Page 122 of Best Kind of Trouble
BRIAR
My heart has been ripped to little shreds.
I felt so safe with Liam—as if he could cocoon me from the world. But when I saw that app on his phone, that feeling of security evaporated, revealing a raw wound that’s never healed.
Before Liam came out of the bedroom, I spent hours chastising myself for being a woman who wants to be loved so badly she keeps imagining it happening over and over again. A woman so desperate for affection she’ll eat every sweet lie that’s fed to her.
Now, I’m more confused but no less broken.
I start pacing the wood floors of my apartment while crying, feeling restless and broken. Karma trails me.
I’m desperate to talk to someone, but I don’t want to call Nora when I’m like this. She’s been so helpful, and all I’ve done is complain.
My great-aunt Sky has been my champion for years, but she’s already said she can’t travel to Asheville this winter. I don’t want her to feel pressured to do something she can’t or shouldn’t.
I pull out my phone and tap my chin with it, my heartbreaking a little more with each passing second, and then call the person I feel most guided to.
“Briar,” Dottie says urgently. “I was just thinking about you. Do you need me to come in early?”
“Oh, Dottie,” I say, crying again. “I think I messed everything up.”
“I very much doubt that. But come to the tea shop and have tea with me. There’s nothing a good cup of tea can’t cure. We’ll work through all of this together.”
“I don’t think tea can cure what’s wrong with me,” I say through a sob.
“Maybe not, my dear, but tea and sympathy are the best treatment for any ailment. I’ll be waiting for you.”
I end the call and try to gather myself before leaving.
“Do I look as bad as I feel?” I whisper to Karma, who gives me a very telling meow as he surveys my Silver Star sweatshirt and old yoga pants. He’s always been a tough critic. But I know this is the best I can do right now, so I put on a coat—not Liam’s—and head out the door and drive downtown.
As soon as I open the door to the tea shop, Dottie pops up from her chair and hurries over, pulling me into a warm hug. I press my face into her shoulder, not even caring that one of the sequined stars on her shoulder is digging into my face. It’s all I can do to swallow the sob building in my throat.
I’m so messed up I don’t even know what I’m most upset about—Liam having that app on his phone, or my decision to send him away for it. His explanation made sense, and I do mostly believe him, but doubt is still knifing into me. I hate thinking of other women messaging Liam, wanting him.Datinghim.
A voice in my head whispers,Then how much worse will it be if you have to stand by and watch him parade them through the brewery?
I burrow in closer to Dottie, needing her comfort, which is an anchor in my sea of confusion.
“Oh, it’ll all work out, my dear,” she says, rubbing my back. “I wore this silver star sweater today as a sign of solidarity. In fact, I ordered them for the whole staff. You know, Liam told me all about the woman who wrote that article. I’d already picked out a corrective profile of crystals for her, but I don’t hold out high hopes for a full healing. Some people aren’t willing to change. And your parents…honestly, dear, I have no words. Truly, I do not. But if you’d like, we can try to coax them into accepting some crystals too. I was thinking if you made them into jewelry, then perhaps they wouldn’t realize?—”
I pull back, alarmed. “Dottie, what on earth are you talking about?”
For a moment we just stare at each other, Dottie taking in my red eyes and dishevelment. “My dear girl, if you’re not upset about the article, then what happened to upset you so?”
“What article?” I ask as adrenaline dumps into my veins.
“Oh, goodness. Oh, my. Come, come, my girl.” She leads me to the table where she was sitting. After I’ve basically collapsed into the white chair, she shoves an open copy ofThe Asheville Gazettetoward me.
“At least it’s only on page five. Most people don’t read real newspapers anymore anyway.” She pats my hand as I start reading.
The headline is “Big Trouble at the Little Brewery,” by Melanie Harris. Otherwise known as Melly.
Fuck.
I speed-read it, my pulse racing the whole time.
Melly paints Liam as a thug, and me as a weak link—the unremarkable child of a remarkable father, a woman who’s been brainwashed by a handsome face. She implies that I let Liam talk me into losing the organic status my father fought for. Sheeven quotes Bubba, saying he “can’t believe” I threw away everything they’d built in such record time.
