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.”