Page 45 of The Life We Left Behind

She laughed then. It was so malicious that it made me want to retreat even further from her. It raised the memories of every other time that she’d been in a black mood and found a way to make it my fault.

“There’s only one man in town who changes locks, and it doesn’t take much to talk him into bed. A few drinks, a few promises. He’d do just about anything for me if I asked him to. He appreciates having me in his life,” she screamed.

I glanced down the street, looking for Ethan’s patrol car. This situation was about to spiral out of control, and I needed him to step in. What I didn’t expect was to see Dex’s truck pull around the corner instead.

The sound of the engine had Chelsea glancing over her shoulder and then she laughed, turning back to me as she started to back up toward her car.

“I might not have you, Trace. But you don’t have her either. She’ll never forgive you. So, in the end, I win.”

Then she climbed into her car and drove away.

I stared at my phone, watching the timer count up on the voice recording, not really sure what the hell I was supposed to do now. As much as I wanted Chelsea as far away from me asshe could get, there had also been a time when she’d been my friend. When she’d been Delaney’s friend. No matter what had happened between then and now, I almost felt like I owed it to her to get her the help she needed. She was one more thing that the Farringtons had torn apart. Another dirty piece of our family legacy that wouldn’t even be remembered by those who had hurt her the most. I wasn’t about to add myself to that list. So, as much as it pained me, I knew I had a responsibility to her that I couldn’t ignore.

Dex pulled up beside me and climbed out of his truck as I clicked off the recording and shoved the phone into my pocket.

“You okay?” he asked, rounding the hood and staring after Chelsea’s retreating car.

“Yeah, just…Chelsea.” I shrugged, not really knowing what to say or if I really wanted to get into it.

Dex was a close friend, but he wasn’t someone who knew everything that had gone on between me and my ex-wife. No one did apart from Booker and, unfortunately, my mother.

He hummed as he leaned back against the truck, his concerned eyes not leaving me. “I didn’t understand your message, but I could tell you needed someone here.”

I frowned, not sure what he was talking about.

“You sent me a text,” he said, pulling his phone out of his pocket. “Chelsea is here again,” he read aloud.

Fuck. I must have tapped on the wrong contact. Dex and Ethan were right next to each other on my phone.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to send that to you.”

“I figured,” he shrugged like it hadn’t been any bother for him to come swooping in to my aid.

Could my life get any more pitiful?

“You want a beer?” I asked, nodding toward the house, not quite ready to be alone just yet.

Dex glanced at his watch with a smirk. “Ten thirty a.m. and already hitting the beer. Now, this sounds like a story I need to hear.”

He had no idea what he was about to get himself into.

“Come on.” I turned on the spot and headed to the house, reaching for the keys in my pocket. I nearly cursed aloud as I realized that I needed to change the locks yet again, and I couldn’t exactly ask Frank to do it now that I knew he was the one supplying Chelsea with the copy.

Then I really did curse when I saw the glass littering the floor as we stepped inside, remembering that I still hadn’t been back to the house to clean up after the last time Chelsea had paid me a visit.

“What the fuck, Trace? Did someone break in?”

“Yeah,” I shrugged, heading to the pantry and grabbing the broom. “Chelsea,” I told him once I emerged.

Dex frowned, looking around the house. Thankfully, the extent of the damage was mainly isolated to the kitchen. I’d probably be finding broken glass for weeks, as was the usual case, but there was a glimmer of hope that maybe this was going to be the last time.

“I think you’ve got some explaining to do,” Dex said sternly as he took the broom from me and nodded me over to the fridge. “And I have a feeling that we’ll need that beer to get through this one.”

I didn’t fight him for the broom. Honestly, I was tired of always being the one cleaning up her mess. It was a relief to finally have someone to tell about the insanity that was happening around me.

Dex had been around since I was four years old. He met my brother, Xander, in fifth grade when he’d moved to town to live with his grandparents. He’d spent so much time at our house that he might as well have the last name of Farrington at thispoint. All the Farrington boys had grown close to the weedy kid from the other side of town who knew far more about real life than we’d been exposed to. In fact, if it hadn’t been for Dex, I never would have spoken with Delaney. He was the one who had befriended her first and dragged her along to a party we threw down by the old dried-up creek. Not that we were allowed to call it that. Creek was far too common a word to be allowed in our home. Brook was the only thing my mother would call it and, by extension, the rest of us. She’d married into one of the founding families, and she took that legacy seriously. Too seriously.

So, I popped the tops of two beers, taking a stool at the breakfast bar as Dex stoically swept up the remnants of every single glass from my kitchen cupboards, and I poured out all of my secrets from the past seven years. Every terrible memory. He’d long finished cleaning before I reached the end, eventually joining me at the breakfast bar and silently drinking his beer beside me.

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