The Breakup Mix (26 page)

I sat up. “Okay, well imagine that nice, thick, cream-colored carpet with a big Kool-Aid stain in the middle. Imagine this beautiful solid-whatever-kind-of-wood with a big fat gouge running through the middle of it and handprints all over your walls.” I could see the sweat forming on her lip as I spoke and tried not to laugh. “Do you still want to extend that invitation to me and my children?”

She nodded slowly. “I’m not going to pretend that didn’t give me anxiety, though.”

My laugh escaped that time. “Okay, well I promise we won’t drink Kool-Aid in the living room.”

Alissa’s phone chimed on the kitchen counter. She grinned and tapped my hand. “I bet that’s Chance.”

“What’s she up to this morning?” I choked down another drink of water. “I can’t drink this.”

She grabbed my glass. “I tried to be nice, but now for the real hangover cure.” She pulled the orange juice out of the refrigerator and mixed it with some of the white wine I’d drank the night before. “Here,” she said as she handed it to me. “Let ‘er rip. Trust me; you’ll be better in no time.”

I squeezed my eyes shut and downed the concoction then took the ibuprofen. I gagged for a moment then shivered. “Something tells me you know that trick from experience.”

She chuckled. “I’ve overindulged in my fair share of wine. You’re about to feel a whole lot better real quick.”

“You never answered me about Chance. And where’s Dani?”

Alissa looked smug as she rinsed my glass and brought me a cup of coffee. “You should be about ready for this, now.” She sat across from me again. “Dani should be back any minute with, drumroll please, your new phone! She was stir crazy and wanted to get an early start, so I told her she could kill two birds with one stone. And Chance is on a secret mission, but trust me, you’ll be happy when it’s over.”

I shook my head and warmed my hands on the coffee cup. “I’m not sure I even want to know at this point. You guys are so good to me, but I swear if she rolls up with a new car for me, I’m outta here.”

Alissa laughed. “Oh girl, please. No way. But, trust me . . . things aren’t as bad as they seem.”

Chapter Thirty

Independence Day

Chance

I looked forward to this more than any revenge mission I’d ever concocted on my own. I had to give it to Alissa—she knows her shit and I’m so glad she’s on my side. I didn’t even have to set an alarm that morning, because my excitement woke me as the sun was rising.

The plan was all set. I’d called Eddie after Michelle passed out last night and told him the situation. He was more than eager to assist in the plan and agreed to keep it on the down low as Stuart would have my ass and his job if he found out what we’d done. Eddie threw a few interns fifty bucks apiece (which I had to reimburse when I saw him) and swore them to secrecy—it had to look real. And while I couldn’t actually participate in the event, I was riding along just for the sheer thrill of watching.

I met them a little before eight near the Highway 63/70 interchange and climbed in the media van. I handed Eddie a fresh Starbucks and greeted the crew before handing Trina her script and telling them the barest of details of why we were doing what we’re doing. When everyone was caught up, Trina climbed into the front seat next to Eddie, the driver for the mission. I gave him the street address and waited for the show to begin.

We pulled in front of Brandon and Michelle’s house, and the crew went to work gathering the needed equipment: cameras, microphones, a tripod, and their game faces. I faded into the background and slipped a set of earphones over my head so I could hear every word.

Eddie, Trina, and the other cameraman went to the front door of Brandon and Michelle’s house and Trina knocked on the door. A visibly frazzled Brandon answered the door in a t-shirt and pajama bottoms. Even from my vantage point, I could see his hair was sticking up in several directions. The last thing he expected to see at his door this morning was a media van with cameras and an eager reporter.

Trina began, “Brandon Morehead? I’m Trina St. Patrick with KJAT news. We received a report that there was a domestic dispute between you and your wife, (she looked at the paper in her hand for good measure) Michelle, and we would like to interview you for the twelve o’clock news. Domestic abuse is something that is extremely heartbreaking, but it’s rare for men to be the victims and we’d like to spotlight your situation to encourage more men to come forward if they’re in a similar situation as you.”

Brandon scratched his head and looked at the camera, but Trina was on her game and wouldn’t be interrupted. “Mr. Morehead, I understand you are an insurance agent here in town. Are you at all concerned that this event could impact your career?”

Brandon huffed. “Ma’am, I think you got your wires crossed this morning. I’m not the victim of domestic abuse. My wife and I had an argument last night, but—”

Trina looked at her “notes”. “Sir, we have a report that the police were here last night and had to remove your wife from the premises based off of your statement that you felt unsafe—so unsafe, in fact, that you had the locks changed while she was out running errands.”

Brandon stood up straight. “Well, yeah, but that’s not because I was being abused. Where did you get this information?”

“Mr. Morehead, when you called the police, it went over the police scanners which are monitored by several news agencies. KJAT wanted to be the first to reach out to you to show our support and hear your side of the story. I interviewed one of your neighbors earlier who said your wife was out of control and that you were fearful of what she might do if you let her back in.”

He scoffed. “Oh please. Those nosy sons-of-bitches don’t know what they’re talking about. I’m not a victim of domestic abuse, and you will not report that I was. This is all a misunderstanding, and—”

“Mr. Morehead, is it true you refused to let your wife near your children? Do you fear she’s a danger to her own children?”

“What? No! Michelle wouldn’t hurt our children.”

“Do you fear an impact in your business if word gets out that you’re married to a potentially abusive woman or that perhaps you, yourself, may be an abusive spouse?”

Brandon stiffened. “You better get off my property. No, I will not let you interview me, and if any of this makes the news, I will have your jobs. All of you.”

“One more question. One of your neighbors said you are holding your children against their will from their mother. Do you have a comment on that?”

“They’re my children, too, and my neighbors need to mind their own business just like you.” He started to close the door.

“I can’t promise we won’t run this story at noon. It’s a slow time of year for news, and this could really open up a huge untapped problem in our community. Men being victims of domestic abuse and all.”

“I’m done talking to you. I had to prove a point to Michelle. She’ll be home today just you watch.”

“So you won’t be filing charges against her?” Trina said with a lilt of disappointment in her voice.

“No, I will not.”

“Do you know how to get a hold of Mrs. Morehead? I’d like to interview her for her side of the story.”

Brandon’s face paled with the thought of what Michelle would tell the press about his behavior. “Her phone’s not working,” he muttered.

“Do you know where she’s staying?”

He shook his head. “I’m serious; let this go. You don’t have a story here.”

“Would you mind if we talked to your children?”

“No!” Brandon shouted, “Get the hell out of here.”

Trina looked at Eddie and shrugged. She turned to Brandon. “Well, thank you for your time. We’ll be in touch.”

I stifled giggles as they pointed to different houses pretending to argue over which neighbor to interview next. They piled into the van and slammed the doors.

“Bravo! I’m impressed, Trina! You should have considered a career in criminal investigation.”

She grinned at me. “CJ was my minor. I want to cover criminal cases and know what the hell I’m talking about.”

I smirked. “Well, I’m impressed. Take us back to the station, Eddie. Is your buddy still going to call Brandon?”

Eddie chuckled. “Yeah, he will call in about ten minutes. I’m supposed to text him when we leave. An article in the paper should scare the piss out of him, too.”

“Let’s hope so. I hope this is a valuable lesson to Mr. Morehead. I just hope we don’t get caught.”

Eddie waved me off as he turned the van around and headed down the street. “Don’t worry about that. Stuart is a prick, but he can’t afford to lose his street team.”

Eddie dropped me off at my car, and I giggled while I drove as I replayed the visions of Brandon’s shocked face and complete disbelief that his actions damn near landed him in the news. That’s what happens when you mess with my friends. It was after nine, so I knew Alissa and Dani would be up, but I prayed Michelle was still sleeping off the night before. I sent Alissa a text and told her I was on my way to her house but had a quick pit stop to make—ETA to her house 9:45.

I pulled in front of Brandon and Michelle’s house and walked to the door. Brandon answered the door and left it open enough for me to see the complete chaos going on behind him. Gibson and Martin were fighting over something in the kitchen, and Del Ray was folding a load of laundry that was scattered across the couch—most of which was a peculiar faded color of pink. I had to lower my head to keep from laughing at the idea of someone accidentally throwing a red shirt in the load of whites and Brandon wearing pink t-shirts from now on. I just hope Del Ray had done it on purpose.

Brandon sighed. “What do you want, Chance?”

I waved. “Nothing. Guess it’s no surprise I have Michelle and she needs some clothes.” He looked over my shoulder to the car. “She’s not with me. She’s scared you’ll have her arrested.”

Brandon’s face fell as he opened the door and let me in. Del Ray’s tear-brimmed eyes caught mine as she dropped the shirt she was folding and ran to hug me. I wrapped my arms around her and kissed the top of her head. “Hey, kiddo.”

She whispered, “How’s Mom?”

I nodded. “She’s . . . she’s pretty miserable right now, if I’m going to be honest. She misses you guys and hates that she can’t get in touch with you.” I glared at Brandon but corrected myself when I saw Gibson and Martin wander into the room.

Martin mumbled, “Is Mom with you?”

I shook my head. “No, bud. She’s not. She doesn’t know I’m here. I just came by to get some clothes for her.”

Gibson cried, “Is she coming home?”

I looked at Brandon. “Not right now, Gib.”

Brandon ran his fingers through his hair and looked at the ceiling. He looked at his kids. “Boys, why don’t you go to your rooms and let me talk to Chance. You too, Del Ray.”

She left my arms and wiped her face as she walked down the hall after her brothers. I looked at Brandon who gestured to the couch. “Do you want to sit?”

I smirked at the laundry pile. “I’ve got to get back, but yeah I could sit for a minute.”

He plopped down in his chair and buried his hands in his face. “I really fucked up, Chance.”

I eased onto the couch. “I’m not here to talk, Brandon. I just need to get some clothes for her before she wakes up. And yeah, you went too far.”

He looked up at me with teary-eyes. “I wanted to shock her back into reality—like an intervention-type thing. She’s been a fucking lunatic around here the last several months, and I just wanted to get her attention.”

I chuckled. “Well, you certainly did that. What’s been so different about her?”

“She’s just been so depressed and down about everything. Then she comes up with these hair-brained ideas that make no sense like she’s trying to change everything. Like that whole working-out thing and now working for the gym. She lost her job at the daycare and really put us in a financial pinch . . .”

“But, Brandon, you supported the family on your income the whole time she was staying home raising kids.”

“Well, yeah, but there wasn’t orthodontic bills, band instruments, sports, none of that back then.”

“Has she ever tried to talk to you about why she needed to do something for herself?”

“Yeah, but I thought she was just being dramatic. Then I read her journal where she’s been writing about what a prick I am and how much she hates her life, so . . . I thought I’d show her how good she has it . . .” His voice trailed off then he continued. “When she left with my kids, I was so pissed.”

“Brandon, she told me what you did. She . . .”

He held up his hand. “Just let me finish. She is so pissed off that her life turned out exactly like she wanted—like we’d designed it to be—and she doesn’t even know what I’ve given up in my life to come home to her and these kids every day. I didn’t want to be an insurance agent; I wanted to be a rock star. Then when Del Ray came around, that changed it all. My life’s dreams shattered in that moment. I had to be a father and a provider. So I don’t have much sympathy that she is just finally waking up and realizing her life has passed before her eyes when I
watched
mine
slip away day after day.” His chin quivered and he put his fist to his mouth to conceal it. “You know in her journal, she’s pissed and moaned about your trip to Florida and how angry she is that you guys have these luxurious lives that you can just uproot and go somewhere else, and she can’t. Do you know how much that hurts to read in your wife’s own handwriting how much she hates her life? The life I worked my balls off to give her? I wanted her to see what it would be like to lose it all.”

I listened to Brandon’s rant and tried to decide if I believed him or not. I had to admit, his actions were not normal for him; none of us would have ever considered him capable of this level of meanness.

He continued, “And then the cops showed up . . . what a fucking cluster that was. I just figured she’d come home, I’d have changed the locks and show her I meant business that she can’t just up and leave with our children and expect to roll back in like it was normal. I figured she’d sleep at your house, come home this morning, and we’d talk it out. But the cops and the reporters and . . .”

“Reporters?” I said faking surprise.

“Yes! Reporters showed up at my house this morning wanting to talk about last night!”

“Wow, must be a slow day for news . . .,” I mumbled.

“This whole thing just got out of hand. I wanted her to be cut off for the night and prove a point.”

“Well, whatever message you were trying to send, she received it loud and clear. I’m pretty pissed at you, Brandon, because she was a wreck last night. If you’d have let her take the kids . . .”

He cut me off and shouted, “If I’d let her take the kids, I’d never see her again. She’d run off to you guys, you’d set her up in some awesome house and I’d be the dad that gets to see his kids every other weekend and lose his wife.
If
she didn’t up and move to Florida with you guys!”

I bit my lip to hide how right he was. We were already planning to move her and the kids into Alissa’s house, and her new phone should be activated by now. We’d never considered taking her and the kids to Florida, but that would have been cool, too. “What do you want from me, Brandon?”

He looked at me and mumbled, “I don’t want to lose my family, Chance.”