AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Awww . . . come on,” he says. “I shared. And besides, I’ve already punched the guy in the face once. Don’t I deserve to know a little more about him?”
“Yeah, I suppose you do.” I giggle. “Well, Pete was my first serious relationship. I met him at college, a little while after I gave up any hope that you’d ever look at me again.”
Brock looks uncomfortable at that comment, but I press on.
“There were a ton of red flags, even right from the start, but I guess I was too young and inexperienced to recognize them. He wouldn’t let me go out on my own, he alienated all my friends, and he constantly checked up on me, even if I was just going to class or something.
“And when I did something he didn’t like, he would fly into a rage. He put more than a few holes into the walls of our shared apartment when we lived together, he had the worst road rage and would drive dangerously, especially if we were fighting . . . and it seemed like we were always fighting.”
“Okay,” Brock says. “I have been feeling kind of guilty that I socked him, but I definitely don’t know. Asshole deserves everything he gets.”
“Yup,” I reply. “Every single thing. Anyway, eventually I sort of came up for air and realized just how much of a toxic asshole he was. But I was embarrassed that I had actually let things get to that point, you know? I didn’t want to tell anyone because I was so ashamed of myself.
“But eventually things got so bad that I told Dean about it. He was actually surprised, if you can believe that. Pete was a master at appearing like this quiet, dutiful boyfriend whenever we were around other people. Talk about Jekyll and Hyde. Dude’s a fucking psycho. Dean came around, got me out of there, and Pete’s been wanting me back ever since.”
I stop and take a breath. “So now you’re all caught up. After that, you got him kicked out of the lobby and then you punched him in the face. Thanks for that, by the way. It was awesome.”
He laughs, I join him, and somehow, we’re okay again. We keep chatting effortlessly as the car glides up and down meandering mountain roads.
“Look,” Brock says, pointing at a sign by the side of the road. “Just a few more miles now. You looking forward to it?”
I wasn’t. But . . . I am now.
We pull up to the cabin a few minutes later, and it’s exactly as beautiful as I’ve been imagining it in my mind. A cosy wooden house, right near the shore of the lake, with the mountains as a backdrop.
I stand for a few moments and take it all in. It’s amazing.
“Wow,” I sigh. “It’s like something out of a magazine.”
Brock grins. “It’s great, huh? It’s been in our family for a long time. We used to spend every summer here.”
“Yeah, I remember your Dad’s stories from the wedding party,” I tease him.
“Let’s go and say hi,” Brock coughs, swiftly changing the subject.
We let ourselves in. Brock’s Mom and Dad are already there, and they greet us enthusiastically.
“Nina!” Brock’s mom exclaims, pulling me into a bear hug. “I’m so glad you came.”
His dad kisses me on the cheek. “It’s just going to be the four of us this weekend. We didn’t invite anyone else so we can take some time to get to know you, Nina.”
“Oh, wow. Thank you for setting aside your time just for me,” I say, smiling nervously.
“No problem at all,” he says. “We’re so glad you’re here.”
Guilt creeps into my chest, reminding me I’m lying to these nice people.
I glance at Brock, who gives me a smile.
“Stop scaring her, you two.” He takes my hand, which doesn’t exactly help with my nerves. Tugging me away from his parents, he says, “Come on, Nina. Let me show you this place.”
Brock gives me a little tour of the house. It’s all exposed wooden beams and antiques, compact and cosy and wonderful, and I feel immediately at home.
“Thanks for bringing me up here,” I tell him. “I love it.”
We head back to the den, and there’s a wonderful smell wafting out from the kitchen. Brock sniffs the air like a bloodhound.
“Is that pot roast I smell?” he asks hungrily.
“Yes it is,” his Mom says, smiling. “I know how much you love it, sweetie.”
“My mom makes the most amazing pot roast,” he tells me. “No matter how many fancy restaurants I eat in, nothing compares. Hope you’re hungry.”
My stomach growls, and everyone laughs.
“I could eat,” I say, blushing, but Brock’s Dad puts his arm around my shoulders.
“No need to blush,” he says. “We like people who eat properly in this house. Luckily, we’ve never had any issue with Brock. Boy’s always eaten like a horse.”
