Finally My Happy Ending (Meant for Me Book 3) (5 page)

Brock: "Shop's closed on Mondays. I'll be open regular business hours tomorrow."

Me: "I'm not shopping. I just had a quick question."

Brock: "Who is this?"

Me: "Trish."

Seconds felt like hours as I waited to hear back from him. It took about a minute, which, in my mind, was an eternity. When his text finally came back, "I'll open it," was all it said.

Chapter 8

My heart felt like it wanted to beat out of my chest as I got out of my car and walked toward the door again. I could hear as I approached that music was still playing, and I heard the click of the lock and watched as the door opened slowly. I saw his form on the other side of the door when it was closed, but because it was dark out, and the door was tinted, I couldn't make out details. It wasn’t until the door swung open that I realized he was standing there shirtless. He was wiping his dirty hands on a towel, and he tossed it over his shoulder as he stood there taking me in.

I tried to speak, but no words would come out of my mouth. I was helpless to stop myself from looking at his sculpted chest and abs. He had a big scar running across his ribs on the right side, and I pulled my eyes away from it to take in his face, which was bruised just like it had been the day before.

"Did you bring me dinner or what?" I heard his deep voice say, bringing me back to Earth.

I made eye contact with him when he said it and realized he was smiling. His eyes were such a dark shade of brown that they almost appeared black. I was helpless to do anything but stare into them. I was so shaken up by catching him in this busy at work, shirtless state that I literally couldn't think straight.

"Did you, did I, did you need some dinner?" I stuttered. "I, uh, didn't know you were hungry. I just came by here to, uh… Do you mind if I come in for a second?" I gestured to him before he could respond. "Where'd your shirt go?"

He smiled, seeming casually amused by the fact that I was so flustered.

"I'm not open on Monday's, and this happens to be my house, so it doesn’t really matter if I wear a shirt or not." He stepped back and gestured for me to come inside, which I did. I sort of hoped he would continue walking and resume whatever he had been doing before, but he just stood there as if waiting to hear what I needed to say before tossing me out and locking the door again.

I was extremely nervous and could not get my thoughts together. "Do you mind if we turn down the music so I can talk to you for a second?" He ran a hand over his jaw, considering it. "What's there to say?" he asked.

I stared at him with a pleading expression. "Please."

Without another word, he walked toward the back of the room. I watched as he retreated, wondering why in the world I was so dang nervous. My roommate, Isaac, was a fitness nerd and had an equally sculpted body. Isaac walked around with his shirt off all the time, but I didn't go around getting flustered and breathless over him.

'Sugar' by Maroon 5 was blasting over the speakers. As a high school teacher, I was familiar with this song, as I was with all pop music. It crossed my mind that this was the perfect theme song to how gorgeous he looked walking across the studio. I tore my eyes off of him, silently reprimanding myself for even thinking such a thing.
You have to get yourself together or you'll never be able to ask him all the questions you came here to ask.

He turned down the music and started walking back toward me.

"You like Maroon 5?" I asked.

He shrugged and smiled. "Is that who this is? It's just the radio."

"Aren't you going to put a shirt on?" I asked as he came near.

"It's up in my apartment," he said, motioning to the staircase lining the back wall.

"I can wait," I said, knowing I'd never be able to concentrate with his defined abs staring me in the face.

"I thought you just had a quick question," he said.

"I am, I do, I mean… I need to ask you a few things. I wanted to talk for a minute, and uhhhh," I groaned. "I can not concentrate with your chest and abs hanging out like that!"

Had I just said that out loud?
I assumed I had because Brock was now regarding me with a satisfied smile as if he took pleasure in the fact that he had gotten under my skin.

"Can you at least hold the towel up or something?"

"Why don't you just look the other way while you ask your question?" He came to stand a few feet in front of me and put his hands in his pockets, waiting to hear what I needed to say.

I took a deep breath and regarded him humbly. "I think I might be here to apologize, Brock, and I'd like to talk to you for a few minutes. I honestly can't think straight with you dressed like that. It would mean a lot to me if you put on a shirt."

I knew by the way he looked at me that he was curious about what I had to say, so he turned and jogged toward the staircase to his apartment. I watched as he took the stairs two by two and disappeared through the door. I let out the breath I'd been holding.

A minute later, he stretched a faded baby blue T-shirt over his head as he came out onto the landing and walked down the stairs. He pointed to a couch that lined the wall of the show room area of his studio, and we both walked toward it.

"I talked to Carly last night and she said I might have been mistaken when I accused you of taking my ring," I said, cutting to the chase, as we sat down on the couch together. It was a beautiful piece that I knew he had designed, but I could hardly take it in because I was so anxious about apologizing. I took a shaky breath as we settled on the couch with at least two feet of space separating us. He didn't say anything in response to my statement. "Was I mistaken?" I asked sheepishly.

"I told you that a long time ago, Trish. I don't see why it matters now. I'm just glad you got your ring back."

I'd been staring at the ground, but when he said that, I glanced at him, and we made eye contact. "It matters to me," I said. "I'd feel really bad about how I treated you if I knew you had nothing to do with it."

"I told you I didn't," he said.

"Yeah, but it was just so hard to believe," I said. "Can you see how it'd be hard for me to believe?"

"I guess," he said. "So what's the point? Why'd you come here?"

"I came to hear what really happened… and to apologize for the way I acted."

"What happened doesn't really matter, but I appreciate the apology anyway."

He flinched as if he was about to stand up and show me to the door, but I put my hand on his leg to stop him. I pulled it back as soon as he sat back down. He was now teetering on the edge of the couch, poised to get up any second, but I just couldn’t let him kick me out that fast.

"Brock can we please talk about it?" I asked. "I was up worrying about it all night last night, and I've felt sick all day today."

"Don't worry about it," he said dismissively. "There's nothing to feel bad about. You got your stuff taken and you reacted like anyone else would."

"Yeah, but I blamed you for it."

"Maybe I took it," he said.

"Did you?"

"No."

"Then why'd you say that?"

"Because it doesn’t matter. You got your ring back. End of story."

I sighed. "It matters to me," I repeated.

"Why?"

"Because I was really mean to you about it, and it would hurt my feelings to know I acted that way if you had nothing to do with it."

"Why would that hurt your feelings?"

"Because I'm not a mean person, Brock. I don't just go around being mean to people and blaming them for things they didn't do. It's embarrassing, and I'm sorry for it."

"Apology accepted," he said.

"Will you tell me what happened?" I asked.

"Why do you want to know? What's the point in reliving it all? I'm sure we both have better things to do."

"I don't," I said. I could tell just by talking to him that he wasn't guilty, and I stared into his eyes, trying to convey how terrible I felt about everything. I could see in his eyes that he was a good guy, and I wondered why I had been so blind to it before.

"Please tell me my grandmother's ring didn't have anything to do with those bruises on your face."

"Okay, it didn't," he said.

"Really?" I asked.

"No, but that's what you wanted me to tell you."

I sank my face into my hands and breathed a long sigh, feeling utterly ashamed of myself.

"Please tell me what happened," I said with my face still in my hands. I felt his warm hand gently touch my thigh as if trying to comfort me.

"Don't feel bad," he said. "You're the one who had your stuff stolen. I'm sorry for that and for everything it caused between you and my brother."

I took my face out of my hands but didn't look at him. I just stared at the floor and sighed. "You were probably right about that too. I think he and Emily are really happy together."

He used his hand to pat my leg. "Listen, don't worry about getting angry the other day. Anyone else would've done the same thing in your position. You were right about your ring being stolen when we were at your house that night, and I was mistaken about my friend. He got into some trouble, but he's getting the help he needs now. He's really sorry about everything if it makes you feel any better."

"I'm really sorry about everything too," I said, looking at him regretfully.

A small smile touched his lips. "I guess we can consider the hatchet buried, then," he said.

I smiled back at him, but I still felt really bad. I couldn't help but stare at the cut near his mouth before letting my eyes roam over his face. There was an inch long cut at the edge of his eyebrow and I reached up to gently touch the bruised skin that was next to it. He didn't flinch at all. He just let me do it.

"Will you please tell me what happened?" I whispered, unable to take my eyes off of his battle wounds.

"You really don't want to know," he said.

"Oh, but I do," I said. "I don't think I've ever been more curious about anything in my life." I paused and stared into his eyes. "Please tell me," I whispered.

It took him a minute to decide whether not he was going to. I could tell he almost decided to dismiss me but finally changed his mind. "I called Tyler's house that night after I ran into you at the gas station. I just wanted to ask him about it again to see if he knew anything. His mom told me he had gotten into some trouble and was in rehab for a pill addiction, so I drove up to Austin the next day to see what was going on. He had been arrested for breaking and entering, and rehab was an alternative to going to jail. I talked to him for a long time. He came clean about your ring and other things he had stolen to support his addiction."

"Did he still have it?" I asked.

Brock smiled patiently. "I'm getting to that," he said. "He didn't have it, but he thought he knew who did. He gave me the guy's address, and I went over to his house to try to get it back. Sure enough, that guy still had it. I told him the story and offered to pay him more than the ring was worth to get it back, but seeing as how money wasn't an object with him, he had no interest in my proposal."

"So how'd you get it back?" I asked with wide eyes. "Did you have to fight him for it?"

Brock smiled at my curiosity. "It was perfect timing, really. He and a bunch of his friends have a monthly, organized bare-knuckle situation, and one of his guys pulled out at the last minute, so I was able to step in. He had some money on the line and told me if I won the fight, I could have the ring back."

"What exactly is a bare-knuckle situation?" I asked, unable to believe what I was hearing.

"It's like a street fight for sport," he said. "You know, where rich people get together and watch two guys beat the crap out of each other for fun. It's really secretive, and there's a ton of money exchanging hands. They wouldn't even let me see where we were going. They put me in the back of an SUV and blindfolded me until we got there. I'm pretty sure it was a warehouse like this one, but I have no idea where we were. The next thing I knew, I was standing in a cage, squaring off with a guy named Nick 'The Hammer'. Apparently, he was undefeated. He was a good fighter. We went three rounds before I finally finished it. It wasn't pretty, but I got it done, and I got the ring back as promised. Don't… Aw, come on. Trish, are you crying? Stop. I'm fine. It's not a big deal; it was just a fight. It's not the first one I've ever been in, and it probably won't be the last. It's just a couple of bruises. You should have seen the other guy."

I sank my face into my hands again, feeling like the scum of the earth for everything I had said to him. "Is this a true story?" I asked, peering at him through my fingers.

He let out a little laugh. "I couldn’t make that stuff up if I tried."

"You seriously went to Austin and fought in a cage to get my ring back?"

"Yes," he said simply as if it were no big deal.

"And then you brought it back to me and I yelled at you for it?"

He breathed another little laugh. "Pretty much."

I couldn't bear to look at him. I just shook my head and covered my face with my hands. "I am so sorry, Brock. I don't even know what to say right now."

I felt his big arm come around my shoulders before he pulled me in to give me a comforting squeeze. "You didn't know," he said. "It seemed like I was the one who took it. I understand that."

A few long seconds of silence passed between us. "You should not be comforting me right now," I said, sitting up straight and smiling at him as best I could. "If anything, I should be comforting you. I don't know how you're being so kind. I feel terrible."