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“I told you, Maci, no one will take you seriously when you look like this. You’re the mistress. I need a wife. It’s time to grow up.”
It felt like someone was crushing my lungs. My heart. Tearing my soul apart piece by piece until I was sure there would be nothing of me left.
It had hurt the first time Bryce said those words, but after being brutally tossed aside by Connor? They were destroying me. Making me question every part of my life until I no longer knew who I was.
Maybe Bryce was right. Like this, I was just a fuck buddy. I wasn’t relationship or marriage material.
“Yeah,” I mumbled, the word barely having any strength behind it, just as a large presence came up behind me.
“I suggest you leave,” Dylan said.
“Now,” Dakota added. “And if you don’t stop touching my sister, I swear to God you’ll spend Christmas in the hospital.”
Two large presences...
Bryce had the balls—or stupidity—to look at them and say, “I’d like to speak to my future wife, if you don’t mind.”
“No, man, that isn’t about to happen,” Dylan said as he grasped one of my limply hanging arms and gently pulled me toward him, away from Bryce. “Seeing as you just dropped this on all of us when we didn’t have a clue about you? I’d say our family has a lot to talk about, and it’s the wrong time for you to be here.”
“Maci?” Bryce said, looking at me as if he expected me to defend him.
“I’ll walk you out,” I managed to say through the shards of glass in my throat and wrangled my way out of Dylan’s hold.
Not looking back to see if Bryce was following me, I headed for the front door and jerked it open. Once Bryce walked through the threshold with a sigh, I stepped outside with him and seethed, “Leave,” as I closed the door behind me.
“Maci—”
“No,” I said over him, the word warped from emotion. “I thought I made it clear before, but I was apparently wrong. I never want to see you again, Bryce.”
“With the history we have, you can’t tell me you don’t want this. And don’t you realize how well I’ll be able to take care of you?” he asked, sounding only mildly irritated by everything. “If this show is because I keep getting on you about your appearance, I’m only helping you. No man would want to make you his wife when—”
“Stop,” I cried out and slapped a hand over my mouth as I tried collecting myself. Once I was sure I could continue without crying, I asked, “God, when did you even become this person? You’re turning into your dad.”
He reached for me, but I stepped back and swatted at his hand. “No, you need to leave. We’re done. Don’t call me, don’t come here again, and don’t come to my apartment when we’re back in Mission Viejo.”
Hurrying inside the house, I shut and locked the door behind me before turning to face my family. My mom and sisters-in-law looked confused, Amber looked annoyed, Dad looked disappointed, and my brothers all looked pissed beyond reason.
All at once, my brothers started yelling about keeping something like that from them, how much they couldn’t stand him, and how I wasn’t allowed to see him again—as if I had any intention to.
I looked to my mom and dad for help as Amber came to stand by my side. Grabbing my hand and waiting out the screaming with me as my parents tried reasoning with my brothers and the tears I’d tried keeping at bay finally spilled over.
I usually hid any kind of emotion from my brothers, but I could no longer find the strength to. I was too close to breaking from Bryce’s cruel words, having my heart broken, and having to listen to my four older brothers try to control my life once again.
But the moment they saw the tears, each one of them changed. Eyes wide and panicked, looking like they were about to lock me away somewhere no one could hurt me again. As if they weren’t part of the problem.
Sam and Dakota were the first ones to start toward me, but I held up a hand just as a sob burst from me, and they both stopped their advance. Their gray eyes wildly searched my face, and it looked like Dakota was struggling to find something to say, but I didn’t wait to find out. I just turned with Amber and headed toward the stairs.
Once we were in our room with the door locked, Amber grabbed me in a hug and let me cry against her shoulder. She didn’t say anything, just stood there and ran a hand through my long hair, trying to soothe me as we listened to my family argue upstairs.
Four different times, people came to the door and spoke through it. Sometimes, it was my brothers; the last was my parents. My brothers were panicking over seeing me cry but were still pissed about Bryce. My parents just told me they loved me and would talk to me about Bryce tomorrow.
“Did you think it was Connor?” Amber asked once my parents left.
I nodded against her shoulder and released my death grip on her. Turning around, I headed toward the adjoined bathroom and nearly managed a laugh at how terrible I looked. Not that I was surprised—I felt even worse.
Grabbing my makeup remover and face wash, I turned on the water and went about cleaning the ruined makeup off my face and felt my stomach twist and sink lower and lower as Bryce and Connor’s words floated through my mind.
“I do look like the mistress,” I whispered to my reflection once I was done.
