Did I mention his fiancée is also a psychologist?
I shoot up on the couch. "Stop trying to fix me, Jax! Fuck!" I rise and storm off to my bedroom, slamming the door behind me, indicating that the conversation is over. This is invariably a battle between us. Him trying tofixhis broken baby brother, and me not giving a flying fuck. I don’t have it in me to argue with Jax. I never did.
I hear his footsteps approaching the door, and I know he won't enter. He just stands there, heaves a breath loud enough for me to hear, and walks away. I listen to the front door open and slam shut.
People have wanted to fix Kace Briggs for as long as I can remember. None of them have ever succeeded, because I’m irreparable.
Chapter 2
Kenzie
Ijust did a five-mile run, and I'm pumped when I step into my house and find my boyfriend, Will, casually lounging on the couch. There are few rules, few rules I impose, and he cannot even stick to one of them. This is my house for god's sake. He can at least respect me by letting me know when he's coming over. He cut a key without my consent and has been using it. Yes, he's my boyfriend. Yeah, we've been together long enough, but this is my space, and he needs to accept that.
"Will," I pant as I step in front of the TV. My muscles ache, and all I want to do is step into the shower. "You never told me you were coming over. You used your key again."
His eyes wander over my yoga wear. “Come on, babe, can we not do this again? I’m going to miss the scoring.”
He doesn’t watch soccer like most guys I used to date did. He watchesStrictly Come DancingandThe Voicewith me instead. It was one of the things I liked about him. In the beginning, before he started being himself. Controlling and downright overbearing.
"Just forget it!" I walk into the bathroom and turn on the shower, undressing in haste, feeling utterly frustrated and fed up. How long will I be able to keep up this farce? We've been dating a year, but for most of it, I've resented him. I dislike the way he's so flaunty. I hate that he still introduces me as hisfriendat those boring work functions he takes me to and that he criticizes every single thing about me, from my unconventional hair to my dress style. If I thought my ex, Lucas, was terrible, this one is a hundred times worse.
These are things that I love about me. I'm finally able to live my life the way I want, and here he is trying to change me. I have a mother for that. One who thinks the sun shines out of Will's ass.
I step under the spray, kneading my shoulders. Today is the day. I will break up with him and get this over with. There’s no need to drag it out any longer. I am not happy; I can’t pretend otherwise.
“So, have you told him?”Mac asks the moment I answer the phone. I peep down the passage and shut my door to have privacy.
“Not yet,” I whisper.
“Why’re you whispering?” my sister mock-whispers.
“Because he’s in the next room, dimwit.”
My parents were funny back then, before the fighting over finances and eventual divorce. They figured naming us Mac and Kenzie would be a hoot. It never was. I did get the better end, I have to admit that. The ass end, as Mac continually reminds me.
In my parent's defense, they did their best when it came to Mac and me and got along so much better once they were living in different houses. We never felt the impact of the divorce because of it.
“Just do it already!”
"It's not that simple. I do care for Will, you know."
She sighs into the phone. “You exhaust me. Just call me when it’s done so we can go out and celebrate.”
"Fine," I grumble and end the call. Mac is so pushy you'd swearshewas dating Will.
A week later,I still haven’t told Will I want to break up. We sit at a small cafe close to my shop in Regents Park, and I sip on my kelp juice while he drinks wine.
I clear my throat. “We should talk.” He looks up from his newspaper, his blue eyes fixed on me. He sets the paper aside with the kind of precision I find almost maddening.
"Yeah, sure. What's up?" He reaches across the table and places a hand on mine, which is slightly trembling. This is not how I planned to tell him.
“I—” A crash of crockery and cutlery cuts through the otherwise serene atmosphere in the cafe. I look back at Will.
“You were saying?”
"I was saying—" I'm cut off this time by shouting in the back of the restaurant. I turn around and locate the source of the racket. Two men are arguing. One of them must be a waiter. A shorter, stockier man waves his arms around animatedly, clearly unhappy with whatever the taller, leaner of the two has done.
The tall man's shoulders are tense as he responds. I can barely hear what they're saying, but it looks heated. I shake my head, turning back to Will who's now reading his paper.
