A Mess of a Man (Cruel & Beautiful #2)(93)

“I say we lead a brigade to his home and beat the shit out of him,” Britt suggests.

I’m shocked. “Britt, I can’t believe you would encourage such a thing, being the peacemaker that you are.”

“He destroyed you, Sam, in your worst nightmare. He’s a f*cking bastard.” I can’t contain my shock. This is so unlike Britt. “In my opinion, that’s worse than f*cking around on someone.”

“Oh, holy shit,” Berkeley says.

“She’s right,” Hayley agrees. “He inflicted a mortal wound. It’s a disgrace and he should be ashamed of himself.”

I hold up my hand, palm facing toward them. “Whatever he did was bad, but that’s that. I’m not leading a charge against him. It won’t do anything but worsen things.”

“He’s going to go forward in life then with no accountability whatsoever?” Hayley asks.

I shrug. “I guess so. Look, I don’t really want to talk about this anymore.”

“I know,” Lauren says. “But you have to face these facts and not defend him.”

“I told you all why he did what he did.”

“You’re too nice. I still can’t believe you defend his actions, Sam,” Lauren says, giving me the saddest look.

“Okay. I know. End of story. Let’s move on. Can we have more alcohol?” I ask with much more enthusiasm than I feel.

They all eye me with suspicion, but that’s okay. I just want off this topic.

Berkeley sets us up another round of tequila. Eventually, I’m smashed, and weaving around the house like a car with a flat tire.

“I think it’s time for me to go to bed.” I try to focus on one of the two Laurens I see. I say goodnight to everyone and crawl into my bed, but before I pass out, I decide to text Ben.



Me: I’m so sorry for holding out on you but I sware I mean to tell you. I relly did. I was tryng to find the rite time. I guess I waited too long. I have an appointment on Friday to get cheked out. Ben, im so scarred. Why does if have to be me? I hate that my boobs are sick. I ment what I said when I told you I loved you. Im so sory.



My finger hovers over the send button, but then I hit it and it’s gone. I lay my head on the pillow and close my eyes.

The morning comes and along with it a throbbing headache. Why did I drink that crappy tequila on top of vodka? Oh yeah. To forget what I’m facing. I barely remember climbing into bed last night. What I need right now are two Advil. When I move to stretch, I push my phone out from under the covers. Picking it up, it opens to my text messages and that’s when I see it. Oh, f*ck. I drunk texted Ben last night. But he didn’t respond. No surprise there.

A reread the sent message several times and decide to text him again, explaining.



Me: Hey. Sorry about that text last night. The girls came over and filled me with a lot of tequila. Anyway, I thought an explanation was in order. I am totally and completely sorry for not telling you about my issue sooner. I didn’t do it to withhold information. I did it because I was waiting for the right time. I didn’t expect you (or me even) to find a lump. Please believe me. I’m not in the habit nor do I make a practice of lying. Sorry, I didn’t mean to have diarrhea of the mouth—fingers. And I do love you. PS. I do have an appointment tomorrow and I am scared. Out of my mind.



I hit send before I lose my nerve. I wait. And wait. And wait. No response. Did I expect one? Yes, I suppose I expected something. Anything. I thought he would at least tell me not to be scared. Or that he hoped everything would turn out okay. I’d be the worst liar now if I told myself it didn’t matter, if it didn’t bother me. Because the truth is, it does. Horrifically. I’ve bared my heart to him twice now—three times if you count my drunk text, and he hasn’t even told me he hopes things turn out okay. It cuts deeper and harsher than anything I’ve ever been through.

The throbbing in my head makes me get out of bed. I down two Advil and drag myself into the shower. It’s there I let my tears flow again. Is this how I’m going to be for the foreseeable future? I hope not because this is miserable.

I don’t know if I can function enough to go to work. I go through the motions of drying my hair and then I call my sister.

“How’s the office?”

“I have it under control. Nancy is awesome and your other employees are doing great. I have you covered for today, too.”

“Oh, Laney, thank you! I don’t think I can make it in today. You’re my savior.”

“I’ve got it covered, baby sis.”

My day passes in slow motion but I cannot recall what I’ve done. It’s as though my brain has gone to sleep even though I’m awake. It’s a strange sensation, one I can’t remember experiencing before.

During the day, I try to call Ben, but he doesn’t answer. I try again that night, and again it goes to his voicemail. I end the call before leaving a message both times.

In the morning, my stomach feels like I’m riding the rollercoaster from hell. I’m so nauseated any thought of food has me running for the bathroom.

“How about a cup of hot tea?” Lauren asks.

“Maybe that would help.”

Lauren makes one using our Keurig and one sip has me gagging.

“It’s my nerves. I’m so scared.”