The Anti-Hero (The Goode Brothers, #1)(23)

“He got into a fight at the club, and I was just helping him out. Were you spying on me?”

“I spy on everyone who comes into my Laundromat at three in the morning. So, what’s his name?”

I roll my eyes as I lean on the counter. “Adam.”

“He sounds nice.”

A laugh bursts out of me. “Did you miss the part where I said he got into a fight at the club? He was literally bleeding.”

“Was he beating up Brett?”

“Gladys,” I reply, leveling her with my gaze. “No. He was not beating up Brett.”

“Too bad.”

At some point, I need to tell Gladys that I’m no longer working at the club, which means my income is sort of gone. I don’t, of course. Not yet, at least.

I’ll find something else by the time rent is due.

“The girls are excited about book club next Saturday,” she says as she taps her well-worn copy of the smutty romance of the month on the countertop.

“I can’t wait to hear what Mary thinks about the scene on the raft,” I reply with a giggle.

Gladys cracks up as she replies, “That was my favorite part!”

About six months ago, a few of Gladys’s friends and I started a romance book club.

But not just any romance books.

Old mass-market paperback romances with Fabio on the cover that have titles like Romancing the Rogue and Ravished by the Highlander. It’s honestly more fun than I ever expected it to be.

Especially in the first month when the devoutly religious florist next door had to say the phrase throbbing member out loud and ended up in such a fit of giggles, she wound up on the floor. We still call that meeting “Mary’s Awakening.”

“I can’t wait,” I reply.

My phone vibrates in my back pocket, so I fish it out and see Brett’s name on the screen. My eyes narrow as I stare down at his message.

Why haven’t you texted me?

With a huff, I roll my eyes. Then I quickly type out my reply.

Why haven’t you texted me?

Because I knew you were all pissy. Are you in a better mood yet?

Un-fucking-believable.

I want to type out a million different things to him, but after breaking up and getting back together so many times in the past few years, I’m officially numb to it all. I’d like to fight with him or tell him all the ways he hurt me, but there’s no point.

Instead, I just respond with:

Enough. It’s over. Best of luck with the club. I’m moving on.

It feels so final and my finger hovers over the send button for a very long time. When I glance up and see Gladys watching me, I wait for her to give me an encouraging nod before I finally tap the screen.

It doesn’t hurt. It probably should. Brett and I were little more than fuck buddies and friends the past three years, but I just always assumed that’s what a comfortable relationship was. Someone you could laugh with and screw from time to time.

But he never appreciated me or made me feel seen. Brett invested nothing in our relationship, and the standard for him to please me was so low it might as well have been underground.

For him, I was a convenience.

For me, he was my world.

An imbalance I felt every single day of our relationship, so much so that I became starved for his attention and would devour every tiny crumb of it.

“You’re free, sweetie.”

I don’t even realize I’m crying until I feel Gladys wrap her arms around me and hold me against her chest. I breathe in her familiar patchouli fragrance as I fume internally.

I’ve said all I could say and I’ve fought all I could fight.

And she’s right. Now I’m free.





May

The Gentleman





Ten

Adam

“Y ou’re missing Sunday dinner again?” Luke’s voice on the line sounds both shocked and concerned.

My younger brother thrives on consistency and tradition.

Any deviation from a well-formulated pattern is liable to drive him into a frenzy. Which is why I’ve waited an entire week to tell him I won’t be sitting at the table again tonight.

“I just can’t face him yet,” I reply. I refuse to lie, especially to my brothers. But he doesn’t need to know the whole truth.

As far as he and Caleb know, I’ve been released from writing duties at the church. Which is a nice way to put it.

They don’t need to know about the club or what happened there.

And they don’t need to see what a mess I’ve become since.

It feels like my life was completely derailed from the track it was on. I had purpose and direction before. Now I have nothing.

“But what about Mom?” he asks, and I wince.

My mother is a subject that literally pains me every time she crosses my mind. She’s called me every week, but I keep the details light and put on my best fake optimism.

To be honest, I never want my mother to know what my father is really up to.

“I’ll call her and apologize. It’s not like you and Caleb haven’t missed a few dinners from time to time.”

“Yeah, but you’re not me and Caleb,” he replies, and I understand what he’s trying to say. “And this is three in a row.”