Page 98 of Three Pucking Ex's Brothers
Yet neither of us make a move. And I realize she’s waiting for me to take the lead.
So I do. I drop my hand and head to the counter, and she moves quickly.
“Twenty,” she says. “Even.”
I pull out three twenties from my wallet and hand them to her. “Keep the change,” I tell her, and she sighs.
“Rush—”
“Nope. No arguing,” I say, and she takes the twenty out and pockets the other two.
“Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet,” I say as she comes to stand in front of me. “Not until we’re home.”
And for the first time, I feel excited togohome.
20
RUSH
I’ve beento Brett’s—and Nora’s—plenty of times for various things. Parties, holidays, game nights. But today as I pull up to the driveway, I realize how ominous and overbearing the house looks, and Brett’s not even in it.
I sit there for a moment in my Escalade, looking at the stark black roof from inside my car. Nora sits beside me, her gaze fixated on the house, and she breathes slowly.
“Can’t believe a week ago, I was just…here. Happily living my life with Brett, preparing to be engaged.”
I turn to look at her, her long lashes standing out in the golden-hour light. Even now, in this car, hair pulled back and eyes glued to the large, modern house, she looks stunning.
Like something out of a fairy tale.
Like a princess.
“Engaged?” The word settles on me. It’s the first I’ve heard her talk about this, given the last couple times we’ve interacted we didn’t reallytalkat all.
The fact makes me feel sort of guilty.
“Yeah,” she says calmly. “It…it was our anniversary. One year. I thought, you know…we’d been together a while, and I was living here and it seemed like…” She sighs. “I just thought things would be different, that’s all.”
She opens the door and gets out, and I see the tension in her shoulders. I grab my keys and get out of the car, hurrying to follow her. She picks her keys out of her side purse, and I note how her hand shakes. I grasp the keys, my fingers grazing over hers as I do so. She gives them to me easily. Too easily.
“I got it,” I say as I unlock the front door and let us both inside.
The house is dark, the air cold. It feels different, and I think that’s because Nora’s not a part of it anymore. Even though there are still pieces of her here—a pink blanket strewn over the couch or the flowery centerpiece in the kitchen—it no longer hasherwarmth.
She disappears down the hallway, to their bedroom, and I follow her. I can see the way she holds herself, the way her body shakes as she stops at the door.
“Hey,” I whisper. “It’s okay, you don’t have to go in there.”
She looks at the bed, and my heart aches, because I know what she must be thinking. What she must be remembering. I don’t think twice, I just place my hand at the small of her back and lightly rub.
“If you tell me what you need and where I can find it, I’ll do it.”
She turns in the space of the doorway, flashing those eyelashes up at me. Her bright blue eyes are watery, like the tears arealready festering, begging to be freed. The doorway isn’t huge, and the two of us barely fit. But neither of us move.
“My suitcase and duffel,” she says.
“Alright, I’ll get those, and you can get your clothes, okay?”
