Brayden

The rest of Ethan and Nic’s reception passes in a blur. I smile when I’m expected to, dance with whom I’m expected to, and generally give the performance of a lifetime. Only Shay knows what’s going on. I suppose everyone else will soon enough.

Molly is scarce through the end of the party, though if I’m honest, I’ve avoided any moments when I thought she might show up.

When it’s over, I can’t get home fast enough, and I don’t bother changing out of my suit before pouring myself some of Dad’s bourbon.

How am I supposed to be okay with this? Do I just swallow my pride and pretend it doesn’t tear me apart? What am I supposed to do when she gets home?

I must be a masochist, because I play the video again. And again. I listen, as if the sounds she makes might tell me why she was with him when she had me. The useless clunking thing in my chest fractures more and more each time I watch that door close. Each time I hear those moans.

But the third time—the fourth?—I notice a glitch in the video between the moment the door closes and the moment the sounds start.

Maybe Austin trimmed the middle out to give the full effect in the short clip . . . but I listen again, turning the volume as loud as it’ll go until I can almost make out the murmurs on the other side of the door. I know those sounds and those whispered pleas. I have them imprinted on my brain.

And then I hear it. My name.

“Brayden,” she says. “Brayden, please. Oh my God . . .”

This isn’t audio from her and Jason at all. It’s audio from when I sat Molly on her desk, spread her thighs, and made her come through her panties. We were supposed to be alone, everyone done for the day, but when we came out of the office, Austin was in the hall playing on his phone. Or so I thought.

The sonofabitch was recording us.

He spliced together two different videos to hurt her, and it worked. He used her old reputation against her, against us, and I bought it. She believes she’s not good enough for a real relationship, and tonight I let her think I believe that too.

Molly

I sit in my car for fifteen minutes after parking in Brayden’s driveway.

I don’t want to go inside. I don’t want to see Brayden, because I’m sure if I do, I’ll fall apart. And I don’t want to see that he never came home, because I know if he went somewhere else to avoid me, that’ll kill me too.

I’m going to stay at my mom’s—Noah has the couch, so I can handle the floor for a night—but I need to get a few things first. Maybe even find the courage to tell Brayden the video is fake. Not that it matters.

Taking a deep breath, I climb out of my car and head inside.

Brayden’s sitting in the living room with a glass of amber liquid—bourbon, if I know him like I think I do.

I want to rush past him. If I could get my things and go without talking to him, maybe I could survive this crushing in my chest, this awful pain that’s so bad it steals my breath.

I make myself stop.

“I wasn’t sure you’d come home,” he says softly, standing.

Home. This isn’t my home. It can’t be. Even if I’d begun to imagine . . .

“We should talk.”

I nod and take a breath. “I know you have no reason to believe me, but I didn’t do anything with Jason that day I took him in my office.”

“I know.”

I jerk my head up, meeting his eyes. “You do?”

“The video looks bad.” He drags a hand through his hair, his frustration evident in every jerky moment. “But I watched it, and now I can see he spliced two clips together.”

I nod. I knew that the moment I saw it, and I planned to tell Brayden, but when he just accepted it as it was and assumed I’d let Jason touch me . . . Well, given what happened at the Christmas party, I couldn’t blame him for assuming anything. “I know.”

He lifts his hand to my face but drops it before he touches me. “Then why are you looking at me like this is over?”

“It was just a matter of time before something like this happened,” I say, reciting the speech I planned on my drive home. “I try to teach Noah that we have to be held accountable for our actions, and that’s all this is . . . me being held accountable for who I was.”

“Don’t let Austin off the hook like that. This was wrong and conniving and deceitful. You didn’t deserve any of this.”

I shrug. “But that doesn’t change anything. And you and I . . .” My whole body is shaking with the words I have to say. I don’t want to, but I don’t see an alternative. “This was a bad idea anyway.” I hardly recognize my own voice. The words come out too tight; I’m trying to push past the lump in my throat. “I really have to think of Noah first, and—”

“Cut the shit, Molly.”

I blink at him. “What?”

“I know you believe it—this line you feed me and everybody else about trying to protect your son—but it’s such bullshit. Noah and I are going to have a relationship no matter what happens to us. If you never give us a chance—if you walk away tonight and never speak another word to me—that won’t change the way I feel about that kid. He’s already part of my family, and if someday I fuck something up and hurt his feelings, I’ll hate it. But you and I both know that’s life. Sometimes the people we love make mistakes. But I’d never, never hurt him on purpose, no matter how much you hurt me. So please stop insulting me by pretending otherwise.”

I straighten my spine and wrap my arms around myself. “You have no idea what it’s like—”

“Don’t I?”

My eyes go wide. “To be a single mom? To scrape by, paycheck to paycheck? To not know if your decisions are going to hurt the most precious gift that’s ever been put into your care?” My heart races just thinking about it. Christmas. Our promises to Noah. How excited he is to spend Christmas morning with Brayden. I’ve already messed up. “With all due respect, Brayden, you don’t know.”

“I know what it’s like to be terrified of being hurt again. I know what it’s like to worry—deep down—that every fucked-up thing that’s happened in your life is your fault, that if you’d just been better, if you’d just been worthy, then maybe things wouldn’t have unfolded the way they did.” He takes a step closer, and this time I stay still. I let him press against me, let him lower his mouth to my ear when he whispers, “And I know you. I see you. You’re even more scared than I am, because he hurt you—betrayed you—in the worst way possible.”

That’s when I stumble back. At the he Brayden doesn’t need to name. At that ugly, secret history I wish Brayden had never known. “You don’t see me. You look at me and see a girl who was raped by her stepfather. You think you want me, but you really just want to save me.” The words are so raw that bile rises in my throat. “I already know you think I’m broken, and I’ll never be able to change what happened to me. I’ll never know what it’s like to have you look at me and see . . .” I turn my head and stare at the window and into the darkness, wishing I didn’t have to say more, wishing I could hide from him—from today and all of this.

“See what?” he asks softly. “What do you want me to see when I look at you?”

“Me,” I whisper, my attention still on the night beyond the window, because I might break if I look at him. “I just want you to see me.”

He takes a step closer and takes my hand. I let him, and watch as he toys with our fingers. “You think I want to save you because you’re broken?” Gently, he nudges my chin with his thumb until I lift my eyes to meet his.

“I heard you say it. I heard you tell Ethan.”

“I know you did. And I’m sorry I used that word.”

“Don’t pretend. Don’t take it back and pretend you didn’t mean it.” I can take a lot, can survive a lot, but I don’t know if I can handle lies from Brayden. “I know I’m damaged goods. I’m ruined, and that’s why I can’t do this.”

He opens his mouth, but I race for the door. There’s nothing I need as much as I need to get away from this conversation and those beautiful, dark eyes so full of pity.

Brayden

I flinch as I listen to the door click shut behind her. Each one of her words was another twist of the knife in my gut. Damaged goods. Ruined. Broken. To her, it’s all the same.

And now she’s gone, and I feel like something inside me is indeed broken beyond repair.