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I can tell dear old dad wants nothing more than to throttle me, but he’s too cunning and calculated to make a move in front of everyone. Nah. He much prefers to keep his demons locked behind closed doors.

“I’ve taken the liberty to prepare a little presentation for y’all. Enjoy.” I step to the side and after a bit of static and fuzz, the video begins to play. The room falls silent as everyone watches the events that played out in my father’s office last week. The very same events that led to me being here today.

Throughout all of it, I keep my eyes glued to my girl—she looks as nervous as I feel. As the video progresses, I can see the wheels in her mind turning. Every single emotion she’s feeling dances across her beautiful features: anger at how my father speaks to me. Outrage and disgust when the truth about my relationship—or lack thereof—with Amanda comes to light. And then hot, molten fury when my father punches me.

When the screen fades to black, I want nothing more than to go to her. Nothing more than to pull her into me and never let go, but I stick to the plan.

Silence blankets the room. That is until Amanda lets out an ear-piercing wail. “Are you shitting me with this?”

Her father tries to silence her, but his fruitless attempt only causes her to turn her anger on him. “You! You promised me I could have him. You lied!”

Fed the fuck up with all of it, I step up to a still-screeching Amanda. “Stop fucking screaming.” My voice is low and lethal. “Give me my Mimi’s ring and get the hell out of here.”

Amanda pries the ring from her finger and chucks it at me. It bounces off of my shoulder and rolls across the floor, where my mother bends and retrieves it.

There’s still a lot to hash out, but I have no desire to do it with an audience. Christ knows, we’ve already given them quite the sideshow act.

I tap on the mic still clutched in my hand and clear my throat. “As y’all can see, there’s no cause for celebration here tonight. Sorry for the confusion and the inconvenience. Please pick up your gifts and a slice of cake on the way out.”

AJ

The minute people begin filing out of the room, I tuck tail and follow. This night has been one giant clusterfuck of weird, and I need a minute to get my head on straight.

I’m almost home free when Stacia halts my progress.Again.“Not so fast, AJ.” She directs me back over to where we were standing, positioning between me and the exit so that I can’t try and make a break for it. “Are you okay?” she murmurs.

Unsure how to reply, I simply shake my head. So much has happened in such a short window of time, I’m not even sure how to process it.

Brock’s dad is a raging, abusive jackass. Amanda is a straight-up sociopath. And Brock…loves me? This night has been like something straight out of a soap opera.

Five minutes later, the only people left in the room are me, Stacia, Brock, West, and Mr. and Mrs. Larson. I notice Brockmoving my way, and as if I’m a fucking Olympic sprinter, I rush to close the distance between us.

Brock wastes no time and gathers me into his arms, burying his face in the space between my shoulder and neck. “I’m so sorry, Abby Jane.”

“Is…is this real?” I whisper brokenly, clinging to him.

“So fucking real. I love you, Abs.”

I pull back just enough to peer up at him. “I love you, too.”

Our happy reunion is quickly interrupted by none other than his d-bag of a father. “Well, look at the happy couple,” he sneers, and Brock whips around to face him, placing himself between us.

“Just give up. It’s over. Your bullshit plan failed.”

I gasp as he grabs Brock by the collar of his shirt. Just as fast, West moves in to restrain his uncle. As he’s hauled away from Brock, he loses his mind. “You ungrateful little shit. Your mother should have fucking aborted you like I fucking told her.”

I can tell Brock has something to say, but his mother beats him to it. “That’s quite enough, Everett. It seems as though you’ve forgotten which one of us holds the power.”

“You fucking bitch!” he roars, desperately trying to shake West’s hold. But Brock’s cousin is a beast and only tightens his grip.

“We’re finished,” Mrs. Larson tells him coolly. “I’ve had Marta pack you an overnight bag. We’ll arrange a date for you to officially move out.”

“You can’t do this! I won’t let you!”

When she simply laughs at his empty threats, he goes berserk, finally breaking free. He charges her and rears back to hit her, but she beats him to the punch—literally—and rams her knee into his groin, laying him flat out.

She moves to stand over him, a wicked gleam in her eye. “You seem to have forgotten our prenup, Everett. You only get toleave with what you brought into our marriage, and if memory serves…that would be jack shit.” She gives him one last repulsed look before spinning on her heel and marching away.

“Come on, kids,” she calls over her shoulder, and obediently we all follow behind her, leaving Brock’s sorry-ass excuse of a father in a heap on the floor.