”

My eyes sting, but I hold my tears back, unwilling to cry in front of her. “I-I don’t believe you.”

Her lips twist into an ugly scowl. “God, you’re pathetic. Has he been acting different lately? He has, hasn’t he? Wanna know why? He brought you here to end things. He planned on doing it right after dinner. I’ve been waiting at the bar so I could join him for dessert.”

No. No-no-no-no. There’s that favorite word of mine, only right now it’s failing me, because everything she’s saying makesso muchsense. I mean, aside from a hug when he picked me up and helping me down from his truck, he hasn’t touched me at all tonight. We haven’t seen each other in days, and he didn’t even try to steal a kiss.

Surprise, surprise!Brock Larson is exactly who I thought he was from the start, and the bastard knowingly made me fall for him just so he could fuck me over in the end. Talk about the story of my life. The only man who’s never let me down is my gramps, but at the end of the day, the only person to blame for this is me.

I let him back into my life. I let him into my bed. I let him into my heart. But now…now I’m going to rid my life of him entirely. “You know what, Amanda?” I calmly grab my clutch as I move her away from me and step toward the door. “Y’all deserve each other. Have a nice life.”

I rush out of the restroom, making a beeline straight to the exit. As soon as the muggy evening air hits my face, I let the tears fall. I move away from the restaurant as fast as my heels will carry me, finally slumping down onto a park bench a good two blocks away.

With trembling hands, I fish my phone out of my clutch and order an Uber. Five minutes later, I’m sitting in the backseat, silently weeping the entire ride back to my apartment, tears rolling down my cheeks and off of my chin. I can only imagine how crazy I look, but I can’t find it in me to care.

The driver idles in front of my building, and I grab what little cash I have in my clutch and give it to him as a tip. With every step I take the soft silk of my dress—the one I wore especially for him—burns like acid as it rubs against my skin. I rip it off as soon as I’m safely locked inside my apartment, and like the pathetic girl I’ve somehow let myself become, I slip into one of Brock’s shirts.

I bring it to my nose and inhale; his scent sets off a fresh round of tears as I sink down onto my bed, burying myself in the comforter and my grief.

CHAPTER 23

BROCK

Abby Jane’sbeen in the restroom for what feels like forever. And I’m not even exaggerating. I’ve already had my drink refilled and a second basket of bread brought out.

I’m about to go and check on her when Amanda fucking Burkett slides into my girl’s vacant chair. “The fuck do you want?” I snarl at her.

She blinks slowly at me before breaking out into a beaming smile. “Brocky! That’s no way to speak to your future wife.”

Her words cause me to choke on thin air. “My what, now?”

Not missing a beat, the little psycho reaches across the tabletop and takes my hand in hers. It’s then I notice she’s wearing my fucking grandmother’s ring. “Where the fuck did you get this?” I growl, trying to pull my hand away from hers, but she digs her nails in.

“Oh, Brocky.” She shakes her head like she feels sorry for me, but who she needs to worry about is herself, because if she’s the reason my girl’s not back, she’s gonna fucking feel my wrath. “You’re being so silly. You knew this was the plan. You’ve known all along that I’m the only future you have.”

I yank my hand back, knocking my glass of water off of the table in the process. I shove my chair back and jump to my feet. “What did you do? Where is Abby Jane?”

Amanda laughs lightly, like I’ve just delivered a witty one-liner. “I ran into her in the restroom and sent her home. She understands now, Brocky. I did your dirty work for you, baby.” She stands as well and steps closer to me. At this point, other patrons are staring, watching the shitshow unfold.

“You did what? You fucking bitch! You had no fucking right?—”

“You will watch how you speak to me!” she shrieks. “You will respect me. I’m not some two-bit whore. I’m a lady, and you will treat me as such!” She pinches the bridge of her nose and takes a deep breath. In a much calmer voice, she continues speaking. “She needed to know, Brocky. You’re mine—you’ve always been mine. You were promised to me, and I’m ready to collect. I’m ready to build our future?—”

Over her shit and all of the insanity flowing from her pastel pink lips, I flag down a passing server and slip him two crisp hundred-dollar bills. “This should cover everything. I’m so sorry for all of the trouble.” With the bill taken care of, I step around Amanda, but she follows behind me, hot on my heels.

I burst through the door and out onto the sidewalk. Unfortunately, I have to wait on the valet to bring my truck around, which gives Amanda the perfect opportunity to keep spewing her bullshit at me. “Don’t you walk away from me, Brocky! We arenotfinished! Brock! Are you listening to me?”

Unable to listen to her drivel for another second, I spin to face her, a menacing look on my face. “Areyoulistening to yourself? You sound fucking crazy. We’re not together. We’ve never been together, and weneverwill be. You need to stop this nonsense.”

“My future isn’t nonsense!” Her voice wobbles, but I can’t find it in myself to feel sorry for. This girl needs serious help. “You are mine.Mine!Why can’t you just fall in line?”

Those last three words cause me to freeze in place.Fall in line.The exact same thing my father said to me earlier today. Oh, my God. How did I not fucking see this?

As soon as the realization hits me, my truck is ready. I rush the attendant, snatching my keys. I peel out like a bat out of hell, leaving Amanda sputtering on the sidewalk.

I dial my mother the second my phone connects via Bluetooth. “Brock, honey, how are you?”

I skip over all pleasantries and get down to business. “Did you know?” The anger in my tone is unrestrained, and for a split second, I feel bad—I’ve never spoken to my mother like this, but the thought of her being a part of this guts me.