The Heartbroker (22 page)

She smiles at me and I turn to walk away.

“Brooke, love,” she calls out.

I turn back to face her.

“Logan called me.”

I purse my lips, my stomach flip-flopping at the mention of his name.

“He said he’s been trying to get a hold of you.”

“I know,” I reply through gritted teeth.

Logan has called a total of seven times over the last few days, and I’ve been deleting his messages without listening to them. I don’t want to give him the satisfaction.

“Jocelyn, he just wants to come out of all this smelling like roses, like he somehow had nothing to do with it all. I’m not interested in his bullshit.”

She nods at me. “He broke your heart, didn’t he?”

I look down at the ground, fighting the angry tears springing into my eyes.

She wraps me up in one of her famous hugs. “Oh, love. I gave him a piece of my mind, you know.”

“I bet you did.” I manage a feeble smile.

That’s my Jocelyn: always got my back. I’m going to miss her so much.

“He explained what happened and asked me—”

“Stop right there, Jocelyn,” I instruct, interrupting her. “I don’t want to hear it. He knew what was going on. He admitted it to me. There’s nothing more to discuss.”

“But love, he—”

“No!” I say with force. I soften my voice. “Please. No.”

“Well, if you’re sure?” She looks at me uncertainly.

“I am. He’s played you as much as he’s played me. And anyway, what’s done is done and I’m moving on, okay?”

“Okay, chook. If your mind’s made up I’ll leave it at that.”

“It is.”

I get to my car, open the door, and plonk myself down.

I look up at our office. That’s it, then: the end of an era, no more
Live It
. I heave a heavy.

What am I going to do with my life now?

I TAKE A DEEP, steadying breath and steel myself. It’s now or never.

I’ve pulled up outside my family’s home and am finding it difficult to drum up the courage to get out of my car. I’ve been putting off telling them what’s happened with
Live It
, telling myself I don’t want to worry them while Jennifer’s going through her radiation treatment. In reality that’s only half the reason: I’m so ashamed at how I lost my business.

And how I let a good-for-nothing man walk all over me. Again.

One of the things my dad and I have in common is we both run profitable businesses. Well,
he
runs a profitable business. Me? Not so much these days.

Dad gives me advice and we talk tactics and strategies. I know that my success has made him very proud of me. Telling him I’ve failed at the one thing he admires me for makes me feel really terrible: like I’m killing off the Brooke he loves and admires, leaving him with the failed Brooke I’ve become.

I take another deep breath, pushing the front door open. I’ve brought over some chicken soup and a French bread stick, some flowers, and chocolate brownies: all reputed to be good for the patient in their own, different way.

“That’s so kind of you, Brooke, darling. Thank you,” Jennifer says as she hugs me gingerly. It’s been some time since her surgery, but she’s still careful, not wanting to rupture anything.

“How are you feeling?” I ask her. “Here, I’ll put those in a vase for you.”

“Pretty good, all things considered. The radiotherapy has caused the skin around the treatment areas to be quite sore.” She indicates an area on her left breast and under her arm. “Other than that, though, I can’t really complain.”

Once again I admire her positivity. “I’m sorry to hear that. How long will it last?”

She shrugs. “I don’t know. But it’s not too bad. I’m not feeling tired, although they say it will come.”

“Something to look forward to, then?” I joke, locating a vase in the kitchen cupboard and snipping the wrapping off the flowers.

“Exactly. All part of the fun and games of cancer, I guess.” She smiles at me. “And it’ll all be over soon. Well, this part, at least.”

“Really?” I ask, feeling hopeful.

“My treatment is over in a couple of weeks.”

“That’s great!”

That went super fast. I guess I’ve been so busy wallowing in the wreckage of my life I didn’t pay enough attention to Jennifer’s treatment timeline.

“Yes. Then I’ll meet my oncologist and we’ll see how things are.”

“Oh.” The excitement seeps out of me.

She gives me a benign smile. “It’ll be fine, Brooke. I know my body, I know I’m healing.”

“Of course.”

There’s a sudden a lump in my throat. You didn’t know you had breast cancer: I hope like hell you’re right this time.

Dad walks into the kitchen. “Brooke, I thought that was you.” He removes his reading glasses and gives me a hug. “How are you? We haven’t seen you for a while. Been working on that big, new business venture of yours, I bet.”

“Mm,” I mumble noncommittally, busying myself with arranging the flowers.

Living in the small city of Wellington, I know they’ll hear about it from someone else if I don’t tell them, but I haven’t quite mustered the strength to broach the subject quite yet.

“How about I put the kettle on and serve up these delicious brownies you brought?” Jennifer suggests. “You two can catch up on all your wheeling and dealing.”

“Great idea, darling,” Dad replies. “Are you all right to do that?”

She shoots him a ‘don’t-question-me’ look.

“Righto,” Dad replies, understanding her non-verbal message perfectly.

Jennifer clearly wants to be treated as normal.

I follow him into the living room as though we’re in a funeral procession, which is
so
appropriate: his image of me as a successful business owner is certainly about to buried deep in the ground.

“Come and sit down and tell me the latest.” He pats the seat next to him on the sofa.

I hesitate before taking the suggested seat, and prepare to let him down gently.

“Last time we talked you were about to meet with their representative, right? What fantastic plans have you devised?”

He looks so happy, so excited for me, so oblivious to the disaster my life has become.

I hang my head.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” He puts his hand on my back in concern.

I look up at him, take a deep breath, and tell him the whole sorry tale.

Of course, I leave out the Logan sex marathon details. There really is some information not designed for a dad’s ears.

“Oh, kiddo.” He takes me in his arms as my tears make tracks down my face.

“I’m such an idiot, Dad,” I say as he proffers a box of tissues. I take them gratefully, wiping my eyes and blowing my nose.

“You didn’t see it coming. It can be a dog eat dog world, Brooke. And they sound like a ruthless bunch. You thought you were doing the right thing for your company. It just didn’t work out, that’s all. I admire you.”

“You do?” I question through my tears, thoroughly surprised.

“Of course,” he chuckles. “You built a business so good the only way a big international company could break into the New Zealand market was to take you over in an underhand way. You had the whole country sewn up.”

I smile despite myself. “I guess.” I feel lighter than I have since it happened. It’s a nice feeling, one I wish could last. Then reality smashes its way through and I’m defeated once again. “And now I’ve got nothing.”

“I know it feels like that right now. You’ll bounce back. I have faith in you.”

“What if I don’t? I don’t feel like I have it in me to start some new company, Dad.”

“Well if you don’t, you don’t. What’s the big deal? You managed to do what most people would give their left arm to do: you found a gap in the market, set up a business, and make a huge success of it. Brooke, that’s amazing in anyone’s books. I know people my age who’ve been trying for decades to achieve what you managed in just five years.”

The wonderful lightness returns. Well, when you put it like that…

He draws me into another hug. “And you know, Jennifer and I love you, no matter what, kiddo.”

Tears sting my eyes. “But I always thought I needed to be successful to m-make you happy.”

“You did?” he asks in shock. “Oh, Brooke. Where did you get a cock-eyed idea like that?”

I shrug, giving him a watery smile. “I don’t know.” I snivel, wiping my eyes. “You were so busy with Grace and Dylan but you’d always take the time out to help me with my business. I guess it became our thing. And now it’s gone, I’m scared we won’t have our special father-daughter thing anymore.”

He levels me with his gaze. “You need to understand me when I say we will
always
have our special bond, no matter what. I’m so proud of you, Brooke. That’s not going to change because you got duped by some big corporation. You’re my girl.”

“Thanks, Dad. You’re the best.”

“No worries.” He grins back at me.

After brownies, soup, and a whole lot of tea, I arrive back at my townhouse so much lighter than when I left.

I can’t stop thinking about what Dad said to me.

For the first time since I was kid, I feel valued and loved by him in a way I haven’t felt since before Mum died. And it’s absolutely amazing.

If there’s one good thing to come out of this big fat mess it’s finding out how much my dad cares for me.

Something perhaps I’ve known all along, but have been too blinkered to see.

I shake my head dolefully as I think about Dylan. The last time I saw him, after his ‘slumped-against-a-wall-semi-conscious-and-drooling’ moment, I told him to get his facts straight before jumping to conclusions.

The sweet irony of my words is certainly not lost on me now.

* * *

“I know it’s been total crap for you, but please, you
have
to come,” Laura pleads.

Although going to a big thirtieth birthday bash—reminding me I’m hurtling towards that age myself at a frightening rate of knots—is about the last thing I feel like doing right now, I don’t want to let my friend down.

“I will, I promise.” I force a smile across my face.

Like Molly Ringwald in
Pretty in Pink
, I’ve decided I need to go to Laura’s party to show the world I’m not broken.

Shame I won’t have Andrew McCarthy there to profess his undying love for me.

But life doesn’t imitate rom coms. I’ve got that message loud and clear.

“In fact, I’ve just bought some dye to sort out these unsightly roots of mine.” I peer in my living room mirror, flattening my hair out so Laura can see the full extent of my hair disaster.

“Yay!” she says, clapping her hands together in her typical seal-like manner. She’s so cheerful and optimistic I can’t help but feel happier in her company.

“Fancy a coffee?” I wander towards the kitchen.

“Sure. That would be nice,” she says. “Come here, my big girl.”

This she says to her baby, Sophia, not me. She picks her up out of her port-a-cot.

“She’s just too cute.” I pinch her gorgeous chubby cheeks. “You and Kyle sure do make a good line in kids.”

“Don’t we?” She gets that gooey-eyed thing mothers do when they gaze at their babies.

“Would you like a cuddle?”

“Yes, please,” I reply as Laura passes me Sophia. I hold her in my arms, breathing in her delicious baby-ness. She coos contentedly, grabbing at my necklace.

“Not broody at all?” she asks, an inquisitive smile on her face.

“Who wouldn’t be with this gorgeous girl in their arms?” I look into Sophia’s deep blue eyes. She has the longest blonde lashes I’ve ever seen, framing her eyes like little golden halos.

“Alexis is practically bursting at the seams to have her own now she’s engaged. I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s pregnant before they get home from their honeymoon.”

I take a deep sigh.

“Sorry.” She takes in my slumped shoulders. “I should know better than to talk about weddings and babies right now. That was dumb of me.”

“It’s okay, Laura. I’m a big enough girl to know life goes on. Just because I climbed into bed with America’s biggest lothario and got dumped on my ass, doesn’t mean other people can’t be happy.”

“Yeah, but you don’t need me rubbing your face in it.”

“No worries. I’m actually doing a little bit better now.”

It’s been a while since the implosion of
Live It
and my discovery of Logan’s deception. I’ve had time to get used to it and the pain has begun to dull around the edges.

Up until recently I spent most of my days holed up in my house, mooching around in my sweatpants, and most certainly
not
watching my usual movie line up of rom coms.

Instead, I’ve been indulging in box sets of
Game of Thrones
. I’ve been identifying with every victim, hating every cynical, nasty villain. And let’s face it; there are a lot of both on that show.

Stabbings? Good. Beheadings? Great. General nastiness, blood, and gore? Fan-freaking-tastic.

Yes,
Game of Thrones
matched my state of mind to perfection.

And now? I’m feeling less bitter, less angry. Life has dealt me a dreadful blow, but I’m ready to start to pick up the pieces and get on with my life.

“Oh, that’s so good to hear!” Laura wrinkles her forehead. “I still can’t believe Logan did this to you. He loves you. There must be some kind of mistake.”

“I love you for your optimism, your faith in the human spirit, Laura. But just because you believe he’s a good, decent person, doesn’t make him one.”

“Maybe.” She doesn’t look convinced. “Let’s get into your wardrobe and work out what you’re going to wear to my party.”

She pulls anything even vaguely dressy out of my closet, piling them up on my bed. She rifles through them, rejecting most and keeping a few.

“Okay, so I’ve narrowed it down to these three. With your figure you’ll look great in any of them.”

She’s inadvertently chosen a dress I wore out to dinner in Wellington with Logan.

I point at a black sheath dress lying on the bed. “I don’t think I’ll wear this one, if it’s all the same to you. Bad association.”

“Say no more.” She removes the offending item, stashing it at the back of my wardrobe. “Now, it’s down to these two. The pink will look amazing if you wear your hair down, and the lacy number will make you look like a hot, blonde Kate Middleton.”

She holds them both up against me as I look in my full-length mirror. I’m totally uninspired by either of her selections.

Standing behind me, looking at my reflection, Laura lowers the dresses. “You’ll be fine, you know. You’ll bounce back from this and come back stronger than before. You’re one of the toughest chicks I know. You’re going to be just fine.”