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“I’m oddly not surprised she did that. She is crazy.”
“Crazy about you. Word has it, she called Christine out on all of her shit. Right down to the way she treated you.”
“I don’t want Tara sticking up for me.” I pick up a wrench and evaluate the steel. It’s strong and sturdy yet tarnished from years of use.
“That’s the funny thing about loving someone. You don’t do things because they want it. You do it because it’s what they need, whether they know it or not.”
I toss the wrench in my hand. It lands on the floor with a thud. “She lied to me. For a split second, I thought maybe this girl could be something special. Maybe being married to Christine was the fluke, and not all relationships end like that. I let my guard down, and in less than a month, she broke my trust, and she walked out the door. Not the first time either. She’d left the first day she was here. I can’t be with someone like that.”
“That sucks that she left, but there’s probably a good reason she did. Maybe you’re not the only one who has a hard time letting their guard down. You push people away. She walks away. Same shit.”
“All right, Dr. Phil. That’s enough.”
He laughs. “I prefer Jay Shetty. A little more modern. Don’t give me the accolades. Melissa and I were talking about this all night. Apparently, the two of us are relationship geniuses.”
“Says the man who proposed to a woman he didn’t love,” I say, reminding my brother of his past relationship mistake. One he made out of duty rather than love.
“I got out of that before it was too late, and I got into a relationship with a woman who is mad at me more times than not, yet I can’t live without her. Sure, it might not last. Melissa’s been divorced. You are. We can name twenty people off the cuff whose marriages didn’t work. What does that mean? You gonna die alone because you married a jerk who exposed your negative traits and used it to justify shacking up with your friend? We all know what happened. Only one who doesn’t is you.”
I run a hand behind my neck and grip the skin, pulling hard to feel something other than the frustration in my chest, paired with the ache in my gut. I hate when my brother is right. He’s the golden boy of the family. The hero. And the best man I know. I don’t take advice from many, but if I ever did, it would be from Will. I respect the hell out of the guy.
“I’m not an idiot, Will. I know what happened.”
“Then, fuck the past. If you don’t give it a shot, you don’t know what you might miss out on. You think you let your guard down with Tara, but you didn’t. Cade said you were like a wild animal when you saw her with him. Like your trust issues were raging.”
I look up at the ceiling shed, the one that was the base of my afternoon with Tara. The woman who called me out on the same shit Will is right now. They’re not wrong.
“I don’t know how to be like you,” I say. “Not when I’ve been hurt before. I’m scared. I hate that I’m fucking scared to be with someone. Men don’t get scared.”
“Fuck yeah, we do. I was frightened when I thought Melissa wouldn’t trust me when we first met. I know Luke was petrified Jillian wouldn’t accept him after he left and lied to her. And you don’t know how to move on without thinking everything your ex-wife said about you is true and that the next woman will leave you just like Christine did. Brother, you’ve gotta get your head out of your ass and take a fucking chance.”
I turn around and place my hands on head and look down.
Even if I did want to let another woman into my life, Tara wouldn’t be it. She lied to me, kept secrets from me, and she left me twice.
“It’s not so easy,” I say, turning around and going back to my tools.
“You’re a stubborn ass—you know that?”
I do. Just another thing about me that will never change.
CHAPTERTWENTY-SEVEN
Rob
The house is too quiet. Jesse’s been on his cell phone all morning, scrolling through social media. Molly is staring at her fish. Ever since Tara left, Bob the fish has been her favorite thing to stare at. She misses Tara. I know it. Part of me does too.
It’s a nice day out, so I urge the kids to go outside. With reluctant steps, they head out the door.
I’m not entirely sure why I end up in the art studio, finishing the portrait of Tara. It wasn’t my intention. I came down here for a drink and a mission to clear my head. After too many failed attempts to create something new, I kept thinking about her sketch. I add color, shading, and before I know it, the painting is complete.
Fuck, she’s beautiful. Even on a piece of paper, her vibrant personality jumps off the page. I trace the curves of her smile with my brush one last time and then step away.
I can’t hang it anywhere. Nudes don’t exactly go with the house aesthetic. I’ll probably have to burn it. Someday. Maybe. Never.
It’s not the first time I painted her. The day Molly and I set up Tara’s bedroom, I found myself in here with a sketch pad in my hand. Next thing I knew, I was up until two o’clock in the morning painting the portrait of Tara in the dress she wore to the wedding. My imagination ran wild as I pictured what she’d look like dancing in a field with the breeze in her hair. I hung it up in her bedroom and wondered if she’d realize she was my muse.
I look at the time. Four hours went by in the blink of an eye. I wash my hands, then head upstairs, looking for the kids. They must still be outside because they’re not in here.
