Page 34 of Her Ex-Husband's Brother

“I have to go,” I say.

“Lennon—”

“I have to go deal with the money stuff.” I stand up.

Livi makes a sound of protest at the abandoned tower and I crouch back down and build it up quickly, six blocks tall, and give her a small smile.

“All yours,” I tell her, and she beams and smacks it over immediately.

I don’t say anything else to Brianna. What else is there to say?

She’s watching me from the floor with an expression I recognize a little too well—slightly hurt and slightly baffled.

I meant to apologize now. Just like when I transgress a norm at home, with Jake.

There are all these little ways I’m supposed to react when someone offers love or comfort in a way that requires me to be smaller.

I’ve tried explaining it to Bri before. And it doesn’t land. It never lands.

Maybe becauseIjust don’t fit it anymore.

Maybe I never did.

Jake opensthe front door to our house looking like he hasn’t slept.

But before I can say anything he explodes: “Mybrother, Lennon?”

I suck in a breath. Then August’s eyes flash through my memory—his tattoos, his gentleness, his mouth against mine?—

“I didn’t know he was your brother. I didn’t find out until your Mom showed up on my doorstep this morning.”

“You slept with him? Tell me you didn’t. We’re still married!”

“I left you yesterday,” I say as calmly as I can manage. “I told you we’re getting a divorce.”

Then the universe played a cruel joke on me. And of all the men I could have chosen on the first night of my freedom,whoopsies, I chose my husband’s brother.

And some terrible, forbidden part of me still doesn’t wish I could take it back.

“I didn’tknowhe was your brother, Jake. How was I suppose to know your brother lives thirty minutes from us at an RV park, much less the same RV park where Mom up and moved to without telling me.”

“You think that matters? Did you fuck him?”

“Jake!” I look around. “Are we really doing this on the front stoop?”

That gets his attention, like I knew it would. Appearances above all else. He takes several steps back, and I cross over the threshold into what used to be my foyer.

Well, I guess it’s technically still half my foyer, or it will be once we work out the divorce stuff.

The house feels strange. Like a museum of the life I was living until yesterday afternoon—the neutral sectional, the inoffensive art, the rug I’ve always hated. My coffee table, the only thing that ever felt like mine after I hefted it into the trunk from where it was left on the side of the road on trash pickup day, sits exactly where it was when I left.

“Why didn’t you tell me about him?” I ask. “Your brother.”

“Why the hell are we still talking about him?” He throws his hands up. “Were you unfaithful or not?”

My jaw goes agape again. “I wasn’t unfaithful because Itoldyou I was leaving you. I told you I want a divorce and I meant it. Whatever happened after that is none of your business.”

He turns away from me and hunches over, hands at his eyes. “Oh my god. I should never have recommended that shithole RV park to your mother when she came here last year.”