Chapter 22

Chapter

Twenty-Two

brOOKLYNN

My entire body is frozen as I stare at the screen. It's Forrest. Some woman named Elizabeth sent me the link. I don't know why I clicked on it, but she said it involved Forrest and I would want to see it, so I clicked on it, and now I can't look away.

It's a podcast.

And he's sitting on a couch across from the host, talking. I glance at the live feed viewers. There are over a hundred and fifty thousand people tuning in. I blink again and again. It's the only thing I can do right now—blink.

Because the conversation is about me, and it's about Kiki. But he avoids most of the conversation about her. He doesn't trash-talk her the way she assuredly deserves, especially after all of the nasty recordings of her have surfaced.

"So you've decided to set the record straight. Are you doing it in hopes of saving your reputation?" the host asks.

Forrest chuckles. "Not really," he says. "It's about keeping Brooklynn's reputation intact. This caused a lot of unnecessary turmoil for her. And the last thing I ever want is to see her hurt."

The host smirks, but it's the cohost, a woman, who makes an aww sound. "That is so sweet. How is Brooklynn? You guys are all good, right?"

I watch as sadness washes over his face, and then he glances down at his lap before he brings his head back up. "Her business has been targeted. She's lost a lot of clients and wants to sell her percentage so her partners don't suffer."

"That's horrible," the cohost whispers.

"It's the main reason why I agreed to come on this show. She and her business shouldn't suffer over lies. I felt it was necessary to come forward and tell the truth."

I smile as tears fill my eyes. I can't believe he said that to… one hundred and sixty-five thousand people. The number keeps rising. I'm shocked that so many people are watching. I hope that means this is a good thing.

"We're going to take some calls now. We have so many people calling in who are dying to ask you questions."

My breath hitches. I wasn't expecting that. None of it. And I don't expect this either. The people calling in. They ask questions, and they have comments. A lot of hate for Kiki and a lot of interest in me and my business.

Then, before I realize what's happening, I get notification after notification after notification, and it's likes, comments, and follows. So many. Hundreds… thousands… and as afraid as I am to look at the comments, I do.

They're all positive.

Comments on my clients' hair, comments on pictures of me. Comment after comment. Like after like. And then direct messages start to come in. And they're all amazing and kind. Tears fall, happy ones. I can't believe this is my life.

"I love her," Forrest says.

My entire body jerks, breaking me out of my focus on my social media, shifting that focus to the podcast.

Forrest lifts his head, his eyes find the camera, and then he smiles. "I love you, honey," he rasps. "And I'm coming to get you."

Exiting out of the app, I throw my phone across my room. I watch as it bounces on the bed a couple of times, and then I stare at the device. I'm afraid it's going to come alive again or something.

His words.

The conviction.

My God.

He loves me.

And he doesn't know it yet, but I love him, too—all of him. Every single little piece of him. But I still don't know if I can give in to him. If I can be with him. Because being with him means that he won't have his family. I can't be the reason he doesn't have the future he's always dreamed.

Instead of staying in my room, pacing and thinking about what could have been, I leave my phone on the bed and walk out the door. I'm not sure what I need right now, but staring at that phone, thinking of those words, and then thinking about my own feelings—it's too much.

Moving down the hallway, I stop at the sight of my father sitting behind his desk. I'm surprised he's home at this hour. Leaning against the jamb, I lift my hand and rap on the side with my knuckle.

He lifts his head, and his eyes find mine. "Seems like your boy has been doing some fast fixing with the situation."

"You saw that?" I ask.

He hums and leans back in his chair, his eyes connecting to my own. "I saw. Seems like this boy is in love with my daughter, and I've not met him yet. Why?"

Letting out a snort, I take a step into his office and sink down on the chair across from him. "Well, we've had a lot going on…"

"I would say so. Invite him to dinner tomorrow night."

"I broke up with him. We talked about it," I say.

My father stands, shaking his head from side to side before he rounds his desk. I watch as he walks in front of it, leans his ass against the edge, and crosses his arms. He tilts his head to the side, his eyes focused on mine and looking nowhere else.

"Brooklynn, you're too much like your old man. Bring the boy for dinner tomorrow. We already know that you'll get back together. You've holed yourself up in your room for days. Your girlfriends have already come to see you. They don't want the business to suffer, but they aren't turning their backs on you. So you aren't crying about that. It's about the boy."

I almost laugh because he keeps calling Forrest a boy. He's a twenty-five-year-old, six-foot-something, well-over-two-hundred-pound man. He is no boy. But at the same time, my dad still thinks of me as a kid. So I choose not to correct him and think it's cute.

"I guess I'll try and bring him over for dinner tomorrow," I murmur.

Standing, I turn my back to him and start to move toward the door. "Brooklynn," he calls out. I stop, looking over my shoulder at him. "You're a good girl."

And with that, the conversation is over. I know him. He's a man of few words, and I'm okay with that. There are enough words in the world. And I've learned recently that there are sometimes too damn many of them.

FORREST

My phone has blown up to the point where I want to power that shit off, but I don't. Instead, I power it down and shove it in my pocket. Sinking down into the driver's seat of my car, I start the engine and stare at the windshield.

I direct my gaze to the side, then clear my throat and jerk my chin before I shift the car into Drive and head home. I can't believe this shit is really happening. That Elizabeth worked fucking magic to make the world no longer hate Brooklynn but instead love her.

And they do.

The people who were ready to end her career, her life, and her world just a few days ago are now following her, messaging her, and shouting from the rooftops how amazing she is. It's been a bit scary to watch, in my honest opinion. The way opinions change so rapidly. It's fucking terrifying.

But Kiki is a bitch, and she deserves every bad thing that comes her way. And this, all of it, is fucking epic. The moment I arrive home, I pull into the driveway and glance into the rearview mirror.

The driveway looks empty without Brooklynn's car. The bedroom that belongs to her looks fucking lonely without her light shining behind the blinds.

Killing my engine, I push the door open and unfold from the front seat, then turn toward the house and walk inside. The house is empty, but I'm glad. I need a few minutes of quiet before the guys get home and ask me about the podcast.

Moving into the kitchen, I tug open the refrigerator door and bend at the waist. Lev has some leftovers from the other night. Beef tips in a butter sauce, kielbasa sausage, steamed broccoli, and roasted potatoes.

Score.

I don't even bother heating it up. I grab a fork from the drawer, kicking the fridge door closed as I move to the bar and eat the cold food, standing up and moaning with every bite. I wish Lev would cook full time at the house. He's the only one worth a shit in the kitchen.

I finish the food and am putting the dishes in the sink when Alexei and Lev walk through the door together. They stop at the sight of me, and then their lips curve up into a smile. "We saw the podcast," Alexei announces.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," Lev says. "It was fucking great. That bitch deserves everything coming her way. But is there a way you can get the fifty grand from her?"

My lips twitch into a smirk. "I thought of that, but I'm sure she's already blown it."

"Yeah," Alexei agrees with a sigh. "Would be nice for you, though."

I would laugh, but honest to fuck, it would be nice. I would love to make that bitch pay me what my father gave her to ruin me. They won't ruin me or Brooklynn. I won't let them. I'm not under my father's control any longer. I'm done with them. Done with the whole thing.

I'm ready to start my life over.

I'm ready to start my life, period.