The Home-wrecker (The Goode Brothers)
The Home-wrecker: Part 2 – Chapter 12

Part 2 – The Protector

I hoist my duffel bag onto my shoulder as I exit through the locker room door to the parking lot. I nearly miss the blonde sitting on the block wall outside the stadium until I hear a delicate voice calling my name.

“Hey, Caleb.”

I spin around to find Briar grinning at me. She waves a hand, and I freeze in my tracks to wave back.

“Hey,” I reply dumbly.

Briefly, I consider leaving it at that, continuing to my car, and driving home. But she said hi to me first. So, I feel compelled to stop and talk to her for a moment. Even if I know it’s only friendly conversation and nothing else.

“If you’re waiting for Sean, he wasn’t even in the shower yet when I left,” I say, nodding toward the locker room.

She shrugs. “He always takes forever, but we had plans to grab dinner, so I’ll wait.”

“You shouldn’t have to wait alone,” I reply as I drop my bag on the concrete.

“You don’t have to do that,” she says, but her argument feels weak and there’s a subtle warmth on her face as if she actually wants me to stick around.

“I want to,” I add. When our eyes meet, I wonder if this is normal. Do other guys look at her and feel this intense pull? Are we truly just friends or is there an inkling of hope that she likes me half as much as I like her?

When she bites her bottom lip and gazes at her feet, I feel a thread of hope.

“You’re doing great in art history,” she says to make conversation.

“Only because you’re helping me.” I give her a nudge on the shoulder.

“I’m not doing that much,” she says with an eye roll.

“Yes, you are. You have a gift for this stuff. You seem to really like it.”

“I do.” She smiles to herself.

“Is that what you want to do with your life after you graduate? Work at a museum or something?” I ask, taking a seat on the low wall next to her.

She stares listlessly at the dimly lit parking lot in front of us. “I don’t know…”

My brow furrows as I turn toward her. “So, what do you want to do?”

With a shrug, she says, “I’m sure Sean and I will get married and have some kids, and I think I’d be happy. I really want a family.”

The words Sean and married in one sentence make my skin crawl. She can’t seriously be considering spending forever with that condescending asshole? I wish I could just grab her by the shoulders and shake some sense into her.

And I hate that she thinks she has to give up her passion for a family. “So what?”

“So what?” she replies with a laugh.

“Yeah, so what? Get married. Have some kids. You can still do all of that and work in a museum or paint or teach idiots like me why they should appreciate Van Gogh.”

Her head falls back as she lets out a laugh. “I know that.”

“Do you? Because it sounds like you’re getting an art history degree to throw it away.”

She knocks my shoulder with her own. “I’m not throwing it away. You’re being such a jerk tonight.”

She slings the insult with a smile on her face.

“I am not,” I say, bumping my shoulder against hers.

When our eyes meet, hers are still crinkled with her grin, and I get lost in them for a moment. Then we’re staring at each other for too long. And if she weren’t someone’s girlfriend, I’d lean in, take her lips, and make her mine.

“Don’t marry him,” I whisper.

Her smile fades. “What?”

Swallowing down my discomfort and looking away, I add, “I just mean…don’t marry anyone and sacrifice your dreams, Briar. You should do whatever you want with your life.”

Just then, the door opens, and I see Sean emerging from behind Briar, but she doesn’t look toward him. Her eyes are glued to my face as she sternly replies, “I plan to.” Then she stands from the wall and walks toward him.

“Hey, babe,” Sean says as he slings an arm over her shoulder and tugs her against his body. I have to look away when he presses his lips to her cheek.

Sean’s eyes meet mine over the top of her head, and his expression isn’t warm or cordial. “Thanks for watching my girl, Goode.”

I clench my molars as I glare back at him.

He takes her mouth in a kiss, and I feel hatred like nothing I’ve ever felt burn inside me. It’s like he’s kissing her to spite me, but there’s nothing I can do about it.

As they make their way to the parking lot, I stay on the brick wall. Alone.

Present Day

I can’t sleep. I’m sitting up in my bed, texting Luke. My twin is practically nocturnal, so when I can’t sleep, he’s the first one I text. The conversation starts innocently enough until he starts asking about last week’s meeting with our father.

How was it?

I hated every second of it.

He’s living in some piece-of-shit apartment in the city.

I heard that he can’t access the church funds anymore.

He’s broke.

He’s lost a lot of weight too.

And I think he has a drinking problem.

Careful. You almost sound sympathetic.

Fuck you.

I don’t give a shit about him.

He can rot to death in that apartment for all I care.

Did he ask you to help him?

Of course.

And?

I stare at my brother’s text and replay everything my father said. Of course, I didn’t agree to help him, but I also didn’t tell him to fuck off like I wanted to either. He got into my head, and I’m not proud of it.

I stood by silently while he droned on and on about how I should be a good son and help him. He quoted a Bible verse about family and told me how a man’s duty is to his parents before his brothers. I even sat in silence as he talked shit about Adam and Sage, and I let him.

He tried to open his mouth about Lucas once, and I shut him down fast.

Other than that, I barely said a word the whole time. I left him with an I’ll think about it, and I’ve been trying to shake the whole encounter all week. But I can’t say that to Luke. I’m too ashamed to admit that I didn’t say no on the spot.

I told him no. Obviously.

Good.

He doesn’t deserve your help.

I know.

If I were you, I wouldn’t let Adam find out you took that meeting.

He’s already pissed enough as it is.

He needs to calm the fuck down.

He’s not the only one who has to deal with our father.

What if it had been Briar and Adam took a meeting with him?

My brow furrows as resentment builds inside me. Luke is always so smart, so analytical, and acts like everything is tit for tat. And I know he’s right. If Truett laid a finger on my wife, and my brothers even dared to take his side, I’d cut them all off without hesitation—or worse.

But I don’t need Luke serving up that much logical reasoning to make me feel like an even bigger asshole than I already feel.

I know.

But I’m not helping him.

I would never do that.

Trust me, I know you wouldn’t.

Get some rest.

You get pissy when you’re tired.

Fuck you.

Fuck you too.

You’re still awake.

So why don’t you get rest?

If you can’t sleep, then I can’t sleep.

Twin sense.

That’s not a real thing, liar.

Yeah, I know.

But if you still want to talk, I’ll stay up.

No, you have an early class.

Go to sleep.

Night, Caleb.

Night, Luke.

Trying to stay mad at him, I set my phone on the nightstand. He’s right, of course. I do get pissy when I’m tired, but sleep hasn’t been easy this week. There’s just too much going on.

On top of that, Briar has been in a strange mood.

The one guy in Texas who hates me is living a couple hundred feet away. And if that wasn’t strange enough, I can’t get the image of him in those tight swim trunks out of my head. I’m certainly not against finding a man attractive. I’ve found plenty of men attractive in the past—that doesn’t mean anything.

But this one in particular has really haunted my mind for the last week. Because Dean is very, very attractive, and it’s bad enough worrying about my wife around him. I don’t need to fantasize about him myself. Talk about a mess.

Flipping onto my back in bed, I turn to see the empty space next to me. My wife has always been a night owl, and it’s not unheard of to feel her absence at night, especially if it’s not a fertile day.

But when I can’t get back to sleep, I climb out from under the covers. Walking to the window, I peer out over the yard toward the room above the garage. The lights are off, so I assume Dean is either asleep or at work.

Just then, the bedroom door opens and Briar walks in. She pauses when she spots me as if she’s surprised to see me up.

“Hey,” she mumbles before walking to the bathroom. “I didn’t expect you to be awake. It’s late.”

I take in a deep breath as I turn toward her. “Couldn’t sleep. What were you doing?”

Her brow furrows as she stops to glare at me. “Having a glass of wine and enjoying the peace and quiet. Is that okay with you?”

“It was just a question.”

“Well, it sounded like an accusation,” she argues.

I take a step toward her. “What exactly would I be accusing you of?”

She looks taken aback. “I don’t know, Caleb. You’re the one with the tone.”

“And you’re the one being defensive.”

She lets out a huff of frustration as she spins away from me, putting the bathroom door between us.

She’s slipping away.

I don’t know what to say anymore. Which is a recurring theme, it seems.

Instead of standing there like an idiot, I walk out of our bedroom. I end up in the kitchen, filling a glass with water and rubbing my brow as I drink it. If I thought it would help, I’d reach for something stronger.

That’s when movement on the porch catches my eye. I’m frozen in place as I watch Dean lift a glass to his lips. A glass from my kitchen. A glass full of my wine.

Glancing down to the sink, my eyes catch on an empty wineglass, and it’s not hard to put everything together from there. She was up in the middle of the night, drinking with him. Part of me wants to march out there and throw him off my property, but for what? Talking to her? Being near her? Being here in general?

I did this.

I’m not intimidated by a man who’s been here a week. She’s my wife. We have a life together. We have a child together. She wouldn’t jeopardize that.

I just walk upstairs instead. Briar is in bed when I get to our room. She’s lying on her side, facing me as I climb in next to her. She stares into my eyes for a moment, and I wish I could place the expression on her face.

What are we doing? Who are we anymore?

Does she even still love me?

I want to scream at her. I wish she would tell me how to make this better, and I would do it.

After a few minutes, she rolls over and falls asleep, but I lie awake. I don’t ask her if she was with him or bother accusing her of anything. And maybe I should be mad, but I’m not.

Perhaps I’d be angry if I wasn’t so terrified.