Page 64 of Her Ex-Husband's Brother

God, I’m trying so hard to do the right thing here.

“What do you do for it?” she asks, casually stirring her cocoa like I’m not waging a battle in my head every second she stays in the warm, enclosed space of my RV. “Is there like medication you can take?”

I unclip the mini-marshmallows and offer her the bag. Only gentlemanly and it’s something to do with my hands.

“The marshmallows that come with it disappear so fast,” I say. “Sorry, I spend most of my time around a four-year-old and he gets very serious about his marshmallow-to-cocoa ratio.”

She grins and pours in several mini-mallows.

I pour the hot water into my cup and do the same. Usually I load mine up with marshmallows just like Owen—I’m an absolute sugar fiend—but I’m trying to look like a serious person, considering the conversation.

“To answer your question, yeah, I take medication. Religiously. And I go to therapy every week and I work my daily routine like my life depends on it. I wake up, get breakfast and coffee, go work out, meditate, then go to work. Another workout session at the end of the day before bed. Swimming when I’m here, or jogging when I’m with Owen.”

“Well that doesn’t sound so bad,” Lennon says, taking a sip of her cocoa, eyes bright.

And I sigh, looking down at the table.

“It’s only been the last couple years I’ve been more regulated and stable. I met Owen’s mother at that shitty Wilderness camp. Her parents definitely regret sending her, if only ’cause she met me there. I pretty much ruined her life for the next six years between one manic drug-fueled spree after another, with truly awful depressive episodes in between. It was a real shit-show. Frankly, I was happy for her when she escaped me.”

“Do you still do drugs?”

I wrap my hands around my mug. Hot ceramic. Solid ground beneath my feet. I’m here in this present moment, and I can face difficult things without needing an escape.

“No. I quit after Owen was born. And I finally got diagnosed and started on meds. It was too late for Priscilla and me by then. I’d done too much damage. It’s been a slow road to get to where I am.”

I force myself to look up at her, because she deserves to know the truth, and not some skimmed-over or prettied-up version.

“But this is something I’ll deal with for my whole life. It doesn’t go away. I have a mood disorder and I try to practice radical acceptance of that. During my hypomanic episodes, I feel invincible and artistically explosive with ideas. During depressive times, my thoughts feel like molasses and it’s difficult to get out of bed some days.”

I rub circles on my warm mug with my thumb again. “But with the meds, and my routine, it’s like being on the kiddie coaster instead of The Texas Cyclone, ya know?”

She smiles. “I always liked the kiddie coasters best.”

I shake my head and chuckle. “I’m an adrenaline junkie so I always wanted the giants. But as far as my real life is concerned, kiddie coasters all the way. I’ve got Owen. My work. I’m happy-ish.”

She smiles sideways, a small wrinkle in her brow. “Happy-ish?”

“I don’t know.” I shrug. “Life’s kinda just a series of absurdities, right? We enjoy the ones we can?”

She laughs at that, full out. “You are refreshing to talk to, do you know that? And thank you for sharing all you did. You didn’t have to, but I feel honored that you felt comfortable to with me.”

“Well thank you for… everything tonight. I’m so sorry for my brother.” I full body cringe. “And then how I just… I shouldn’t have come out at all. You clearly had it handled.”

She’s drinking her cocoa, but she sets it down and reaches across the small table to put her hand on mine. “I’m glad you did. It felt really good to have backup.”

Her touch sends electricity all along my nerve endings.

Which is when it fully clocks for me that I have a gorgeous, compassionate and terrifyingly sexy woman all alone with me inan enclosed space that is way too small for the suddenlyverylarge feelings rocketing through me on all cylinders.

As if the same thing has just occurred to her, she takes another long swig of cocoa and sets it down before abruptly standing and flashing a smile that is the first I’ve ever seen on her that seems forced or fake.

Shit.

I’ve made her feel awkward.

And yetstill, she’s the kind of woman who wanted to make sureIfelt alright after disclosing my trauma, reassuring me that I’m not my family. I should have been taking care ofherafter fuckface showed up like that and called the cops on her.

I drag my hand down the back of my hair, wishing I had a redo on the entire night.