Favors, Strings, & Lies_Men of NatEx_A Package Handlers Novel Page 13

“About what?” she squawks, facing her whole body toward me. “His name isn’t Brian? Is he an actor posing as your boyfriend? Why would you do that, Cadence?”

  Uh oh. Full name. And jumping to—mostly incorrect—conclusions. At this point, I have to set the record straight. Damn the wine.

  “I didn’t do that!” I say, raising my voice. Then I close my eyes and let the truth fall from my lips. “I told Mom that there was a guy named Brian coming to the wedding with me. But there was no guy. Then, when the man you know as Brian said yes to being Brian to you, we just kept going with it. I needed the favor to keep you and Mom off my back about working too much and not dating.”

  When I open my eyes and peek at my sister, her jaw is practically on the floor. For nearly a full minute, she stares at me like that. Not speaking, not moving. Just in utter shock. Then her brow furrows and she closes her mouth.

  “What did he get in return for doing you a favor?” she asks, seeming genuinely curious.

  My face starts to burn as I turn a nice shade of tomato.

  “No!” she gasps, her hand flying to her mouth. “You slept with him so you’d have a date to my wedding?”

  “No, it wasn’t like that,” I try to say, but she’s already answering me before I can keep explaining.

  “Then what was it like?” Her eyebrows shoot to the top of her forehead. “Because it seems like you owed him for other favors, like when he came to dinner at Mom’s too.”

  I put a hand over her mouth so I can tell her what it was like. “I’m trying to tell you.” I take my hand away when she seems like she’ll be quiet now. “We both wanted to sleep together, Gina. And it turns out that he really owed me the favor anyway, but that’s a long story. It’s just something to do with his sick grandfather.”

  She licks her lips and tilts her head. “So there really is a sick grandpa? He mentioned him at dinner.”

  I nod. “Yeah. There is. Everything he told you is the truth. Just not his name.” I exhale a deep breath. “And we really are trying to date now.”

  Pursing her lips, she nods like she’s pacified. “This seems ridiculous, but I’m glad it somehow worked out.”

  “Yeah.” I smile—a genuine smile. “Me t—”

  My phone buzzes at the end of the bed, cutting me off. I crawl down to pick it up, happy for a break in this intense conversation. And I’m even happier when I see “Brian” flash on my screen.

  My sister peeks over at my phone. “You even have him in your phone as Brian? Why haven’t you corrected us with his real name?”

  I set my phone down on the bed and try to figure out how to answer her without convoluting this even more. “I didn’t even want to tell you until after the wedding. And that was only decided the other day. We were both so adamant on having no strings to this. That this was just trading favors.”

  “Well, I know now,” she reasons, “so you can tell me. I won’t tell Mom. You can tell her your messed-up story yourself.” Then she laughs—likely at the absurdity of this whole thing.

  But I’m not laughing. Because my answer as to why I can’t tell her makes it even more absurd.

  “What is it now?” she whines. “This gets worse?”

  “I…don’t know his name yet,” I admit, staring at my phone.

  “Oh, for crying out loud.” Gina throws her arms into the air and lets them flop against the bed. “This is the weirdest thing I’ve ever heard.”

  “Yeah, well, try living it,” I tell her as I pull his text message up.

  Brian: Hey. I hope you’re enjoying time with your sister. Joyce wants to meet with me tomorrow morning. I don’t know what for, but I said yes. Thought you should know. I’ll see you at 3:30. Miss you.

  I must look confused, because my sister says, “What? What is it?”

  I have no idea how to answer that, so I hand her the phone.

  “Who’s Joyce and why is he meeting with her?” She hands my phone back to me.

  “Well, Joyce is his ex, and good question.” I raise an eyebrow at her.

  She looks like she’s just eaten something sour. “Ew. Why would he want to meet with his ex?”

  I shrug. The buzz of the wine drains rapidly from my veins, and I’m left feeling heavy and questioning. Should I ask him if he wants me there? Or would he have told me that he wants me there in his text? We agreed to have our own lives and heal together. But he still feels the need to go to her when she calls? Is that living his own life? Or something I should be worried about?

  Fuck. I don’t know how to do this. I won’t get cheated on again, but I can’t tell him what to do. And my sister—my happily committed sister with no experience with heartbreak—isn’t the right person to ask for advice.

  She asks me though. “What are you going to do?”

  And, even though I need an answer, I just don’t have one.

  Chapter 16

  Matt

  For the third time in two weeks, I find Joyce at the booth in the back of The Steam Room. This time, I remembered to show up, mostly because she called instead of texted last night. And she sounded rather distraught. I had some time to kill this morning before the wedding anyway, so I thought I’d get this out of the way and meet up with Cadence at the country club afterward.

  When I walk through the door, she’s rising from the booth, looking like she’s going to bolt. I catch her attention before she can snatch her purse off the seat and point to the counter to let her know I’m going to get us some coffee. Once I have our drinks in hand, I head back to the booth.

  “Hey,” I tell her as I scoot into my seat. “Here you go. That coffee I owe you.” A smile finds its way on my mouth. That’s not something I’ve done a lot around Joyce in the past, but I like that we’ve found a better spot with each other.

  Except that she doesn’t return the gesture. Or even take her coffee. She nods, her gaze aimed at the table, and it would drill holes into it if it were capable.

  “Joyce?” I ask before taking a sip of my coffee. “I thought you wanted to meet up again before you left.”

  “I did.” She places her palms flat on the table and finally brings her gaze to me. “I did because there’s still something I need to tell you. I can’t leave without being one hundred percent truthful, like I’m learning I need to be in rehab.”

  “Right. Step number nine. You mentioned that before.” I lean back in my seat, hoping she’ll come out with whatever else she needs to tell me. “So what’s up?”

  “It’s not easy, Matty.” She releases a shaky breath.

  “We’ve done ‘not easy’ before,” I remind her, a little humor in my voice.

  But she doesn’t find it remotely funny. “It’s worse than that.” She shakes her head, looking at the table again.

  I tilt my head and narrow my eyes at her. “Okay,” I say, drawing the word out for a few seconds. “Well, lay it on me.” I’ve had some good luck with those words. But I should know not to tempt fate when it comes to Joyce.

  In a quiet voice, she mumbles something unintelligible.

  “What was that?” I ask, leaning forward to hear her better.

  This time, she raises her voice. “I said I can’t do it!” Her body quakes as she deeply inhales. On her out breath, she says, “God. I know I have to, but it’s too hard.”

  I furrow my brow. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” So I reach for her hand for some moral support.

  She rips her hand off the table, away from me, and twists to the side to dig inside her purse. When she’s found what she was looking for, her hand reappears above the table and she places the piece of paper next to the coffee I set down for her. Then she slides it across the tabletop to me.

  “Here,” she says. “This explains it. I just…” Without meeting my gaze, she shakes her head and pinches the bridge of her nose. “I can’t say the words to you, and I’m sorry for that too. But read this. And know, from the bottom of my heart…”

  As she trails off, I pick the piece of paper up a
nd unfold it. But she raises her head and finally makes eye contact with me before I can see what it is.

  “I’m sorry.” She puts a hand over her heart and repeats herself before standing up, her purse dangling from her fingertips, and speeding out the door, leaving her steaming coffee behind.

  Well, fuck. That doesn’t bode well for whatever is on this paper.

  I watch her as she runs down the sidewalk and hails a cab. Once the door has shut and the cab has taken off, I face the paper again, my stomach twisting with every new word I find in front of me. Glancing through it gives me no real answers, so I dare to take one more sip of coffee before diving in from the beginning.

  Dear Matty,

  First of all, I know that you don’t want me to call you that. I could see it in your eyes when we met up for coffee last week. And you had every right to be upset. That’s your special name for you and your grandfather (I hope you said hi to him for me, by the way). So I shouldn’t have used it, but it fits you. You’ll always be Matty to me.

  I, however, am probably a monster in your eyes. Which is something you also have every right to feel. What I did to you was atrocious. I know that now. Then, when I was high all the time… I didn’t know up from down, Matty. I had no idea that I was hurting you so badly. We barely knew each other, so I didn’t think a baby with a virtual stranger would have been so important to you. Especially when it was clear we were no good for each other.

  But I should have known that you revered life much more strongly than I did back then. I should have seen that in you. I certainly see it now, and I can’t tell you how happy I am that you’re happy now. Cadence seems like a wonderful woman to build a life with, so I hope the two of you have a long, happy life together. You of all people deserve the best of endings.

  You might think I don’t, and I wouldn’t blame you. I’ve done enough to just you to warrant that kind of reaction. But I hope you’re happy to know that I’ve found love too. He’s a good man, Matty. I think you’d like him. He’s the reason why I finally got clean. And we want a family someday. Which is probably less than you think I deserve, but I hope you can accept all of my apologies for my past behavior and realize that I’m very different now. We don’t have to be best friends or anything, but I hope we can have each other in our lives.

  Though you may want to decide at the end of this letter. Please just keep all of this in mind as you read this next part.

  When I left you, I did so strung out and completely confused. Your grandfather had told me that I was no good for you, and deep down, I knew he was right. So I took off. In his defense, Matty, he didn’t know about the baby. Not that I’m aware of, anyway. But, baby or not, it was true. So I ran and informed you of the miscarriage sometime after.

  The problem is…there never was a baby.

  I’m so sorry. I thought I’d missed a period and I was never feeling well after getting high, so I assumed. When I told you that I thought I was pregnant, you were so fucking happy. And I’d never made anyone happy the way I made you happy. I have no clue whatsoever why I made you so happy, but being on my end of your excitement was addicting. Almost as addicting as the drugs. Unfortunately (for me, not necessarily for you), the drugs won out. So I kept up with the baby story with you until I left. Then I sent you the fake story about the miscarriage so you wouldn’t think I was the absolute worst person on the planet.

  I mean, you probably did, but at least that would have garnered some sympathy, which I know I didn’t deserve. I didn’t think it would hurt you so much. If I had thought it (if I’d been thinking at all), I wouldn’t have done it.

  But here we are, years later. I’m getting clean and sober, and I have to make amends and tell the truth. I have to admit to you (and possibly destroy any chance I have at being in your life as a sober friend) that I lied about the whole thing. I wasn’t trying to be a monster. I am so very, very sorry, and I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me, even though I know that’s a huge task.

  You have my number, so if ever want to discuss this, we can. I don’t think I’ll be back in town again, especially if you don’t want me to, but if you do, we’ll figure it out. Otherwise, I hope you have a great life with your girlfriend, Matty. Be well. And God bless.

  Joyce

  ∞∞∞

  Cadence

  I check my phone for the fourth time, but I’m starting to think he’s not showing up. It’s the definition of insanity, right? Doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result. Yeah, that’s what’s happening here, and nothing new has occurred in the last half hour.

  It’s now four o’clock. The wedding is about to start at any second, and I have no idea where my date is. None whatsoever, seeing as he won’t answer my texts and my calls go straight to voicemail. We’ve never even called to talk to each other on the phone, but I feel like this warrants the first phone conversation. Big time.

  “It’s time!” my mother shouts, clapping her hands as she enters the small room the bridesmaids and the bride are gathered in before the wedding. “We’re ready to start, so let’s line up!” Once she gets to me, she fixes my dress a little and asks, “Where’s Brian? I thought he’d be here.”

  “Yeah, me too,” I mutter as I pick my bouquet up.

  My sister must have heard us, because she whips her head in my direction while smoothing her dress down. “He’s not here yet? Where is he?”

  “I don’t know,” I tell her. Then I shoo my mother away so we can start the procession.

  Gina leans close to my ear and asks, “Do you think something bad happened this morning at his meeting?”

  I gulp and start to sweat from just thinking about what could have happened. No, I don’t think they got back together or anything, but she ruined him once. What makes me think she wouldn’t do it again somehow?

  I just shrug. “You’re the bride. You don’t have to be worried about these things. It’ll be fine.”

  “Correction,” she says. “I’m your sister, so of course I’m worried about these things.”

  “Well, let’s get you married first,” I say, trying to play it all off. “There are a hundred people out there waiting to see you get hitched.” I give her a smile, but I can tell she sees right through it.

  “I love you.” She goes to wipe a tear in her eye, but I swat her hand away and pull out the emergency tissue from my cleavage.

  “I love you too,” I tell her, dabbing carefully, “but your makeup artist won’t love redoing your makeup. So buck up, sister.” I wink at her to be playful.

  Inside, I’m torn. Of course I want to be here for my sister. Of course I’m glad that our hard work at planning this wedding is about to pay off. Of course I want to celebrate something amazing my sister is now a part of.

  But I also feel pulled to be there for him. Which is precisely why being in a relationship right now is a bad idea. Family comes first today. Tomorrow, I can get back into my regular marathon training and client schedule. Drama is not something I need in my life.

  That doesn’t mean I’m not in pain though. My heart feels crushed as I walk down the aisle as a maid of honor. My ribs start to squeeze the air out of my lungs as the bridal song comes on and I realize that’ll never be me again. And, as my sister and Paul say I do, tears freely stream from my eyes because I desperately want what she described last night.

  I can’t have those things without sacrificing part of me though. And there’s already some sacrifice to wanting those things. Especially with wanting those things with him.

  A man whose name I still don’t know. A man who showed up at my house in the rain and told me the truth. A man who’s met my family and told them the truth.

  A man who likes strawberry freaking jam on his toast.

  But, if he can’t show up to something this important to me, I’m not sure I want to sacrifice anything for him. Not sure being the operative term. And it’s kind of a lie.

  Because Gina was right. I went and fell in love with the ma
n who loves strawberry jam.

  So he better have a really good fucking excuse as to why he’s not in a seat in front of me by the time this wedding is over. Because my heart can’t take much more today. Or in this lifetime altogether.

  Chapter 17

  Matt

  Instead of going home and getting ready for a wedding party, I went home and got ready for a pity party. To do that, I dove straight into the refrigerator. Way in the back, I had a few bottles of beer, and much to my liver’s dismay, I chugged those as fast as possible, hoping they’d wipe the day away. Beer doesn’t really do that, so I spent a couple of hours bouncing between my bed and my bathroom instead of in a blissful haze of not caring.

  At this point, I have nothing left to throw up and I’m tired of sulking. My stomach grumbles at me, but I have no real desire to make it feel better. My own reflection is pissing me off, and the only thing I want to do is bury myself deep inside Cadence. She wouldn’t let me down like this. She wouldn’t fuck my life up and explode it into the tiniest pieces I’ll never be able to put back together. She wouldn’t lie about a baby.

  Who fucking does that? Goddammit.

  No, I wasn’t ready to be a father. Not even close. I was a wreck. A young kid who thought he had everything figured out. Little did I know, I knew nothing at all and my whole world would be crushed thanks to a girl, an email, and a lie.

  But I wanted that baby something fierce. I wanted a purpose. Something more than just me. Something to care for and focus on. Joyce and that baby were going to be it. But they weren’t. So my life took a different path and I found another kind of purpose: work. And one-night stands. Which were fulfilling in their own ways, but never fully. I’m a man who wants more than that, but I didn’t realize that until Cadence.

  Or, rather, Cadence makes me want to be a different kind of man. She makes me want more than one-night stands. She makes me want her.