He's the one thing I didn't screw up. The only thing I ever got right.
Everything else? The lies, the fallout, the mess I made for her family. I regret all of that, every damn day. I wear it like a second skin; it eats away at me. Now, though, I’m stuck paying for it,chained to a woman who cares more about status than people, living the nightmare that is the consequences of my choices.
Rose is a pretentious, venom-tongued nightmare.
God help me later tonight when I break the news.
I step out of my car, lock it, and instantly hear the unmistakable sound of my brother absolutely screaming Shania Twain as if his life depended on it. He’s half-buried under a car bonnet, legs sticking out, voice echoing off the walls as he sings “Man I Feel Like a Woman " by Shania Twain.
I bark out a laugh.
He startles, smashing his head on the metal with a loud clang.
“Jesus—fuck—Ow—”
He scrambles out, rubbing the top of his head, glaring at me like I’m the one who bumped his head.
I grin. “Didn't realise you were a woman. Actually… no, that tracks. I should have figured it out years ago when you used to run around in mum's heels and that lace bra, calling yourself Penelope.”
His mouth drops open. "You promised you'd never mention that again."
I shrug. “And you promised never to touch my stash of chocolate again.” I eye my bag of favourites that are open on my desk. “And yet, you have. Life's full of disappointments.”
He points at me with a wrench. “You're an asshole.”
I've been called worse. But so has he.
“I won't disagree,” I say with a shrug. “And you're still an annoying little fuck.”
Ezra glares half-heartedly, rubbing the spot he hit on the bonnet, then laughs and pulls me into a quick hug, thumping my back.
He steps away with a stupid grin. “So, how was the holiday with Cruella de Vil?”
I tap the bonnet. “Let's just say I’m glad to be back and far away from her.”
He wipes his hands on a rag that's definitely making them worse. “That bad?”
“Worse,” I grimace. “I spent most of the trip finding excuses to stay out of the hotel and nearly got adopted by a Spanish family.”
He lifts a brow. “You do remember the point of a relationship-repair holiday is actually spending time with your wife?”
Oh, I remembered. I also remembered trying to move the dates so we could be there for Willow after her dad died, but Rose threw a tantrum loud enough that the neighbours probably heard her and I had a headache for days.
“Well, reconnecting became a non-option when I walked into our room and found her getting fucked at both ends.”
Ezra chokes on thin air. “I—what?”
“Yep.” By two hairy slimeballs who barely noticed me standing in the doorway. Rose sounded like she was in a bad porno—high-pitched, dramatic, clearly all for show.
As if I wouldn't recognise the sound of a real orgasm. Jesus… I was married to her long enough to know she's never had a fake one.
“Jesus Christ, Elijah.”
I quickly look at my watch. “Only pissed me off because I had to pay for another room to stay in.” There was no way I was sleeping in that bed with her and paying for a new room for her to stay in.
“Well, what now?” He asks, tossing the oily rag onto the workbench.
“I've got the papers ready. I gave her a chance, and she blew it. So, divorce it is.”
