"Mhm..." Trace hums skeptically.
I can hear the hum of a bar in the background. ProbablyWoody's knowing Trace. It's a bar and grille that Wendy and I used to go for date nights.God, I miss those nights."Seriously, man, how are you doing?"
I sigh. "Talk me off the ledge because I feel like the worst goddamn father and husband on earth."
"That's a pretty broad statement..."
"I talked to the boys."
"Yeah?" He asks, his voice light. "How'd that go?"
"It was good. I think..."
"So... why are you the worst husband and father?"
"Because this has also made me realize I haven't been pulling my weight like I should have," I admit, my voice dropping. "Even before... this."
Trace doesn't know everything, but he does know I had some kind of mental break and needed to go away to fix it.
My best friend is the type of person who won't pry into details; he'll wait for you to come to him. That's probably why I felt comfortable enough to work those jobs on the weekend with him.
He's a contractor by trade, having inherited his business from his late father. Ever since Liam was younger, I worked with him on the weekends every once in a while to make some extra money.
Then after the incident with Silas and my mental health eroded, it was just the perfect excuse to not be around my house on the weekends.
That caused me to shirk all of my parental responsibility onto my wife while I drowned in my own thoughts.
What a mess I've made.
"Yeah, I—oh, shit..."
My heart jumps. "What?"
"Huh..." he says, "Your wife is here."
"What?"
"Yeah, Wendy just walked in the door with Taylor and some blonde—damn, she's hot as fuck," Trace says, his voice a little hazy.
His words make my entire body tense, my heart slamming in my chest. I have never been pissed off at Trace; he's too fucking even-tempered to even get annoyed at, but I feel it spiking inside of me.
"Trace, if you're checking out my wife, so help me—I will rip your fucking head off—"
Trace cuts in quickly, "No, not your wife—I mean, yes Wendy looks...reallyfucking good right now—"
"Trace..." My growl stops his words dead, and he laughs.
"Relax, man, I'm talking about this blonde with Wendy... goddamn, she's got the nicest ass I've ever seen."
I sigh in relief that I don't have to murder my best friend for checking out my wife.
Then I huff a laugh because it really is just confirmation that I can't comprehend someone not checking out my Wendy.
But other men might...
"Are you at Woody's?"
Trace scoffs, "Where else would I be?"
