“You had to have suspected,” Thatch says.
“I mean, yeah, but I just figured she’d adjust.” His voice is laced with guilt when he poses his question to Thatch. “Could you tell she was miserable?”
“I mean, not really, but Erin’s hard to read because she’s so laid back.” Thatch shrugs. “Not that I’m an expert.”
Pulling the plastic away from the frame of Conner’s bike, I lay it out on the small worktop before I start lining the rest of the parts up.
“I swear to God I didn’t think…no that’s bullshit. Maybe I didn’t want to see it. I don’t know, but there’s no way I can’t see it now. This is so fucked.”
Tearing open the plastic bag full of screws, I line them up before flipping through the instruction manual as they chatter at my back.
“I wish I knew what to tell you, brother. It’s been a real shit show lately between Serena and me. I’m kind of lost on what to do myself.”
Satisfied with the setup, I grab my wrench and turn back to address them both before I bite my bleeding tongue off.
“Brenden,” I belt sharply as they both stop and divert their attention to me. “Move your family back to Nashville and travel for scheduled meetings with the high-profile clients. It’s fucking 2021, you can work from anywhere, and you’re the boss. While you’re getting settled in, I’m more than capable of doing the handholding temporarily in Charlotte until you can start the commute.”
I divert my attention to Thatch.
“Thatch, Serena is dying for some intimate attention, a real connection with you. Not a playful butt slap or a backward compliment. She needs some semblance of romance back in the marriage. I’m about ninety percent positive she was attempting to give you a blow job, and unknowingly, you rejected her. That’s why she was crying in the store the day you two had your blowout. It was an attempt to get your attention in a sexual way so she could talk to you and tell you she misses the intimacy between the two of you. When that backfired, it broke her heart.”
Thatch’s jaw drops as Brenden’s face contorts in disgust.
“Sorry, Brenden, but they didn’t have two kids by immaculate conception. Jesus is an only child.”
“How the hell do you know this?” Thatch asks.
“Because though I’m not at all proud of it, I’ve been eavesdropping on every conversation in this house since I got here. I’ve been trying to learn as much about Whitney as I can to figure out a way to earn a place back in her life. It was wrong, and I’m only partially sorry about it. But, my reasoning for it is after seventeen years apart—I’m pretty sure I’m still in love with her.”
I address a wide-eyed Brenden first. “If I succeed in winning her back, I might hurt her because life is fucking unpredictable, and there are no guarantees, but I swear to God I’ll do everything in my power not to. And I might as well toss in that I figured out you were her brother during our first week working together—not when I saw the picture in your living room. I took it as a sign and kept hoping for a chance meeting. When it didn’t happen, I got impatient and hinted for an invitation just for the chance to see her again.” I turn to Thatch. “I’m ready to earn my place at the table. Whitney knows none of this, and I don’t want her hearing it from anyone but me. If by a Christmas miracle I manage to pull it off and win her back, I’ll have my work cut out for me to earn back her trust. She’s not going to make it easy, but your individual solutions seem pretty cut and dried. Earmuffs, Brenden,” I say pointedly.
I pause, giving Brenden ample time to tune out, but his jaw only lowers further as I turn back to Thatch. “Fuck the hell out of your wife, and while you do it, shower her with affection. And do yourself a solid by not ever asking her what’s for dinner, ever again. That goes for both of you.”
I flit my gaze back to Brenden.
“Move Erin home, and in doing so, you’ll show her that her happiness is more important to you than anything else. Oh, and slide your hat backward next time you get a chance. It’s a major turn-on for her.”
Brenden and Thatch gape at me as I smack an Allen wrench in Brenden’s palm. “Ruby and Allen still have sex, and from the sound of it, good sex, so your winky is probably safe. If Dad’s still going strong in his sixties,” I give him a wink, “that should give you some hope.”
Mouthwatering smells drift in from the kitchen, where Ruby remains hard at work as Whitney and Gracie perform the rehearsed Tik Tok dance Gracie has been drilling Whitney on for the last half hour. Serena grins as she records the duo on her phone. Whitney swivels her hips perfectly in time with the music, her face coated in heavy makeup that she let Gracie cake on before they recorded—which only endears her further to me.