Page 2 of Loving You

Movement caught his eye, and for a brief second, he saw his ex’s face in the window. It would be the first time seeing him since the night before Bronx had taken Lucas out of town for his goalball match. It was odd to think of that afternoon, walking into the house thinking nothing had changed and, within minutes, realizing his entire world had turned upside down. He’d been with Jules for so long he hadn’t considered a life without him. He had no idea how to start over.

He was pretty sure Jules hadn’t thought about him or Luke at all, and a small part of Bronx wanted to ask himhow he did it. How did he just slough off a giant chunk of his life like it meant nothing? How did he go about his day like the past twenty-five years had meant nothing at all?

But Bronx had to remind himself that Jules had always lived with one foot in and one foot out of the marriage. He’d never bothered trying to be a dad, even though he’d taken that title the day Lucas was born. It was obviously easier for him because Jules had never let himself belong to either of them. He was able to step fully into his life of travel and parties like it was nothing.

Hell, he’d been having so much fun the week he left he had the nerve to sound annoyed when he finally picked up Lucas’s phone call. That had been a shitshow in itself. Lucas was angry more than sad. Bronx watched him shake as he listened to Jules on the other end. And it was those words that made Bronx want to set the man on fire. It was those words that told him once and for all that Jules was unworthy of calling himself a parent.

“How can you just leave? Why didn’t you bother saying goodbye?”

“Because there was no point. I’m not trying to be cruel, Luke. But the truth is, I was never really your dad. Our DNA isn’t stronger than, say, an uncle to a nephew. Your pop and you have a stronger connection. It’s better this way. Trust me.”

Luke had let the phone fall to the floor, and he locked himself in his room except to eat and use the bathroom for three days.

Bronx tried to call Jules back after that, but his ex refused to pick up. And the rest was history, through lawyers and mediation that Jules refused to be present for.

And now they were here.

“I should go. The sooner I get this over with, the sooner I can come back and wallow.”

“I’ll have a comfort feast waiting,” Dallas promised. “See you soon, yeah?”

Not soon enough, but yes, he would get back to his new makeshift family. And that was something. He hung up, then braced himself as he got out of the car and made his way to the door. Jules had left it cracked open, so Bronx pushed inside and listened to the echo around the empty rooms.

He’d sold most of his furniture after Dallas told him he and Lucas could move in with him, and Jules had signed the agreement that Bronx would keep all the money from all assets sold apart from the house. Jules’s lawyer presented the offer of twenty percent of the house sale, plus relinquishing custody so long as Bronx promised not to drag it out or ask for alimony.

Bronx would have laughed in his face if Jules bothered to show up to the mediation, but he took the deal. It wasn’t going to get better than that, and it wasn’t like Bronx was going to go after him for alimony in the first place. But it felt almost like trading his son for everything Jules had wanted, and he didn’t feel better about it until Lucas told him right to his face that the last person he ever wanted to be around again was Jules. So he agreed, even though it left a hollow pit in his stomach, because Lucas deserved better. They both did.

The emptiness he felt that day in court was reflected now as he made his way across the wood tile floors to the kitchen, where he could hear Jules puttering around.

On his way, he stared at the walls—mostly clean with a few scuff marks from Lucas’s shoes because he always dragged his left foot along the wall when he walked. Therewas also a height chart in the pantry doorway that he hadn’t been able to bring himself to paint over, but he knew the new owners would. Maybe they’d take a photo first. Maybe they’d think it was cute.

Or maybe they wouldn’t give a shit.

It was weird walking away from something that had been such a massive part of his life. But it was weirder knowing that his ex of twenty-five years felt nothing.

“You could have left some wine here,” Jules complained, his face in the mounted wine cooler. He turned and offered Bronx the sort of smirk that had once left him weak in the knees. Now, all he saw was a pathetic excuse for a man and an even worse father.

“You can get your own wine,” Bronx said flatly. “I don’t drink.”

“Yeah. You quit being fun years ago. But you could try to live it up for the few days of freedom you have.”

“This isn’t freedom for me,” Bronx answered without a hint of care. He was doing what his therapist said—he was grey rocking. Pulling all emotion out of his voice, refusing to rise to the bait. He wasn’t convinced Jules was a narcissist. He was probably just a spoiled little asshole who never bothered to grow up. But the technique worked because Jules had been poking at him for the last week, and Bronx could sense his irritation rising the longer he went without a reaction.

Rolling his eyes, Jules gestured to the counter where a handful of old silverware sat. It had been a wedding gift from Jules’s grandmother—a family heirloom. “You don’t want those?”

“Your grandmother’s silver?” Bronx asked. “That’s all yours.”

Jules used the tip of his pinky nail to pick at his teeth. “I’m staying on a yacht right now. I have no place for it.”

Bronx shrugged. “Get a storage unit. I’m not keeping your stuff for you.”

“Apartment too small?” Jules smiled again, and Bronx fought the urge to punch him in his perfectly placed veneers. But Jules was doing what he did best: he was getting under his skin. He’d been furious when Bronx had his address redacted from the divorce papers, and he’d been trying to get him to admit where they were staying. “I saw the sign on your door office too. Your name was removed. Did you go postal?”

Bronx ignored him, turning and walking away. He headed down the hall toward the basement door, where he knew the few things he wanted were waiting for him. He could hear Jules follow him, and he knew it was going to be like this for the rest of the afternoon. He needed to get this over with. Nothing was worth dragging this out.

He turned the knob and was met with musty, hot air. It had always smelled a little like old stone—mossy and wet, though they’d never had a mold issue which was the one saving grace when they were selling the place. He turned on the switch, and the low bulbs illuminated the mostly empty room, keeping him from eating shit on the stairs as he made his way down.

“Is this how it’s going to be? The silent treatment is beneath you, Bronxy.”

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