Page 15 of Brewer Family Collection, Part 1

Blakely

“ I don’t even want to know what this is going to cost,” I say, taking in the ice cream-stained mattress.

After my bath, I gathered the sheets and pillowcases.

I wasn’t sure what to do with them, so I filled the tub with hot water and body wash and added the bedding.

I read somewhere that soaking stuff after it’s freshly stained helps.

But the mattress ? I don’t know how to clean chocolate and blood out of that.

I grab the trash can from the bathroom and start picking up the pieces of the broken lamp.

“You married Renn last night.”

Now that the shock has worn off—and some of the alcohol, thanks to the Gatorade and a breakfast sandwich Ella got somewhere—the sentence doesn’t make me quite as ill.

Memories have slowly come back to me over the last hour. We went to a show on the Strip. There’s a fuzzy recollection of roulette, a limo, maybe, and visions of a small room draped in white with a man smelling of too much cheap cologne.

Apparently, that’s where we pledged to love one another until death do us part.

I can’t help it. I grin.

It’s almost funny. It might be funny if it didn’t have the potential to bring so much negativity on me, Renn—probably even his dad.

My stomach twists and pulls, wondering what Renn is doing. How is he sorting this out on his end ?

I pluck a few wood fragments off the floor and deposit them in the trash can.

“Hey.”

I look over my shoulder and find Renn standing in the doorway. He’s fresh out of the shower. A pair of jeans hang low on his hips, and a plain black T-shirt is stretched over his frame.

I could’ve done worse in the husband department . The thought has me choking back a laugh. Yup. I’m still in shock.

“You and Brock did some damage,” I say, getting to my feet. “I’m soaking the sheets, but I don’t know what to do with the mattress. And this end table is busted. The lamp is toast.”

Renn looks around the room, his gaze falling on the imprint on the glass. He fights a smile. “Is that … what it looks like?”

I look at the silhouette. “Palms and boobs? Maybe.”

“What the hell did we do last night?” he asks, chuckling softly.

The sound washes over me. It undoes some of my anxiety since the marriage thing was dropped in my lap.

“Renn, I don’t know,” I say. “I’m getting pieces of it coming back to me here and there. I think we rented a limo, played roulette, and I keep having this recurring image of riding a mechanical bull.”

He grins. “Sounds like a good night.”

“I wish I could remember it.”

He leans against the doorframe, looking at me curiously. “Do you happen to have any tattoos this morning?”

My eyes grow wide. “No. Why? Should I?”

He walks to me, his eyes glued to mine. “Check this out.” He lifts his shirt over his chest and his stacked abs. The bandage from this morning is gone.

I cover my mouth. “ No. ”

“I guess we did this instead of rings.”

“Renn. Oh my God .” I suck in a breath, laughing in disbelief. “You got a tattoo? Of my name ?”

He drops his shirt. “Complete with a heart. And I think you wrote it there. I have these flashbacks of you with a marker.”

“Yeah, well, it does look like my handwriting.”

We stare at each other for a few long seconds. Finally, we begin to laugh. Loudly .

It’s such a relief to laugh with him— to know his life didn’t spiral completely out of control downstairs and that I managed to keep mine together up here. And that we’re still … friends.

For now.

“Ella and I looked up what we’re supposed to do,” I say, picking up another piece of the lamp. “I think we can get an annulment based on lack of understanding because we were obviously drunk.” I drop the shard in the trash. “But it can take one to three weeks.”

Renn watches me warily.

“Our amateurish investigation did say that we might run into problems, though.” I search the floor for anything else I can pick up—anything to avoid his gaze.

“Apparently, proving a lack of understanding can be tricky. If that doesn’t work, our only option seems to be an actual divorce.

We both want to avoid that and get this done as quickly and quietly as possible. ”

He runs a hand down his face.

“Look, I know this is really bad for you,” I say, my heart hurting for him. “This really fucks up your good boy clause, I’m sure.”

He drops his hand, a crooked grin on his lips. “A little bit.”

“And your dad’s business deal?”

His smile falters. “Don’t worry about him.”

“Okay …”

He roams through the room like he owns the place. Casually confident—like a man gearing up for a war he knows he’ll win. I would swoon if I wasn’t a combatant in this battle … and worried that I might end up being his opponent.

“Blakely, do you have any clue what the media is going to say about you?”

I still, my insides reminding me that tequila or not—puke is still a possibility.

Renn stops moving and faces me. There’s a somberness, a seriousness in his eyes that scares me.

Yeah. I might need a toilet.

“They’re going to say you’re after my money?—”

“ I don’t want your money .”

He takes a step toward me. “ I know that. But they’re going to say it anyway. And they’re going to speculate if you’re pregnant. They’re going to wonder if you tricked me somehow and a million other terrible things just to spin a story.”

I move backward until my legs hit the edge of the mattress. Then I sit. Although I knew all that, hearing it from Renn makes it much more real.

“I told my PR person not to make a statement until we— you and I —talk,” he says.

“You probably have a nightmare on your hands, huh?”

He looks me in the eye. “I’m less concerned about that right now and more worried about you .”

You are ?

It takes a few moments for that to register.

I knew, or hoped, that Renn would realize we’re on the same side of this disaster. But the thought that his needs would swamp mine has lingered in the back of my mind. I’ve experienced enough to know that big-dollar deals sometimes outweigh other things—like truth and people.

My heart swells. The man who has so much to lose is worried about me .

He sent me flowers for Valentine’s Day during the DiNozzo disaster. Of course, he wrote a sarcastic card that wasn’t exactly sweet, but I read through the lines. He was just showing his support—and it was very appreciated.

Renn returned to the US one year when Brock had to have surgery because he knew it would just be my brother and me.

One summer, he hooked us up with a place to stay when Ella and I went to Europe for a week.

And when a coworker’s son got osteosarcoma, and she mentioned Renn was his favorite athlete, Renn didn’t hesitate to jump on a video call with him … for an hour.

He can be a good friend. A great human. Just not a good husband .

“What is happening with your contract?” I ask. “Have they said anything?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know yet. I haven’t gotten that far.”

“What about your dad’s deal? I know you said not to worry about him, but I can’t help it.”

His jaw pulses. “ Don’t worry about it .”

“But Renn, he’s your dad .”

“And you’re my wife.”

We face one another, feeling each other out.

I’m relieved that being with him feels the same as always—that our marriage didn’t make things tense or hostile. We can smile and be playful, despite the impending disaster swirling around us. That I’m not labeled the bad guy.

And I can’t ignore that it’s the second time he’s claimed me so fiercely. That’s kind of hot.

He’s not really your husband, Blakely. Back out of this thought process.

“How are things going?” Brock marches into the room unannounced, flashing a look at Renn that would kill a weaker man.

Ella is at his heels, looking apologetic.

“We’re going to get an annulment or a divorce—preferably an annulment. That way, it’s like the marriage never happened,” I say brightly, trying to avoid another fistfight.

My brother looks at Renn. “What’s going on with your contract?”

“Let’s talk about that later.”

“Did you talk to your dad?”

Renn runs a hand through his hair. “Yeah, and he’s about as pissed as you’d imagine.”

“What did he say?” Brock asks, unflinching.

“Oh, that I’m a little punk,” Renn says, dropping his hand to his side. “That I probably just cost myself my job and him two years and a deal worth three-quarters of a billion dollars. I’m careless and selfish. You know, the usual.”

My jaw drops. “Your father said that to you?”

Renn chuckles angrily.

“Reid Brewer can be a real gem,” Brock says, returning his attention to his friend. “What was your response?”

“I told him I’d call him later. Besides, we have bigger fish to fry.”

The two of them exchange a look I don’t understand.

“How are you feeling, Blakely?” Ella asks.

“Hungover.” I tear my attention away from the guys and kick the end of the broken table. “Do you know if there are any big trash bags in the kitchen? Maybe we could load this thing?—”

“Forget the furniture,” Renn says, irritation thick in his tone.

I put a hand on my hip. “I’m trying to minimize the charges you get for destroying a hotel suite. Or do you want to say fuck it and add that to the things you have to deal with?”

“ Blakely …” Renn looks at the ceiling and sighs. “No one is getting charged for anything.”

“Have you looked around?”

“Yeah, a few times. I own this suite.”

I still, the room shifting beneath me. “What do you mean that you own it ?”

“I mean, it’s mine. I own it. I bought it. I wrote a check—or made a wire transfer, actually. Then they sent me a deed.”

“ You’re joking. ”

“Hey, it’s half yours now, too, technically,” Ella says, shrugging.

Brock fires her a dirty look. “ Don’t .”

She returns his glare with just as much passion. Even though she stands up to Brock—a lot—it’s moments like these when I wonder if they’ll survive.

But even that’s too much to deal with right now. As Renn said, we have bigger fish to fry.