The Home-wrecker (The Goode Brothers)

If anyone had told me two weeks ago that I’d look forward to my art history class each week, I’d call them crazy. But here I am, waltzing to the humanities building with a smirk on my face because I know in just a few minutes, I’ll get to see her.

Briar has been helping me with the coursework. Do I really need the help? Not entirely. But the first time I leaned toward her during class and whispered, “What was this period called?” she gave me that sweet smile and leaned so close I could smell the flowery scent of her perfume. “Baroque,” she whispered softly before nudging my shoulder. From that moment, I was hooked.

Now, I ask every period. Every artist’s name. Every style.

If Briar’s boyfriend wasn’t such a prick, I might actually feel bad for flirting with her so much. But there’s no way she’s actually happy with him. He’s controlling and selfish and so fucking full of himself.

I would treat her so much better than him. She just has to know that.

Turning the corner in the quad to head toward class, I hear a familiar voice up ahead. I scan the crowd of students coming and going and spot her familiar blonde locks.

Then my stomach sours.

She has her arms wrapped around Sean’s midsection, and she’s staring lovingly into his eyes. There’s a smile on her face as he dips his head toward hers and kisses her on the mouth.

I feel myself slowing as I watch them, a swirl of nauseating emotions landing in my gut like lead.

What is she doing? Why is she with him?

As I pass them by, the smile on my face has morphed into a clenched-jaw scowl. Neither of them even notices me. It’s like the wind has been knocked out of my chest.

I hurry to the classroom and take a seat in the back, slamming my book on the table in frustration. Briar doesn’t make it into the room until after class has already started. And when she takes the seat next to me, her cheeks are tinged pink, and she’s biting her bottom lip to hide her smirk.

My gaze is focused on the front of the room where the professor is talking. Even when Briar looks at me and nudges my shoulder playfully as a greeting, I don’t turn in her direction.

None of this is her fault; I have no good reason to be mad.

But I am.

I’m mad at her for letting that asshole have her heart when she deserves so much better. I hate that, because of him, I can’t tell her how amazing she is.

This morning, I actually let myself believe that I was one step closer to having her as my girl. Now I know the truth. It’s all a delusion, and Briar will never be mine.

Present day

The house is quiet as I pour my morning coffee. Abigail is out of school for the summer, which means she and Briar get to sleep in a little bit later.

It’s only seven thirty in the morning as I stand in the kitchen, staring out the window that looks over the backyard. I’m replaying the events of yesterday when a ghost from my past showed up at my house.

Dean Sheridan has changed a lot.

Sure, he was only fourteen the last time I saw him, but it’s more than the transformation in his size and appearance. He carries himself with a sense of bitterness and regret now.

I had a feeling he still harbored resentment toward me, but I was surprised to see just how much he showed it. He couldn’t even be cordial or polite to me.

I have no idea why he took the apartment in the first place. Is this how it’s going to be? Is he really going to hate me the entire three months that he stays here?

I wish I could just tell him that for everything he hates me for, I hate myself ten times more.

He thinks he’s angry at me? He has no idea. I’ve been beating myself up for the past nine years. Nothing I do now is going to right that wrong.

I’m just about to turn away from the window when movement in the yard catches my eye.

Staring through the glass, my jaw drops with surprise as I watch Dean emerge from the apartment in nothing but a pair of tight swim shorts.

Incredibly revealing tight swim shorts.

My mouth goes dry as I watch him cross the yard and bend into a squatting position near the edge of the pool to dip his hand in and test the temperature.

This feels like an intrusion. He has no idea I’m standing here, gawking like a pervert. But he’s barely been here a day, and already, it feels like the walking embodiment of sex has just infiltrated my otherwise innocent family home.

When Dean stands up again, I get a good look at the tattoos covering his sculpted arm like a sleeve. It’s a collage—a colorful tiger with some black-and-white flowers and a bright sun at the top.

Dean has a narrow build. His face still carries a boyish look, hardened by time and life. Nothing like the youthful kid I once knew.

I don’t know why I’m still standing here watching him as my coffee cup grows cold in my hand. It doesn’t make any sense. I don’t know if it’s curiosity or interest, but I can’t tear my eyes away.

That is, until his head turns, and his gaze meets the window I’m staring through.

Our eyes meet for just a moment, and I quickly fumble, spinning away from the window, full of embarrassment.

Could he see me watching him?

Should I go out there and say something?

Just then, my phone on the counter starts to vibrate. Quickly, I pick it up and let out a groan when I see the name.

Truett Goode

“Fuck,” I mutter to myself.

I bet I know exactly what my father’s calling for, and to be honest, I expected this, but that doesn’t mean I’m prepared.

So, after a few rings, I swipe the decline button.

A moment later, I hear steps coming down the stairs, and my wife appears in her pajamas. She has that precious, sleepy look about her. Her hair is a mess. Her eyes still squint as if she’s not ready to fully open them, and she gives me a gentle smile.

“Morning,” she squeaks with a yawn.

When I see Briar like this in her purest and most natural form, without a hint of worry or anxiety on her face, it makes something in my chest swell.

God, I love her so much.

The day is still new, which means we haven’t erected that wall between us yet. Setting my coffee cup down, I reach for her, pulling her against my chest and planting a kiss against the side of her head.

“Good morning,” I mumble against her hair.

The voice in the back of my mind chants a familiar cadence—she’s mine, she’s mine, she’s mine.

“I was hoping I would catch you before you left,” she says softly. I love the way it feels when she wraps her arms around my waist, pressing her face into my neck.

“I’m glad you did,” I reply.

“How are you feeling today?” she asks. “With our new tenant.”

“Fine,” I reply, which feels like a lie. “I don’t really see how it’ll affect us.”

“Exactly,” she agrees. “It feels good to help someone out.”

“I love you,” I mumble softly.

Turning her face up toward me, she gives me a gentle smile, and I lean in to press my lips to hers.

My phone begins to buzz again. Before Briar can turn to see the name on the screen, I quickly flip it over, hitting decline again.

Worrying about my father is the last thing she needs right now. She has enough on her plate, but I see the way she glances skeptically at the phone, wondering who it could have been that I so quickly declined.

“Just work,” I mutter to cover it up.

“Don’t work too hard,” she says, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

“I might be taking on another case,” I stammer.

Her arms fall to her sides. “Are you sure about that? It seems like you’ve been working a lot lately.”

“I’m sure,” I reply with a hint of defensiveness.

Even though I’m trying to protect her from stressing or worrying, it’s almost like she just stresses and worries twice as much.

As I take the last sip of coffee in my cup, I watch the window behind Briar to see Dean jumping headfirst into our pool. He emerges a moment later, swimming laps to the other side.

The thought of leaving Briar and Abigail here with him has me feeling a little unsettled.

“What are your plans today?” I ask.

She shrugs. “I don’t know. Probably take Abigail to the library for story time. Maybe go out to lunch. Nothing exciting.”

“Good,” I reply nonchalantly. Secretly, I’m pleased to hear that they’ll be out of the house for most of the day, but I don’t tell her that part.

“Just be careful,” I say.

She gives me a knowing smirk as she tilts her head to the side. “Yes, of course, dear. We’ll be fine.”

I press my lips to her forehead again. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” she replies as I grab my keys from the entryway table.

I’m not even in my car by the time my father calls again. My phone is buzzing on the center console. I know the longer I avoid him, the worse it’s going to get.

“Hello, Dad,” I say in a disgruntled tone after hitting the answer button.

My father’s deep voice echoes from the car’s Bluetooth speaker. “What kind of son declines his father’s call?” he says with his thick Texas drawl.

The question is rhetorical, but part of me still wants to reply—the son of a lying, cheating, criminal father, of course. As much as I would love to say that, I don’t.

“It was early. I was in the shower. What do you need?” I reply.

“I’m sure by now you’ve heard of these absolutely ridiculous charges they’re bringing against me.”

“I heard,” I reply shortly.

“Wilford and I think we’ve got a case against the DA for religious discrimination because someone in their office must be some Christian-hating, liberal, biased idiot.’

“Then I’m sure Wilfred can defend you in court and get you off on those charges.”

“I ain’t letting these goddamn charges even come to court, son. You must be out of your mind.”

He sounds so tired, his tone ragged and exhausted.

“So you’re gonna fight the charges?” I ask as I get on the freeway.

“Absolutely,” he says, sounding more confident than I would in his situation.

“It won’t be easy,” I reply.

“I know. That’s why I need you.”

“Me?” I ask, even though I saw this coming from a mile away.

“We can appeal those charges before they make it to court. Who better to plead my case than my own son? One of the best defense attorneys in Austin, Texas.”

I want to tell him to fuck off. I want to tell him I hate him and that I hope he lands behind bars for the rest of his life. Not just for what he’s done to Sage but what he’s done to our entire family.

I want to wring his neck for what he did to Isaac alone.

But I am not Adam. I don’t do rebellious. I don’t like to cause a scene.

I’ve made it my entire life by staying off my dad’s radar. Always careful, never pleasing him too much and never angering him too much. I coasted somewhere in the middle. My mission was to be so inconsequential that he barely noticed I was even there.

If I weren’t a lawyer, he would not be on the phone with me right now. His calling to ask for my help has nothing to do with our relationship and everything to do with my position. So I have every reason to turn him down, to tell him to fuck off, to wish him well, and to never speak to him again.

So why can’t I? Why can’t I just utter those words?

Why can’t I just hang up the phone and move on with my life and pretend he doesn’t even exist? Why does it feel like, deep down, there’s a part of me that’s still searching and hoping for his approval?

I don’t need it. I don’t want it. I don’t care about it, and yet here I am, struck silent when all I know I really need to do is hang up the phone.

But I am a good lawyer, and I know I could easily get those charges lessened. It’s like I’m already building the case in my head, but I can’t seriously do that. I can’t possibly defend him when it was my own brother’s girlfriend who he attacked.

I couldn’t possibly betray my family like that.

“I’ll send you my location,” he says when I don’t respond. My thoughts are deafening, but my mouth stays quiet.

“Okay,” I mutter without knowing why.

“Be here in an hour,” he demands as if I’m still a child and he has any power over me.

The line goes dead without a goodbye. And I find myself driving into the city with a sense of confusion and irritation.

I won’t help that man. It’s not my job as a lawyer or as his son. But a part of me is curious to hear what he has to say. Maybe I just want to see how pathetic he is in person again. It’s been nearly nine months since I’ve laid eyes on him. And he is still my father, after all.