The Day to Remember (12 page)

“What?” Brandon’s grip on me loosened as he took in my words. “Why are you telling me this?
Please, Emma. I don’t understand.”

My body shook—
from the pain, from the grief over my mother, from the hatred over my father, and from the loss of Brandon. I knew there was no turning back now. I had to tell him everything.

“Can we please go back inside to talk about this
?”

I shook my head. “I need to tell you now before I change my mind.”

“Okay.” His worried eyes examined me as he guided me towards an awning in front of a closed shop. “Let’s get out of the rain at least.”

“
She was 19. He was a friend in college. My mom said that she was at a party of his and she had too much to drink. She had passed out at some point, and he raped her when she was unconscious. She never reported it because he said he would deny it. He threatened her. He said it would be a he-said-she-said, and he would smear her name and reputation in town if she said anything. Because he came from a prominent family in town, she knew he had the power to destroy her life and get away with it. I also think that she was ashamed to tell people—like somehow, it was her fault. Anyway, a few months later, my mom found out that she was pregnant.”

I paused and looked at Brandon. He was silent as he listened. Then I saw the look of understanding flash in his eyes.

“She kept the baby,” he whispered.

I nodded as I avoided his gaze.

“And that baby was you.”

“Yes,” I said somberly.
This was the first time I’ve ever told anyone about my past—about the deep secret I was ashamed of. “I was the product of a rape,” I whispered.

Brandon looked stunned and unable to speak. I could tell he wasn’t sure how to react or what to say. I reached for his hands and held them, and he reacted by pulling me into his arms and held me protectively.

“I’m so sorry, Emma.”

I felt fresh
, hot tears roll down my cheeks as I buried myself his hard chest. He felt warm and safe, and I felt the pang of losing him to Desiree—to the child.

I pulled away to look up at him.
Although the shame of my past twisted inside me, a part of me felt a sense of freedom that my secret was out, and that it was Brandon who I told. He gave me a reassuring smile.

“My mom told the guy
about being pregnant. He had promised to support us and to be there for me. But by the time I was born, he was in a serious relationship with another woman. He skipped town and denied being my father. My mom was devastated. Not because she love my father, but because she knew that she would need help raising me. And during most of her pregnancy, my father had promised her that money would not be an issue. So she was not prepared financially when I was born. She had to drop out of college to work two jobs to provide for us.”

I looked at Brandon. There was no pity on his face, just unadulterated concern and sadness, and I felt my feelings for this man deepen.

“I’ve never met my father,” I continued. “I don’t even know his name or what he looks like. I took my mom’s maiden name. My mom didn’t tell me what happened until I was 13. All my life before that point, I loved a father that I thought had passed away before I was born. When I found out the truth, I
hated
him. I hated him for abandoning my mom and me, I hated him for breaking his promise to support us. I told myself I would never allow someone to do that to another child if I had the power to prevent it.” My voice shook as I told my story, and I wiped the tears from my eyes.

I saw the understanding in Brandon’s eyes. “I see. So
… you’re ending our relationship because you don’t want to interfere with the relationship I will have with my child?”

I nodded. “I don’t expect you to completely understand my reasoning, but I know what it’s like to have a father
that didn’t love you enough to stay in your life. A father who abandoned you and never looked back. It is devastating. I can’t do that to an innocent child.”

“But … Emma, you
know
me. I wouldn’t do that. I wouldn’t abandon a child like that. I’ll take responsibility for the child. But that doesn’t mean I have to be with Des. I want to be with you.”

I sighed.
I know what he said made complete sense, but this was something I felt strongly about. “I just can’t, Brandon. I swore to myself I would never be the other woman. The woman my father left me for. Yet, here I am. I am
that
woman. I just can’t do that. I can’t be the other woman.”

“Emma,
I’m
so
sorry for fucking things up and making such a mess out of everything. I’m sorry for lying about it initially. But I think we can still work through this. I know it’s a lot to take in right now. I think you just need some time to think about things. Please just don’t give up on us. Please.”

I looked into him pleading eyes and my heart broke. I knew I couldn’t be with him. I would
be becoming the person I hate for so long—the other woman who took my father away from me. I could not do that to an innocent child. I knew it was irrational to think this way, but I thought this way nonetheless.

“I’m sorry, Brandon. I just can’t. I need to go now.”
Sadness overwhelmed me at the thought of letting him go, but I knew that the longer I stayed with him, the harder it would be.

“Emma,” he held onto me, his grip firm and unwavering. “I love you. Please know that I have made a lot of mistakes with us, but telling you that I love you was not one of them. Please hold on to that. Just think about it.”

I nodded. I didn’t mean it, but I couldn’t see him hurt anymore. I saw a cab approaching and I raised my arm to hail it down.

“Goodbye, Brandon.” I gave him one last hug, holding
in all my feelings inside.

“Emma … please think about it,
” he whispered in my ear.

I got into
the cab without saying another word. I waved a goodbye to him as the car pulled away. He stood there, looking at me in shock.

When he was
finally out of sight, I sobbed. I sobbed for everything I just lost. I sobbed for everything I will never have.

***

By the time the cab dropped me off at my place, I was drenched and cold. My body felt numb. My emotions were all over the place, and I was not myself. The initial anger I had felt when Brandon told me about everything he was hiding had returned.

How could he
have had sex with Des? Was he lying to me now when he says he has no feelings for her? Could you really stop loving someone after loving them for eight years? After they were there for you? After they pulled you out of the depths of a tragedy? Could you not love someone who is the mother of your child?

I felt my thoughts spinning out of control. I shook my head violently, trying to stop the thoughts from circling in my mind. “Does it even matter? I can never be with him. Does it even fucking matter?” I
cried out loud. I was filled with rage at this point. I was angry at Brandon, angry at Des, and angry at my father.

In frustration,
I threw my purse across the room; it hit against the edge of the coffee table and the contents spewed out onto the floor.

Of the contents, a thin piece of paper caught my attention—the thin paper coaster with Damian’s number on it.

Without thinking, I ran over and picked up the coaster. I didn’t know why, but at this moment, I felt reckless. I felt irrational. A part of me wanted to hurt Brandon the way he had hurt me. The other part of me just wanted all the pain to go away, no matter the consequences. All signed pointed to Damian.

I dialed the number and Damian picked up after the third ring.

“Hello?” came a husky voice.

“Hi.
Is this Damian?”

“The one and only. Who’s this?”

“It’s Emma. I was at your bar on Saturday night. You gave me your number.”

“
Oh yeah, I remember you. The hot blonde with the boyfriend issue.”

“There’s no boyfriend
,” I said flatly.

“
Oh,” there was a pause. “Sorry. So why are you calling?”

“I can’t be alone right now.
I was wondering—Can I come over now? I need a distraction,” I heard myself blurt out.

“Sounds like you’ve had a rough day. Sure, come over.”

I scribbled down his address. Then I took a quick shower, threw on a nice top and jeans, and applied some makeup to mask the puffiness that was developing around my eyes. I knew that this wasn’t like me. The normal Emma wouldn’t call some random guy and go over to his place in the middle of the night. But tonight, I didn’t care. The last thing I wanted to be, was me.

I looked at myself in the mirror, and felt a pang of guilt.
“You
need
to let him go. You
need
a distraction right now. You
need
someone to help ease this pain,” I tried to reassure myself.

***

Fifteen minutes later, I found myself standing at the front door of Damian’s place in the Mission District. My heart was pounding and I was nervous. My heartache was temporarily replaced with a thrill I never felt before.

The door opened, and there stood Damian—shirtless,
and flashing me his signature, wicked smile. My eyes immediately focused on the elaborate dragon tattoo across his chest.

“Hey gorgeous.” He pulled me into him—pressing me against his hard, bronze chest—
and gave me a kiss on the cheek.

“Hi,” I said breathlessly.
I need this distraction
, I reminded myself.

“So what’s up? Want
a drink?” he said as he headed to the kitchen.

“God, yes,” I said.

“What’s your poison?”

“Whatever’s strong
enough to numb out the pain,” I blurted out.

He laughed. “That bad, eh?”

I knew coming here wasn’t a good idea, but tonight, I didn’t care. I spent my entire life playing it safe, waiting for
the one
to give my all to, and where did that get me? Nowhere. All I got in return was a lot of heartache.

“
Here you go,” he said handing me shot.

“What is it?” I asked as he held out his own shot.

“It’s my version of an I.V.—Italian Valium. It’s got Amaretto and Bacardi 151 instead of the normal Amaretto and gin mix,” he explained.

“Oh.”

“You said you wanted it strong,” he said with a smirk. “That will get you where you want to go—a place without pain.”

“Thanks.” I raised my shot glass towards his, “To
bad choices,” I said.

He laughed. “I’ll drink to that.”

I downed my shot and winced as the alcohol burned its way down my throat. “Can you make me another one?” I said as I put down my shot glass.

Damian
looked at me in amusement, “You’re not one to take things slow, are you?”

“Not tonight,” I challen
ged, feeling the liquor courage course through my veins.

Dam
ian made us another round of I.V. shots.

“To a numbing existence,” I said as I downed the second shot, which went down a little easier than the first.

“Another,” I demanded.

“Here, I’ll make you a mix drink, and we can just hang.”

What are you doing here?
a tiny voice said inside my head. “Um. No. Thanks, Damian. I shouldn’t be here. I should get going.”

“Oh? Do you have somewhere to go?”
he asked, giving me a sidelong glance.

His question was
like salt on a fresh wound. “No … no, actually. I don’t,” I said defiantly.

“So stay.” He gave me a look that both excited and scared me.
You’re playing with fire
, the tiny voice warned me.
I didn’t have to know this man long to know that he was reckless, wild, and carefree. Normally, he would be the type of guy I would stay far away from. He was trouble.

But at this moment, that was exactly what I wanted—what I needed.

“Okay, I’ll stay.”

“So, tough day?” he asked as he fixed me a mixed drink.

“You can say that. I don’t really want to talk about it though.” I walked over to his couch. I was starting to feel the effects of the alcohol and needed to sit down.

“Here you go.” Damian handed me my drink and sat down next to me on the couch. I felt his shorts rub against my thigh and felt a
spark of excitement at the contact.

He turned his body towards me and looked at me. My eyes darted between his intense, blue eyes and his hard muscular chest.
I flushed when I saw him catching me admiring his body.

“Blushing is a sign
of a good girl,” Damian teased.

“No, I’m not blushing,” I said defensively. “It’s
just the alcohol.”