Page 15 of Rebound

“Asked for a divorce. Then left. She flew to Charleston to stay with her grandmother.”

Drake leans over and clasps my arm. He’s the only one of them who can tolerate my wife. I’d go so far as to say that they’re close. I’m not proud of this, but there have been moments when I’ve felt jealous of their relationship. Not that I ever suspected for even a second that anything untoward was going on between them, but she seems to actually like him. She likes him so much that she voluntarily spends time in his company, the lucky bastard.

“How are you doing?” he asks, his eyes running over my face as though he’s searching for damage. “How is she doing?”

“How isshedoing?” Nathan interjects, slapping his palms down on the table. “Who gives a fuck how she’s doing? She has spent years making our brother’s life miserable.”

“It’s not that damn simple, Nathan,” he snaps back. “And if you took your head out of your ass for a minute, you’d see that.”

This isn’t a courtroom, and this isn’t a case they’re contesting—this is my goddamn life. “Both of you, shut the fuck up!” I exclaim, surprising them. “Sheisn’t doing so great, and neither am I. But she’s convinced that she’s right, that she’s somehow, I don’t know, setting me free.”

“Well,” Nathan says, leaning back in his chair and making an obvious effort to calm himself. “At least that’s something she and I finally agree on.”

I sigh and shake my head. Everything is always so black and white to him. So straightforward. And although he’s coming from a place of love, I still feel like punching him in the face.

“Nate, we all adore Melanie,” I say, dumping yet more Scotch into my mug. “But what if we didn’t? Would you love her any less?”

“That’s not the same thing. Mel makes me happy. Amber makes you miserable. Look at you right now—you’re practically inhaling that Macallan.”

“That’s because she left me. That’s because my heart is fucking breaking.”

I slam the mug down so hard that liquid sloshes out, and Maddox quickly mops it up with a napkin. “We all need to take a breath,” he says quietly. “This decision can only be made by Amber and Elijah. That’s who it’s happening to, not us. Elijah is our brother, and he’s come to us looking for support. How about that’s what we give him?”

I see a flash of anger in Nathan’s eyes, but I also see grudging respect. He knows that Maddox has a point, and he gives a single nod. “Yeah. Okay. Sorry about that.” Shaking his head, he sighs. “I just hate how unhappy she’s made you for all these years.”

It’s been hard for him, for all of them, watching my marriage deteriorate. I guess it’s easier for him to hate her—like she suggested last night, to make her the villain of the piece. But we’ve made each other unhappy. I’m as much to blame for the state of our marriage as Amber is, a fact he seems incapable of recognizing.

We all go silent for a few minutes as the food arrives and is spread out on the buffet table behind us. It gives us a break, time for us all to take a breath, like Maddox said. I sit back down with a full plate but don’t have the appetite to eat any of it.

“Damn, that looks good,” Mason says from the phone. “This is torture.”

“What?” Nathan says, holding up a forkful of waffle. “They don’t have food in England?”

“Not food like that. The guys are pretty hot, though. Something about that accent does it for me. Anyway, while you’re all busy stuffing your faces, here are my views. Elijah, bro, I feel for you, I really do. Gotta admit, when I first heard that news, my initial reaction was ding-dong, the witch is dead… Because Nathan’s not lying. You’ve been miserable. Amber’s made it pretty fucking clear that she has no time for us either, so I don’t give a shit how she’s doing—but I do give a shit about you. This sucks for you, and you’re obviously in pain. But that will pass. Give it time, man. Let it settle, and it won’t feel so much like the end of the world. Plus, look on the bright side—you get to come clubbing with me. I can be your wingman.”

“Jesus fuck,” I say, half smiling. “Is this supposed to be a pep talk? Because that’s a fate worse than death.”

“It’s better than staying at home on your own and jerking off fifty times a day.”

Maddox looks up and lays down his fork. “Fifty times a day? Christ Mason, you must be dehydrated.”

“Idon’t jerk off fifty times a day, asswipe—I have an actual sex life. We’re not all Buddhist saints.”

“I’m not a Buddhist,” Maddox says calmly, immune to the jibes about his celibacy. “But unlike you, I do at least know how to spell it.”

“I know how to spell it,” Mason insists. “It’s B-U-T-T-C-R-A-C-K.”

It’s actually helping, seeing my brothers joke around and insult each other in this lighthearted way. It’s grounding me, making me feel like the world isn’t quite such an empty place after all. This is what I needed. I even manage to eat a piece of bacon.

“Look, I’ve actually gotta go soon,” Mason says, glancing at his watch. “London traffic is as bad as Manhattan, and I promised Dad I’d meet him for drinks. Do you want me to tell him about this?”

Our dad suffered a minor cardiac event a few months ago. It wasn’t serious, certainly nothing like the heart attack he had previously, but it worried us all.

“How’s he been?” I ask.

Mason pulls a face. “He’s an opinionated, domineering old goat who keeps threatening to come into business meetings to ‘show me how it’s done.’ Because, you know, I’m five years old, and I’ve never actually been to one before.”

“Right. Well, that sounds good. Sounds like normal. Tell him, then, yeah, that’s fine. We need… We need to talk about what this means, and how we’ll present it. At some point. If it sticks.”

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