18. Layla

I sip my morning coffee, trying to shake off the lingering unease from yesterday"s encounter with Brock. Eric, my dad, and Breckin are out in the driveway, playing hockey together, their laughter drifting in through the open door.

None of this makes sense. Why would he spend so much money on two engagement rings?

Why would he propose to her and then put so much effort into being with me the following day?

Why wouldn't he tell me he proposed to her?

It's not sustainable for this man to be engaged to two women at the same time. It's too high profile. He's really not this stupid, right?

Did he think I wouldn't find out?

I blow out a breath and shake my head. I'm literally driving myself crazy.

My phone buzzes with a new message. I glance down to see a text from Lula. I open the message to find a link to a news article. My heart sank as I read the headline – "Supermodel Accuses Fiancé Brock Bowen of Cheating with Homewrecker."

My stomach churns with a sickening mix of dread and disbelief as I click on the link, my eyes scanning the words on the screen. Tierney has publicly accused her fiancé of cheating on her with a supposed homewrecker – me. My name is plastered across the article, along with damning accusations of betrayal and deceit.

A surge of panic courses through me as I try to make sense of what I"m reading. Tierney"s words are like a dagger to the heart, slicing through the fragile threads of trust and stability that I"ve been desperately clinging to.

Before I can fully process the implications of Tierney"s accusations, my phone rings, startling me out of my thoughts. It"s Lula calling, her voice filled with concern.

"Layla, this is bullshit."

My throat feels tight as I struggle to find the right words to respond. "I... I don"t know what to think, Lula," I admit, my voice trembling slightly. "It"s like everything is falling apart, and I don"t know who or what to believe anymore."

There"s a moment of silence on the other end of the line before Lula speaks again, her voice soft but determined. "Do you want me to come over? I"m ready to beat someone up for spreading lies about you if that"s what you need."

A small, choked laugh escapes me at her words, despite the heaviness weighing on my heart. "As tempting as that sounds, I think I just need some time to process everything," I reply, my voice barely above a whisper. "But thank you, Lula. Knowing you"re there for me means everything."

"Have you talked to Brock?"

"No, he was at Breckin's game last night and I told him to fuck off. I don't know what to believe."

"I can't blame you. It's so out of left field. Why would he propose to you and her? Do you think she's making it up?"

"It falls in line with when he told me he was going to his parents' house. So, I don't know."

"Talk to him first and then…"

"I don't want to talk to him. I'm so angry and hurt right now that nothing will come out right."

"I like to journal those feelings and make sense of them all. And then I use that to sort the right things to say out."

"I journal, but it's all such a mess right now."

"That's normal, your heart is hurting."

"How can it be so good one minute and such a mess the next?"

"Life and assholes," she jokes. "It'll work out."

"I hope so. Breckin is going to be heartbroken that he's not going to be around anymore."

"Let's not focus on that yet. I'm looking at Brock's social media and he's not even friends with her on any social media. It looks like he blocked her."

"She busted out his double life."

"Or she's crazy. She seems crazy," Lula offers.

I giggle, hoping that maybe she's right.

"Only time will tell."

"I'm ready to hide a body if necessary."

"Thanks, Lula, I needed this smile. I'll talk to you later."

I hang up the phone and find myself laughing instead of distracted and feeling sorry for myself. I'm grateful for Lula right now.

I scroll through my social media feeds, my heart sinks as I notice a string of notifications flooding in – messages from strangers, filled with venom and vitriol.

I click on one of the messages, my stomach twisting with apprehension as I read the words on the screen:

"You"re a disgusting homewrecker! How could you do this to Tierney? You should be ashamed of yourself!"

Another message pops up, each word feeling like a dagger to the heart:

"I hope you"re happy ruining someone else"s relationship. You"re nothing but a selfish liar, and you"ll get what"s coming to you."

"I bet your son is real proud of his whore mother."

Tears fill my eyes as I try to make sense of the onslaught of hatred and accusation. These people don"t know me – they don"t know the truth. But their words cut deep nonetheless.

With trembling hands, I want to respond to the messages, to defend myself against the baseless accusations. But the flood of messages only intensifies, each one more venomous than the last. It"s like trying to hold back a tidal wave with my bare hands – futile and overwhelming.

In a moment of desperation, I realize that I have no choice but to shut down my social media accounts. It"s a painful decision, one that feels like admitting defeat in the face of the relentless onslaught of hate. But I can"t bear the thought of subjecting myself to any more of this cruelty, of allowing these faceless strangers to dictate my sense of self-worth.

I make money by managing people's social media and I can't even manage mine right now. It's a bitter pill to swallow.

With a heavy heart, I deactivate my accounts, the weight of the decision settling like a leaden weight in the pit of my stomach. People who know me – my friends, my family – they know that"s not who I am. But it"s so hard to be under the scrutiny of so many people who don"t even matter, to feel like I"m drowning in a sea of judgment and condemnation.

Two clients, two up and coming models and influencers both contact me via text minutes apart telling me that they're going a different direction for their upcoming photo shoot and no longer need my services.

Another of my newer clients, a skincare company out of Boston sends me an email telling me that in light of recent events they cannot continue doing business with me.

No chance to explain. No questions. Just done.

Three clients gone in a matter of minutes because of Brock and his games.

I'll have Eric stick around so I can take a run and clear my head. I don't want to allow any of this to bleed over onto Breckin.

As I sit in the silence of my room, the absence of social media like a gaping void, I feel a sense of isolation creeping in. But amidst the darkness, there"s a glimmer of hope – the knowledge that I"m not alone, that there are people who love and support me unconditionally, no matter what lies are being spread about me.

I go outside to focus on the hockey game happening in my driveway. There's no need to get stuck in the negative. I can't let Breckin know there's anything wrong either.

If Brock still wants to be a part of his life, I don't want our issues to overshadow that. Breckin has done nothing wrong, and he deserves to have two parents in his life.

The crisp winter air fills my lungs as I step outside, drawn by the sound of laughter and shouts coming from the backyard. Breckin and Eric are playing hockey in the driveway with my dad, their energy infectious as they chase after the puck with gleeful abandon.

"Mom!" Breckin calls out, spotting me standing by the door. "Come play with us!"

A smile tugs at the corners of my lips as I watch him, his eyes bright with excitement. "Alright, I"m coming!" I call back, unable to resist his enthusiasm.

Joining their game as the goalie, I position myself in front of the makeshift net, my heart pounding with anticipation. The puck flies back and forth between Eric, Dad, and Breckin, their laughter echoing through the air as they take turns trying to score.

Suddenly, Eric winds up for a powerful shot, the puck hurtling towards the net with lightning speed. Instinct kicks in, and I dive to make the save, my body stretching to its limits as I reach out with trembling hands.

The puck collides with my glove with a satisfying thud, the impact sending shockwaves through my arms. I glance up just in time to see Brock walking up to the game, his eyes widening in surprise as he witnesses the incredible save.

Breckin is losing his mind at his mother"s skill, jumping up and down with excitement. "Did you see that? That was amazing!"

Eric playfully ribs me, a grin spreading across his face. "You must have cheated or had help, Layla. There"s no way you"re that good!"

But Breckin is quick to defend me, his voice filled with pride. "Nuh-uh! My mom is the coolest goalie ever!"

"With a save like that, you should be in the NHL too," Dad teases.

"I hate skating," I giggle. "I fall too much."

"You're so good at skating, Mom," Breckin says as he shakes his head.

"She falls more than she skates, buddy," Eric chuckles. "She's not graceful at all."

I laugh at their banter, the tension of the past few days momentarily forgotten in the joy of the moment. But as I glance over at Brock, I"m reminded of the rift that lies between us, the unspoken tension simmering just beneath the surface.

Why is he here?

Can he just spontaneously combust into thin air so that I don't have to deal with him?

Why does it hurt so bad that he's looking at me with those puppy dog eyes?

"Mr. Brock! Did you see my mama's save?"

"I did, buddy," he laughs. "She's pretty incredible."

"She's the best. Do you want to play with us?"

"Hey, Breckin, how about we go inside for some ice cream?" Dad suggests, his voice warm and inviting.

Breckin"s eyes light up at the mention of ice cream, and he nods eagerly. "Yeah, let"s go!" he exclaims, grabbing Eric"s hand and pulling him towards the door.

I'm grateful for my dad's quick thinking, but I'm not happy that I'm now out here alone with this monster of a man.

How do I have a kid with such a manipulative man?

With a pang of regret, I watch them go, knowing that I can"t avoid the inevitable conversation with Brock any longer. Taking a deep breath, I turn to face him, steeling myself for what comes next.

"Nice save," he says quietly, his voice tinged with admiration. "I had no idea you could play hockey too."

I force a tight smile, the tension crackling between us like electricity. "Thanks," I reply curtly, my tone clipped. "What are you doing here, Brock?"

He hesitates for a moment, his gaze searching mine. "Can we talk?" he asks softly, his words hesitant.

I shake my head, my frustration bubbling to the surface. "I don"t share nor compete with other women, Brock," I tell him firmly, my voice laced with anger. "I won"t be a pawn in your game of manipulation."

With that, I storm inside, leaving him standing alone in the yard, the weight of his words lingering in the air like a bitter taste in my mouth.

"Hey Eric?" I call when I walk into the kitchen. "Can you stay with Breck for a bit? I'd really like to get a run in."

"Absolutely."

I go to my room and change out. I grab my phone, mace, and AirPods before I hurry out the front door. My steps easily fall into a rhythmic cadence with the music. I'm on autopilot as I focus on slowing my breathing.

An onslaught of thoughts penetrate me and I let them come in so that I can feel the bullshit and then let it go.

Logically, none of this makes sense.

It doesn't make sense that he would propose to both of us. It doesn't make sense that he would spend that much money on a fake engagement ring just to get another woman back.

It doesn't make sense that he would take a DNA test and tell me that he's Breckin's dad if the long game was to propose to Tierney.

None of this makes any logical sense, but a manipulative person's actions rarely make sense.

This isn't on me. This is his karma, not mine.

Tierney seems so fake, but if that's what he wants then that's his life.

I run until my lungs burn and my body feels the exhaustion and then I turn around and go home.

"How far did you go?" Eric asks when I get back to the house.

I glance at my watch. "Ten miles."

"Damn," he chuckles.

Breckin is already in bed so he gestures for me to sit. I shake my head. I need a shower and then my bed.

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Noted. I'm here when you do."