Chapter 27: Chapter 27

Despite her promise to Hank, Bree couldn’t stomach attending the breakfast Monica had organized Thursday morning. Instead, she was back on the beach. She had a lot to think about. Tomorrow night was the rehearsal, and then on Saturday, at 2:00, Trent would be a married man--unless Bree could figure out a way to speak the truth about how she felt about him in a way that made him realize he would rather be with her than Monica.

He still had feelings for her. Not only could Bree see it in his eyes, she could see it in Monica’s. If Trent didn’t like her at all, what was Monica so afraid of? When the bride had seen the two of them chatting the night before, she’d flown over there and insisted he come back inside. Bree had felt so sorry for him, watching him sit there, pretending to care about what Monica and her friends were talking about. It was like he was already strapped to the old ball and chain.

And he hadn’t ever even asked her to marry him. Why would she do that? Was she so desperate to sink her hooks into him that she couldn’t just give him the time he needed to know for sure that he wanted to propose to her? It was all so… odd, to say the least.

She’d been sitting there in the shade of the large rocks for a couple of hours when she saw Hank walking toward her. He was wearing his swim trunks, and she could tell by the way he was walking he wasn’t particularly happy with her, though he didn’t look completely pissed either.

He dropped down beside her on the sand, arms resting on his knees, staring out at the ocean. Eventually, she felt the urge to say, “I’m sorry. I just… couldn’t.”

“I get it,” he said. “You should’ve sent me a text, though.”

“You’re right. I should have. How was it?”

“Okay. They all went to some go-kart place. I told them I was too big for that, meaning tall, and wide, and they let me out of it.”

“Good.” She rubbed him on the shoulder. “Hank, what’s going on? What is it that makes you not want to be around them?”

He shrugged. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“I understand.” She didn’t want to press him, as much as she wanted to know the answer to her question. “Did you know that Trent never asked Monica to marry him?”

The nod came so quickly, she was surprised. “I know.”

“Trent told you?”

“No, Mon did. She said she didn’t think he’d ever get around to asking. She had to take matters into her own hands.”

There was something familiar about the way he said that nickname--Mon--but Bree couldn’t quite place it. “I didn’t realize the two of you were that close.”

Again, his answer began with a shrug. “Did Trent tell you?”

“Yeah, last night. Right before she ordered him back inside.”

He snickered. “You’re a threat, Bree. She sees that.”

“A threat? A real threat? You can’t mean that. She can’t honestly think that he would call this all off to be with me.”

“I don’t think she would expect him to do that, but that doesn’t mean that she doesn’t think about what it would be like to be married to a man who is meant to be married to someone else.”

The use of her song title didn’t escape her. “Hank, that’s not how it is.”

“She doesn’t know that.” He looked at her for the first time. “Neither does Trent. Bree, I think you’re here for a reason. I think you’re here because your song is right. Are you going to sit on your hands and let this happen, or are you going to do something about it?”

“You can’t be serious, Hank!” She felt frustration boiling up inside of her. “Are you implying you think I should actually try to get Trent to call off the wedding? He’s your best friend. Don’t you want to see him happy?”

“Yeah, I do want to see him happy. Thus, my point in saying I think you should say something before it’s too late. He might be happy with her, but he won’t be nearly as happy with her as he would be with you.” With that, Hank got up off of the beach and headed out to the surf.

Bree watched him go, her mouth agape, trying to justify why he was wrong, but if there was even the faintest chance Hank was right, then, didn’t Bree have to do something?

Thursday evening was the lobster boil on the beach. Normally, Bree would be excited to attend, but under the circumstances, she didn’t want to go. Sure, it might be fun to eat lobster and corn on the cob, amongst other things, beneath the moon and stars and listen to the waves lap against the shore. But Hank’s words had played over and over again in her mind all day, so by the time she was supposed to be heading to the beach, she was sitting on the couch in her room instead, staring out the window at the descending sun, wondering what she should do.

Her phone rang, and she glanced down to see it was Lilly. She was probably calling from the beach, asking where she was. Not that it was like Lilly to notice when she wasn’t around that week, but in fairness, she had been unbelievably busy trying to make sure Monica had everything she needed.

“Hello?”

“Hey. Have you left your room yet?”

“Not yet,” she admitted, looking around as if she wasn’t sure if that were true or not. “What’s up?”

“I was just thinking, maybe you could bring your guitar. It might be nice to sit around the fire and sing some songs.”

“Oh.” Bree wasn’t sure what to say to that. It hadn’t crossed her mind that anyone would want her to do that. “I guess I can.” She’d brought her favorite guitar, the one her grandmother had given her when she was younger. She hoped nothing happened to it. Thoughts of getting sand in it, or someone stepping on it, or Monica losing her shit and throwing it into the fire all made her shake.

“Awesome. You should come on out. The boil’s on, and a lot of the guys are playing football. Dwayne’s asking about you.”

She made that last comment in a sing-song voice, and Bree felt herself blushing. Dwayne was hot, and he’d been paying a lot of attention to her since the volleyball game, but she wasn’t really interested in him. If she messed around with Dwayne it would only be because she couldn’t have Trent, and that wasn’t fair to anyone. That didn’t make her cheeks any less red.

“I’ll be there soon.” They hung up, and Bree decided it was time to get herself up off of the couch.

Taking her guitar case from the closet, she headed out, hoping everything went better tonight than it had at any of their other recent get togethers.

She followed the sound of laughter down the beach, not certain she was headed in the right direction until she saw Monica’s statuesque form outlined against the fading sun. There were lots of groups of people partying on the beach, but Monica stood out for certain, even amongst her gorgeous friends. It was no wonder Trent had decided to go ahead and marry her. Who wouldn’t want to marry a woman who looked like that?

The voice in the back of her head whispered, “Trent wouldn’t. She’s shallow. And mean. And nasty. And she’s not you.” But that was just hope speaking, and it’s voice was a whisper because it was about to fade away forever.

Hank spotted her first, and she saw the look of relief wash across his face as she arrived. Staff from the resort was working on the food. Plenty of tables were set up, and a few guests were sitting at them drinking while others were playing catch with the football or sitting on blankets in the sand, drinks in their hands. She saw Trent, going long for a pass thrown by Dwayne, and tried not to stare at him.

God, he was a magnificent specimen of a man. So perfectly sculpted, so handsome, so… nice. Could he actually marry Monica and be happy? She didn’t think so. Maybe she would be doing him a favor by convincing him to break up with her--if she could even do that.

Sitting by the small fire, sipping a beer, Hank looked morose. She still hadn’t quite figured out why he was so upset about this entire situation. His posture reminded her of that night at Christy’s party when he’d been upset that that girl wouldn’t date him. What was her name?

He looked up at her then, and she pictured what he’d said about her, how upset he’d been that she wouldn’t do anything but sleep with him. And then it hit her. Like a monsoon wave crashing into her stomach, Bree almost dropped her guitar as she thought back years into their past. Could it really be? Had he been talking about who she now thought he’d been talking about? It had to be her! He’d been upset about a beautiful woman who was ashamed of him--a beautiful woman he called Mon.