Chapter 8

Chapter

Eight

FORREST

My reflection stares back at me, and I almost ask myself what the fuck is wrong with me because clearly, there is something fucking wrong. Flexing my hand, I look at my swollen knuckles and grunt. Brooklynn is in her bedroom. I can hear her music playing from behind the closed door as she dresses for dinner.

My dad is pissed as fuck at me. I'm fucking up all over the place, and I want to go home. I shouldn't have come at all. I should have just called an attorney and had someone represent me. This is not going to be as easy as showing up with a woman on my arm and getting what I want.

There is a knock on the bedroom door that interrupts my thoughts. Sliding my palm down my suit jacket, I clear my throat and turn then walk toward the door, wrap my fingers around the knob, and gently twist it before I tug it open.

I'm met with Brooklynn, who looks absolutely fucking amazing, as always. She doesn't appear to be frazzled or upset in the slightest. I start to move toward her, but she blocks the doorway. She tips her head back, her eyes finding mine.

"What?" she asks in a whisper.

I shake my head a couple of times, then clear my throat, but I don't respond to her because I have no idea what she's asking. There's no way she saw my hand already. But then she reaches for my wrist and lifts it between us.

Her thumb slides across my swollen knuckles, and I hiss with the slight amount of pain even though she's being incredibly gentle. Her gaze flicks from my hand to my eyes, and she holds it for a moment.

"Do I want to know?" she asks.

I hum, thinking about that question. No, she doesn't want to know, but I'm going to tell her anyway because I'm not making her walk into that party looking like a fucking fool. Any friend would tell her what happened, and I'm just that—a friend.

"Probably not," I grunt. "But I'm going to tell you."

She sucks in a breath, holding it as our gazes stay connected. She presses her lips together, and if I had to guess, she's probably chewing on the inside of her cheek as well.

"One of the family friends and his father both decided to make some comments about you."

"Comments?"

"Comments."

Her thumb slides across my knuckle again. This time, I don't hiss. My eyes are focused on hers as I continue. "Things that they should not be saying about a woman, and especially not about my woman."

Her breath hitches, and I'm sure that calling her my woman is breaking some fake relationship pact or something. I've never done anything like this before, so I have no goddamn clue what I'm doing or what the rules are, but at the same time, I would never let anyone disrespect my actual girlfriend, so I sure as shit am not going to let them do it.

Real or fake.

"Forrest," she exhales.

Gently shaking my hand from her grasp, I cup her cheek. I slide my thumb across her bottom lip and keep my gaze focused and connected to hers as I speak.

"Honey," I murmur, "no way in fuck am I going to let someone, anyone , disrespect you. The dad stopped, but his son would not. I've despised that asshole since we were twelve years old. I've been waiting for this moment my whole life. He only got a taste of what he had coming to him. I wish I could deliver everything he deserves, but I'm not that kind of man."

Looking into her eyes, telling her all of this, I feel something shift. To be honest, that shift happened a long time ago, about the moment I laid eyes on her that very first time. But I decided to ignore it—to deny it.

I'm not denying anything any longer. Brooklynn is special. I've known it, and I'm finally going to allow myself to accept it because the way my heart races when she's near, I know I've never felt anything like it in my entire goddamn life.

brOOKLYNN

We arrive at the party, not hand in hand, because Forrest's knuckles hurt. I know they do because he hissed when I barely touched them. Instead, his palm is placed against the small of my back as we move through the front door of the mansion.

The whole foyer and living space have been transformed since this morning. It's absolutely out-of-this-world opulent. There are waiters carrying trays of champagne and hors d'oeuvres. There is also an extra-long banquet table along the back of the living room with piles of food and even an ice sculpture.

It's wild.

That doesn't even include the decorations. The flowers and the velvet drapery seem to be hanging on every surface. I wish I were here under any other circumstance because everything looks freaking awesome.

Like, beyond amazing.

After scanning the room and noticing all the glitz and glamour, my eyes take in the people. Everyone is dressed much like we are—in suits and fancy dresses. I'm not wearing a super high-end designer dress again, but it looks as if it was made for my body alone.

A strapless corset-style back, and the front is tight, with underwires beneath my breasts. The fabric is satin and hugs me from the chest to the middle of my knees. It feels smooth against my skin.

My shoes and handbag are the highlight yet again, the pop of color against the stark, plain black dress. Another pair of gold shoes that are high-heeled sandals. The straps wrap around my ankle, rhinestone flowers curling from toe to ankle as showstoppers. And in my hand, I'm holding a dark-red mesh Stella McCartney .

As we move into the room, Forrest hands me a glass of champagne, which I eagerly accept. With all the hustle and bustle, the bruised and battered knuckles, I didn't get a chance to tell him about my eventful afternoon, but let's just say that this is needed.

Moving through the room, I glance around at the men, looking for any signs of who talked shit and got told what's up by Forrest's fist. I don't notice anyone immediately, but I'm sure they'll pop up. These rich assholes love to swing their dicks around.

"Oh, Forrest," a woman's voice purrs.

I know that woman and that voice. Wincing, I suck in a breath, holding it for a moment before I let it out slowly. It's a wonder that my fist isn't swollen from punching her in the face after the brunch that I was forced to endure at her side.

Yes, Forrest's mother made sure that we were sitting next to one another. I know she did it to be a bitch. I wanted to say or do something so many times, but I held my tongue. Because this isn't about me, this is all about Forrest and his future.

Forrest and I stop. Turning to face her, I make sure to position myself even closer to him. I'm going to be petty for sure when it comes to this bitch. He may not really be mine, but she doesn't know that, and I'll never give her the satisfaction of thinking we are anything other than a perfectly happy couple.

That's what we are. It's who we are as far as she's concerned.

"Kiki," Forrest murmurs.

She moves closer to us, her eyes searching his as she inhales and pushes her chest out. Forrest doesn't even flinch, and his eyes look nowhere but hers. He smiles. However, she doesn't.

"So because you're a big bad hockey player, you think you can go around punching people?" she says, her voice elevated.

She's trying to cause a scene, but Forrest doesn't even tense beside me. Not a single muscle moves.

"I don't. In fact, punching people isn't really something that I enjoy. However, when someone is disrespectful and refuses to stop, sometimes, that's what you have to do. And that is what happened."

Kiki jerks her chin, looking down her nose at Forrest, but I can tell she wants to be staring me down. Considering she did that shit all fucking day long, I know she's itching to do it again.

"Disrespectful?" she snorts. "My brother would never be disrespectful. What did you do to him?" she demands.

I almost laugh. I should laugh in her face. Her brother. This is great. Her brother is the one who pissed Forrest off enough that he hit him. But I don't laugh because he pissed Forrest off by talking badly about me.

And ew.

I don't want anyone who Kiki has any ties to talking in any kind of way about me, especially sexually, which I assume is what happened. It makes me feel just plain icky. I'm not sure why he would say anything about me, but I'm not going to ask for details, either.

"I'm not going to repeat those words. I wouldn't think them, let alone say them. Just know that your brother deserved it. That's the end of that. The beef I have with him has nothing to do with you."

Kiki opens and closes her mouth a few times like a fish, which only makes me want to burst out laughing, but I refrain—barely. Just barely. Biting the inside of my cheek, I taste blood but can't release it because I'll say something if I do.

And I don't need to say anything.

This isn't my place. These aren't my people.

This is a world that I don't understand. This is a world that is not mine, so I'm going to keep my mouth shut. But I can tell that with every word spoken, he's getting more and more irritated.

"You've known my brother since you were kids. That was an asshole move," she says, but she doesn't sound angry. In fact, she sounds breathy.

Another ew.

"Kiki, I am walking away from you right now with my woman on my arm, and I don't wish to speak to you again the rest of the evening."

And with that, Forrest guides me away from the bitch. I let out a sigh of relief. I want to ask him if this whole plan is even going to work at this point, but before I can do that, a black-eyed man appears in front of us.

Oh. Shit.