Falling in Love With My Ex’s Best Read online

  Falling in love with my ex’s best

  The Brides of Christmas Book 2

  Published by Izabella Brooks, 2019

  © Izabella Brooks

  All Rights Reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locations is purely coincidental. The characters are all productions of the author’s imagination.

  Please note that this work is intended only for adults over the age of 18 and all characters represented as 18 or over.

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  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Epilogue

  More Books by Izabella Brooks

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  Cozzie

  When we broke, we broke spectacularly. We were just like fireworks shooting off into a blank night sky, the kind of dark night where there is no moon or stars to guide the way, just the fading effluence of something that was beautiful and is now gone, lost forever, shimmering in that sea of black.

  It’s Christmas. The time for festivities and happiness, for love and family and celebration. For warmth, good wishes, and cheer.

  Apparently, my fiancé didn’t get the memo.

  Although, I should be glad he’s currently scowling at me from across the kitchen, knocking back his second double shot of whisky in the past five minutes.

  At least he’s finally looking at me. Nothing kills a relationship faster than indifference. We don’t fight. Bryn and I have been together since high school. We used to have our arguments, the usual stepped on toes and hurt feelings, the occasional blow out, complete with tears. Not for the past year. Years, if I’m honest. There’s been nothing but cool indifference, like we were both waiting for this exact moment.

  Nothing hurts worse than loving the wrong person at the wrong time.

  “You have to come.” I try one more time, clutching the table’s edge so hard my fingers ache. The ache spreads up my arm and into my chest. I’d say that it went straight to my heart, but that’s been on a slow decline for the past three years. I feel like I’ve been slowly dying for so long, that the only thing left inside of me is just a heap of ash. I’m over the pain already. I just want out.

  Bryn’s handsome brow crinkles into a tight frown. “No.”

  “It’s Christmas. My parents want to see you. Taye will be disappointed. What am I supposed to tell them? That my fiancé just didn’t feel like coming to Christmas Eve dinner so he stayed home?”

  Bryn throws back the rest of his whisky. His throat bobs with the hard swallow.

  I used to find that attractive. I used to find everything Bryn did attractive. Everything he was. When he noticed me, of all people, in high school, I was so shocked that it took me weeks to process what his friends were saying. When he asked me out, I nearly threw up and cried at the same time. I somehow managed to stay calm and tell him, in a shy voice, that I’d be okay with that.

  Bryn is gorgeous. He played football in high school and college. He’s the golden skinned, all-American, California kid. His hair is shaggy, ash hued. He tucks it behind his ears because he knows it annoys me that he won’t go for a haircut. He has the typical homecoming king look too. Square jaw, like a cartoon character drawn overdramatic, hard brow, perfect nose, bow lips, high cheekbones. His parents got the recipe right when they made him. He’s huge. Well over six feet, and just as broad. He has the kind of body that women literally stop to look at, even when I’m walking right beside him, my hand tucked in his. I learned a long time ago not to be jealous. Or maybe it just stopped mattering, like everything else, years ago.

  Bryn’s otherworldly jade green eyes burn through me. “Tell them whatever you want. You’re good at making excuses by now. Tell them that I’m sick. That I’m working. That I have better things to do. Take your pick.”

  Anger burns up my throat like bile. “My parents love you! You can’t do this to them. I know you don’t care what I think, but—”

  Bryn slams his glass down hard on the counter. So hard that it sends a crack straight through the crystal sides, but he doesn’t give it a second glance. His eyes meet mine and they are hard and cold and dead. I’d be surprised, but I can’t remember a time when he looked at me any differently.

  “You’re right, Cozzie. I don’t care what you think. I don’t care about going to this and pretending, once again, that everything is fine. We’ve done this for a year. A year. You’re the one who doesn’t want to face the truth. This is over. It’s been over for so long that neither of us even knows when it truly ended.”

  He’s right. We started dating at sixteen. Thirteen years ago. I was so sure we’d make it. I was so sure that we’d grow old together. I was so sure. Until I wasn’t.

  Our good friends got married last year, at Christmas. Right before their wedding, Bryn told me he loved me, but he wasn’t in love with me anymore. We’ve been putting on a front since then, trying to work it out. Trying to figure out if things could be saved. If both of us might just feel differently, if this was just a funk we were in.

  I know the truth. I’ve known it far longer than Bryn’s confession. We haven’t had sex in over a year, and before that, it was painfully routine and meaningless. Like everything else, we were just doing it because we thought we should.

  “I know when it ended,” I blurt. It’s the last thing I should say, but when I raise my head, that’s what tumbles out. I give him an accusing glare. “You’re drunk. You’re only saying this because you just tossed back half a bottle of whisky and it’s giving you the backbone you actually need to do this.”

  Bryn’s eyes flash. “Do what? Tell you that it’s over? That it’s been over for a long time? To tell you that I want out? That I don’t want to see your family? That I don’t want to see mine? That I don’t want to see our friends? That I don’t want to go through another day pretending we’re happy when it’s all bullshit and we’re so fucking fake that I want to puke just thinking about it?”

  “Yeah.” I try to summon up another wave of anger. A fresh wave that will carry me through. I try so freaking hard, but nothing happens. Nothing. I want to feel rage. I want to feel sorrow. I felt all of that for years. This past year? The only pain I’ve felt is the sting that accompanies the lies that I tell everyone else. Right now, I feel absolutely nothing.

  “Good.” Bryn slaps the counter with his open palm and winces at the sting. At least he’s still human enough to feel that.

  “Yeah? You really want to do this? At Christmas? Call it quits after all these years?” I should just agree, go pack a bag, and get the heck out.

  I would never tell Bryn that I’ve spent the past year fine tuning the finer details of my plans for moving out. I would never say that I already have three different apartments picked out, their details saved in my phone. I would never say that I’ve thought about packing a bag, the things I would take, and starting over ever single day since last Christmas.

  “What does it matter what day it is? If we disappoint everyone, it’s going to be sh
it no matter what.”

  “Which would make a mutual gathering really uncomfortable. Breona and Karsyn just moved back. They’re having a big party.”

  “We’ve been putting on a face for the past year. They likely already know something’s up.”

  “I haven’t said anything to Breona or Arla.”

  “It doesn’t matter. I’m sure they know. They’ve seen us arguing. That’s all we did at Jake and Arla’s wedding. This isn’t going to be a surprise. We can be adults. Put on your big girl panties and go to their party anyway. We’ll tell them together there and accept their condolences on the death of whatever this was.”

  I flinch at his words. I feel like they’re purposely cruel, even though Bryn isn’t a cruel person. He’s gorgeous and he’s one of those men that obviously knows it, but he’s never used it like a weapon. He’s not conceited. He’s not self-centered. He was everything I loved. And I was everything he loved. And somehow we’re still here, crashing and burning.

  “Yeah. Alright. If this is the end, then it’s the end. I don’t think either of us should spend our lives pretending that we mean something to each other when it’s clear that we should have broken up a year ago. We both deserve to be happy. We’re good people. We’re just…not good people together.”

  Bryn grabs the bottle of whisky and since his glass is ruined, unscrews it and hammers back a long gulp straight from the bottle. He’s not a drinker. I know he’s only doing this because he’s self-imploding. Everything is imploding. I’ve been his world and he’s been mine.

  “You been seeing a counselor already?”

  “What? No.”

  “Right.” He swipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “That sounds like something a counsellor would say. Be happy. Get on with it. Look for the sunshine and stop and smell the roses. Like it’s all happy and fine and well.”

  “We’ve thought about this for a year.” I breathe out and in steadily, keeping my voice level. This isn’t worth getting into an argument. I doubt either of us could get there because that would imply we care, and I’m not going to sling arrows and cheap shots with my drunk ex-fiancé. “You said we could be adults. Let’s do that. Starting now. It’s over.”

  I reach for my left hand and pull the ring off that he gave me. I never liked it, though I never would have told him that. It has three big diamonds, two smaller ones and a huge one in the middle. White gold. Nothing like what I really wanted. Maybe that should have been my first clue. I thought no one knew me better than Bryn did. I thought he was the one person on earth who knew everything about me, who held all my secrets and gave me his. I thought he knew, but he still picked out a ring that I hated when he should have known.

  “I’ll tell everyone after you leave. Don’t worry about getting in touch with my family. I’ll save you that.”

  “Thanks,” I retort dryly.

  I stalk over to the counter of our kitchen. No, not our kitchen. Nothing about this house is ours anymore. Bryn bought it right out of college. I moved in. I signed a document in a lawyer’s office saying that when I moved in, I’d never pay rent, and therefore, I would never own any of it. Maybe Bryn was just trying to cover his ass. His parents are divorced. It was messy as hell when it happened. Maybe he always knew we’d never make it. I moved in four years ago. I’d like to think we weren’t already dying then.

  “No problem. I’m going to stay at a hotel tonight.”

  “It’s Christmas Eve!”

  “I’m going to a hotel,” Bryn repeats, toneless, like I didn’t hear him the first time. “I won’t be here tomorrow, since I’m going to my mom’s at six.”

  “Yeah, I know. I know, because we were supposed to go.”

  Bryn blinks. His hand curls around the bottle of whisky. “Just have your stuff out before I’m back tomorrow.”

  “On Christmas?” I gape at him. What happened to being adults about this?

  “Yeah. On Christmas. You don’t need movers. All you have are your clothes and ornaments and stuff.”

  “Right.” I shake my head slowly, my curls bouncing against my cheeks.

  I feel like a dismembered inanimate object, floating up, looking down at the shattered remnants of what I called my life. Change hurts. I might not feel anything for Bryn anymore, but I’m about to disappoint a whole lot of people who I do feel something for and that hurts. That hurts a lot.

  “Right?”

  “Thanks for the reminder.” I set the ring down on the table we’ve had so many meals at. With each other. With friends. With family. I imagined our children eating around that table. It’s an old farmhouse find with a roughed up wood top and solid legs painted their original red that I was surprised Bryn bought from Arla on one of her many antique picks.

  Bryn stares at me, holding that bottle in a death grip, like it could save him from the awkwardness of this moment.

  I leave the ring as I step lightly out of the kitchen. I won’t pack a bag tonight. Not now. I just need to get the heck out. I’ll go to my sister’s. We aren’t supposed to be at my parents’ for another few hours. She’s around the same size as me. I’ll stay at my parents’, but she can lend me a couple things to wear. And help me break the news about this to Mom and Dad tonight.

  “What reminder?” Bryn calls after me, his words slightly slurred.

  “That I don’t own anything here. That this isn’t my home. That it never really was.” Thank you for the reminder that I no longer own a piece of your heart. Did I ever? Or were you always just a really good actor?

  I slip into my coat and shoes at the door, grab my purse and car keys, and call over my shoulder, “Make sure you take a cab to wherever you’re going. You’re too drunk to drive.”

  Because I actually still care about Bryn as a person, I grab his keys off the peg and tuck them into my purse. Both sets.

  Chapter 2

  Trell

  “I did it. I really did it. It’s over, man.”

  I stare back at Bryn like he’s lost his mind. Maybe he has. I don’t think this came out of nowhere. I don’t think any of our friends are going to be really blindsided by the news. I know that I’m the first person Bryn’s told. I got his text almost an hour ago. It was so fucked up that I knew the guy was tanked. He never gets tanked. Ever.

  Broke up with Cozzie. Come get my ass.

  That’s all it said. Cryptic. Real classy.

  I get to the house, expecting to find a disaster. I don’t know what I was honestly bracing myself for. Broken dishes? Artwork torn off the wall? Holes punched into the place? The table turned over? Cozzie’s closet emptied out all over the place? No. That’s not her and Bryn. They’re booth too level headed for that. It’s part of the reason they matched so well.

  Bryn and I have been friends since we were in diapers. We went to the same daycare, same elementary school, same high school. He knows me better than anyone. Which is why I’m here at his place, scraping hiss ass off the floor of his bedroom after he consumed what was likely half a bottle of whisky, since I found that on the kitchen counter two seconds after arriving.

  The first thing I saw was Cozzie’s engagement ring. Sitting on the kitchen table.

  The second was the whisky.

  The third was Bryn’s phone, floating in the bathroom toilet, which would explain why he didn’t respond to any of the texts I sent him after his came through.

  The fourth was Bryn, sprawled out on the bedroom floor right by the bed, staring up at the ceiling. The guy doesn’t drink anything more than a few beers here and there, so I’m sure all that whisky is sitting somewhere between fucked up and not right.

  I literally have to peel Bryn off the bedroom floor, and he’s not light. The fucker is built like he still plays football, despite not playing in at least five years. He’s far over six feet, broad as fuck, built like a tank.

  “What the hell are you doing on the floor?” I grind out to cover up the fact that even though I work out every other day to keep in shape since I also don’t play foo
tball anymore, I’m struggling with the massive amount of deadweight he gave me to work with.

  “Tried to make the bed,” he slurs. “Didn’t. Didn’t feel like getting up. Carpet broke my fall. It’s not too hard. The ceiling is actually kind of nice.”

  It all blends into one string of words that I can barely decipher. Right. Damage control. That’s what I’m here for. Except that I think the damage has already been done.

  I don’t want to concentrate on how that makes me feel at the moment. Cozzie is my friend and I’m worried about her too. She’s probably with her family or one of her friends, likely Bree or Arla, so I’m sure she’s fine. Bryn though? Even if this was coming, which I didn’t actually truly think would ever happen, he’s the one a person should be worried about. Although, after a month of self-destructing and moping around, he’ll probably be fine. That’s just Bryn. Cozzie though…she’s way more sensitive than he is. She’s a gorgeous woman, and she has a gorgeous heart. Just like her sister, her mom, and her dad. It’s like their whole family was pretty much carved out of some kind of element that the rest of the world needs to find.

  I finally get Bryn off the floor and take him down the hall, none too gently either, half dragging him, only to basically throw him down on the living room’s leather couch.

  Okay, I might be a little pissed the fuck off at the moment.

  I know this wasn’t Cozzie. She never would have done something like this on Christmas Eve, even if she felt like it. She would have waited. Waited until she had the capacity to put the pieces back together for everyone. She never would have wanted to interrupt everyone’s holidays with her own problems.

  This one is all on Bryn. At least the timing. Not the rest. I know it takes two to tango, and it’s been obvious to the rest of us that things might not be right where Cozzie and Bryn were concerned.

  “What the hell?” Bryn yelps when I dump his sorry ass on the couch.

  I don’t answer. Instead, I stalk to the kitchen, which is right around the corner, and pour the bastard a glass of water. I can’t admit to myself why I’m so fucking angry right now I could punch a hole in the wall. That would be admitting to shit best left buried. Shit that should never, ever see the light of day.