Accidentally Married, page 18
Or hell, maybe she's trying to avoid me by checking out of the Rio, knowing I know she's staying there, and checking into a different hotel. I'm a resourceful guy, but with dozens of different hotels in Vegas, I'm never going to be able to figure out which one she's at.
All I know is that she's not here, and we have a lot of shit to talk about and sort through. I drive my fist into the wall, shaking the picture hanging on it.
“Sir, please don't make me call security,” the woman says.
Realizing there's nothing for me here, and I'm doing nothing but scaring this poor woman, I turn and head back towards the elevator. I need to get my head clear and figure out what my next steps are going to be. I need to find Holly. We need to talk.
The anger is bubbling up inside of me. My fists are balled up at my sides. And honestly, I am in the mood to punch something, anything. Part of me is just looking for an excuse to lash out. I can't believe she just left like that. Just up and left without so much as a goodbye, a go fuck yourself, or talking about how to fix the mess we’re in.
What a coward. What a fucking coward. And it leaves me in a bind since I hardly know the first thing about her. Though, given what I do know of her, I never would have expected her to be the sort of person who slinks out of town the way she did. Never in a million years.
Well, fuck her. That's about all I can say right now. Fuck her and I'll be more than happy to have this sham of a marriage annulled as soon as fucking possible. I'm going to have my lawyers get the papers drawn up the second I get back to Austin. I'll make it as easy for her as possible. Since she obviously prefers taking the easy way out.
I'm pissed off. I want to hate her. But, the fact that I still like her keeps nagging me. It’s clawing at my mind and my heart like a wild animal. I think I like her a lot. And I hate the fact that I do. But, the truth of the matter is that I can see myself with a woman like her. Not married right away, of course, but I can see being in an actual relationship with her. Maybe even one that winds up in marriage. She drives me crazy in ways that no one else ever has. Holly has turned everything I've ever thought or felt upside down, and despite how pissed off I am, I desperately want to see her again.
But, she left. Without saying a word about the last few days or the fact that we got married the night before. She just up and left. Snuck out of my hotel room before I woke up without the courtesy of a goodbye. And as I think about it and process these feelings, I realize that what she did hurts. It hurts badly.
The elevator chimes, the doors slide open, and I push myself inside amongst what looks like a bachelor party. Drunk guys surround me, the air in the elevator saturated with the stench of alcohol and weed. The guys are rowdy and obnoxious, yelling and screaming at one another even though they're standing two feet apart.
I can’t deal with it. Not this early in the morning, hungover like a motherfucker, dealing with everything on my plate right now. One of the guys elbows me in the side, laughing and practically yelling at his friend who's standing – literally – six inches from him. I cringe, my temper flaring, but somehow manage to hold it together.
Two of the men – a meathead-looking guy and a smaller version who could be his brother – start playfully beating the shit out of each other. The rest of the crowd is hooting, hollering, and urging them on as they laugh hysterically, pushing and shoving, punching the shit out of each other.
The elevator is too small and crowded for this shit. And as my anger bubbles up and I start to redline, the smaller guy gets pushed into me. He steps on my foot and knocks me into the wall of the elevator, the handrail driven into the small of my back.
“Watch out, asshole!” I shout.
The guy blinks a few times and gives me a dazed look, “Who are you? Where did you come from, man?”
It's an innocent question from a guy that is so fucked-up, he probably thinks I'm part of their posse. Maybe, a friend of a friend that he doesn't recognize, but in my current mood and emotional state, I can’t help but take it entirely the wrong way.
“Who am I?” I seethe. “I'm the guy who's going to fuck you up if you bump your drunk ass into me again.”
Meathead, who I'm guessing is this guy’s brother, steps in front of him, total indignance on his face.
“You have a problem?” he says, puffing up and doing his best to look intimidating.
“Yeah, about ten of them,” I snap. “And they're all stuffed in this elevator with me.”
The elevator doors slide open to the main floor, and the group of guys stumble out like they're climbing out of a clown car, falling all over themselves, wasted off their asses. I am the last one out of the elevator and when I step out, I find Meathead standing there waiting for me.
“I think you need to apologize to the groom,” Meathead says. “You're ruining his special day.”
“Someone's marrying that guy?” I scoff. “I guess it's true what they say, there's someone for everyone.”
Meathead's face darkens, and he throws a hook at me. I step back, and his big paw misses me by a mile, mostly thanks to his inability to stand up straight. I know that I should be the bigger man and walk away. The logical part of my brain is screaming at me to do just that. But, when I look at the clown, I feel my insides twist with the anger festering inside of me and my blood runs hot. No one fucking swings at me and gets away with it. No one.
Stepping forward, the man reaches back, obviously trying to throw another punch at me. But, I'm too fast for him. I throw three quick jabs, smashing him square in the face. Blood erupts from the fucker’s ruined nose as I hit his face a few more times for good measure. A moment later, I feel two pairs of hands clamp down on my shoulders with an iron-like grip. I struggle for a moment, but they pull me away from the man who'd fallen to his knees, clutching his bruised face. I smile as I see blood pouring out from his nose and hear him wailing like a baby. I know without even turning around that the hands on me don't belong to Meathead's friends.
“Security,” I hear them say, as they drag me away. “Cut it out and stop fighting us, asshole.”
I pull myself out of their grasp and allow them to walk me outside. I know the drill and go willingly. The last thing I need to do is get arrested while I'm in Vegas. Married and arrested within a twenty-four-hour period? That would be one hell of a cliché, if you ask me. And one that I have no desire to be part of.
I don't listen as the guards speak to me. I just keep walking forward. The fight helped to diffuse some of my rage, but I'm still filled with so much anger and regret that I can hardly see straight. I just know I need to get the hell out of the Rio. Holly isn't here, so there's no reason for me to stick around. The only thing I'm going to find here is trouble. Well, more trouble.
Now in the parking lot, I find myself pacing, trying to burn off some of the negative energy inside of me. That, and figure out what my next move is going to be. And then it hits me. I do the next logical thing that pops into my head – something that I should have done earlier, honestly. I hadn't though, because I thought we should have this conversation face-to-face.
But, since that is obviously not going to be an option, I pull my phone from my pocket and call her. It rings several times before going to voicemail.
I try again. Same thing.
When it clicks over to voicemail for the third time, I leave a message.
“Hey Holly, it's Brayden. Umm, you know, your husband?” I laugh, trying to hide the tension in my voice, and probably not doing a very good job of it. “Anyway, we should probably talk about that. Give me a call back as soon as you can.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Holly
Sitting on the closed lid of the toilet in the bathroom, I take a deep breath and try to quiet the nauseous feeling in my belly. It has been a few days since I have been able to eat anything without throwing it right back up. And it's been even longer since I felt comfortable in my own skin. Something just feels – off – inside of me.
At first, I thought it was stress. I mean, it's not like I'm not under an immense amount of stress these days. I have my father, trying to sell me off to a man that I'm sure is evil. A bad person. Someone I know will do terrible things to me, given the chance.
Armando doesn't seem like a good man whatsoever. There is something within his eyes that chills me to the bone. The fact that my father would essentially sell me off to a person like that – it sends me well beyond rage. Betrayal isn't even a strong enough word.
But, I'm getting the feeling that there is more going on inside my body than stress. The mere thought of it terrifies me more than Armando ever could have. Which is why Gabby is here with me. To get some answers and so that she can help talk me off the ledge if it comes to that.
Oh, who am I kidding? When it comes to that.
“You okay?” Gabby asks me.
“I'm not sure.”
She gives me a sympathetic look, full of understanding. She knows what I'm dealing with and the pressure I'm under. In fact, she’s encouraged me to run. To take off and start over somewhere new. I must say – the idea isn't without its merits. I have some money squirreled away and I can find a teaching job anywhere. I have a great track record as a teacher and wouldn’t have any trouble finding work.
Somehow though, pulling up stakes and running doesn't feel right. To me, it feels like the coward's way out. Like I'm tucking tail and scurrying away – which is, of course, exactly what I'd be doing.
I have made a life for myself here. I've made a career and am excelling in it. I love what I do and I'm great at it. Why should I leave? Why should I throw away everything that I've built? This is my life, goddammit, and I'm not going to let anyone – not even my father – dictate how I'm going to live. I'm not going to let him force me into a marriage I don't want, to a man I despise.
I won't. Call me stubborn and pigheaded. Maybe it's even foolish and stupid. But, I'm going to stand and fight. This is my life and it is worth fighting for.
My phone buzzes on the counter, so I reach over and pick it up. Seeing who's calling, I let out a breath, a sliver of guilt stabbing me in the heart as I send it to voicemail. Gabby looks at me, giving me a gentle smile.
“Brayden?”
I nod. “Again,” I say. “He's called at least three times a day since we left Vegas.”
She shrugs. “It's hard to blame the guy,” she says. “You totally ghosted him.”
I sigh. “I know,” I say softly. “And I feel terrible about it. I just don't know what to do.”
“You're going to have to talk to him sooner or later, you know,” she says. “If, for no other reason, then to get the marriage annulled.”
I nod weakly. “Yeah, I know. I just – I don’t think I’m ready for that yet.”
“Understandable,” she says. “You have a lot going on right now.”
“Tell me about it.”
“Do you care about him? Brayden?” she asks.
I look up at her, the sudden change in conversation catching me off-guard. It's a simple, straight-forward question that doesn’t have such a clear-cut answer. It's – well – complicated. Very complicated. And every time I think about it – think about him – it only gets that much more confusing in my own mind.
“I don't know him well enough to know that for sure,” I say. “Maybe. In some weird way, maybe.”
“Then why are you still wearing that wedding ring?” she asks, her tone curious, rather than judgmental.
I look down at the ring on my finger. It’s the cheap band we picked up at the chapel where we got married on that crazy, drunken night. Little did I know that it was a night that could potentially have major ramifications for the rest of my life. I don't know why I haven't taken it off yet. I can't give Gabby an answer because I don't understand it entirely myself.
I watch the cubic zirconia glitter in the light as I spin the ring around my finger. Although I don't recall most of the night we got married, looking at the ring brings back a flood of memories – memories that Brayden and I made together. Great memories that I'm sure I will never be able to forget.
“You do,” she says. “You care about him.”
I shrug. “I felt like we had a connection,” I say. “Like something between us just – clicked.”
“And you're willing to walk away from that?”
“I don't know if it's real, Gabs,” I say. “I mean, it was a wild weekend in Vegas. We were drinking, having fun – everything was carefree, loose. And not based in the real world in any way, shape, or form. But, I'm back in the real world now.”
“And so is he,” she says. “Do you think he'd be blowing up your phone this bad if it was just a weekend fling to him?”
I laugh wryly. “He could just be trying to talk about the annulment.”
“Please,” she scoffs. “He's a rich guy who must have plenty of lawyers on retainer to handle that kind of shit. The fact that he's called you three times a day since we got home from Vegas tells me something. It should probably tell you something too.”
It did tell me something. It told me to stay away from him at all costs. To not get him involved in the shitshow that is my life. I can lie to Gabby however I want, but the truth of the matter is – I do feel something for Brayden. Something deep. Something real. And that terrifies me. Honestly, with the shit going on in my life right now, I don't want to drag him into this.
Or maybe it's that I don't want him to see this. I'm embarrassed by my situation. By my father. And because I do feel such a connection with Brayden, and feel as strongly for him as I do, I don't want to see the judgment in his eyes. I don’t want to see his reaction to how my father and brother treat me.
Or, more accurately, how I let them treat me.
I’m their doormat. They walk all over me and most of the time, I barely put up a fight. I call it being loyal to my family, but Brayden might have another word for it entirely. I want him to remember me as that strong, fierce, independent woman he got to know in Vegas. I want him to always see me that way.
I don't ever want him to think of me as weak, as a pushover. Or as someone who can't stand up for herself. I don't ever want him to see me as anything but the woman he knew in Vegas.
“Sometimes, you need to take a chance, hon,” she says. “You have to be willing to go out on a limb for something great.”
“Yeah, but we only spent a few days together. I don't know if it's something great or not.”
“I can tell you that from where I stand, it is,” she says. “When you were with him out there, you were just different, Holly.”
I cock my head to the side. “Different how?”
“It’s hard to explain,” she says. “You just seemed freer. A lot lighter. Like you were enjoying yourself, and life, a lot more. It's like he unlocked something in you that made you – happy.”
I run my hands over my face and then through my hair. She's not wrong. Being with Brayden in Vegas made me feel alive. And for the first time in my entire life, I felt truly happy. I felt a lightness in my spirit, in my soul, when I was with him.
That all disappeared the moment the plane touched down in Denver though. It vanished as if it had never existed. And in its place, is the all-too-familiar heaviness in my heart. The darkness that wraps itself around me like a shroud and holds me tight. There's a pressure that pushes down on me – that is sometimes so heavy, it makes it hard to breathe.
I never realized there was another way to exist, until Brayden showed me. As badly as I want to reach out and grab hold of that feeling, I'm terrified of it. I feel like I'm flying too close to the sun, but eventually, I’ll plummet back to Earth and crash in the most painful way possible.
The alarm on Gabby's phone goes off and my stomach lurches in response. She looks at me and I return her gaze shakily, pure fear running through my veins. Gabby gives me a questioning look, so I nod slowly, not sure if I really want to go through with this – but, knowing that I have no other choice.
She picks the little white stick off the bathroom counter and looks at it, her eyes growing wide, her cheeks flushing.
“I guess you have something else to talk to Brayden about,” she says. “You're pregnant.”
“Oh shit,” I mutter softly. “Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.”
As if my day couldn't have gotten any worse.
“Weren't you guys safe?” she asks.
I nod. “Yeah…we used a condom.”
“Looks like it failed.”
“Thank you, Captain Obvious.”
“What are you going to do?” Gabby asks.
I shake my head. “I don't know.”
“If you need one, I can make a couple of calls and find a doctor –”
I shake my head, cutting off that train of thought. “I can't do that,” I say. “I don't begrudge or judge any other woman who makes that decision, but it's not for me.”
“So, you're keeping it.”
I nod. “Yeah,” I say. “I figure I make a good enough living to support a child. I can do this.”
“On your own?”
I nod again. “Yeah,” I say. “On my own.”
“You need to talk to Brayden.”
“He's not going to want to be tied down with a kid,” I say.
“Shouldn't that be for him to decide?”
“He enjoys being a bachelor.”
Gabby hands me the stick and I look at the tiny pink positive sign in the window, feeling my heart and stomach sink in unison. I shake my head slowly as tears begin to fall down my cheeks.
“He needs to know,” Gabby says. “He has the right to decide if he wants to be involved.”
In my heart, I know that she's right. I know I have to tell him. He has every right to decide what kind of lifestyle he wants to lead. I don't want him to feel obligated to do anything or to stay married to me. I would never want Brayden to feel trapped or exploited in any way.
If he doesn't want to be a part of our child's life, that's fine. I know that we could make it without him. It happens everyday in this country. Although it would be easier if he was involved. He could certainly provide for our child better than I can on my own.
