Page 86 of Her Ex-Husband's Brother

“I can’t have a boyfriend, August! I’m still married. I barely left my husband a month ago and I have no money and none of my shit together. I thought you got that!”

Followed by the even more damning,“Oh my god, this was such a bad idea. Mom was right.”

But I couldn’t take it back by then. It was already out of the bottle and I didn’t know how to stuff it back inside.

Then the balloon popped and it was all I could barely manage to get a syllable or two out, much less address the Stage 5 Disaster I’d just unleashed.

Because everything was suddenly landing in perspective.

I’d had one story going on in my head—yeah we were up against mad, impossible odds, but maybe just maybe we’d make it through this all and come outtogetheron the other side of it.

Meanwhile Lennon was a grown-up who saw this for what it was all along… a fun, sexy escape from her problems.

What else did I think a man like me could be to a woman like her?

Grandiose delusions are a symptom of the hypomania, and imagining she’d want to be with me for longer than a fling was my most grandiose delusion yet. Which is saying something, considering I was convinced I was a prophet for a few months in 2019. To be fair, I was also taking a lot of drugs back then.

Nevertheless, I know I’m a bastard who’s on the spectrum of crazy, and I ought to have stopped to second-guess what the hell was happening between me and Lennon. I should have double-checked the reality I thought I was experiencing with Dr. Delaney’s much cooler head before doing something as fucking stupid as making assumptions about a new relationship.

He and I talked extensively about my divorce with Priscilla and everything I’d need to do differently if I ever ventured into another serious relationship—and it all seemed so weighty, I just assumed I’d stay single till Owen was a teenager at least.

Then she belly-flopped into that damn sixty-two-degree pool with me.

And I forget every damn bit of good sense I ever learned.

The day at the shop goes slow and I feel like I’m moving through molasses.

I’m at rock bottom of the coaster and can’t imagine ever crawling my way back up again. My thoughts are sluggish but at least my hands keep moving through muscle memory, even if the work takes longer than usual. I have to cancel my last appointment of the day because the first two just took so much longer than normal.

No one’s upset at me about it.

Everyone’s happy as pie with the work they got.

I’m just at the bottom of the well, straining to look up and find any patch of sky.

I clean up my station and finally reach for my phone, heart beating faster for the first time all day as I click into my messages, and sinking again just as fast.

Nothing from Lennon.

I guess she agrees about having some space.

Then a text pops up from Priscilla.

I guess it’s good my stomach was already on the ground, because it bottoms out again when I read the text.

[PRISCILLA: I think we need to pause pickup this weekend until we talk. Is it true you’re off your meds?]

What?

There are three missed calls from her I somehow didn’t feel buzz through my pocket all afternoon. I slam my palm against the steering wheel and call her back immediately.

It goes straight to voicemail.

Why didn’t she call the shop? I always tell her to call the shop if it’s an emergency and she can’t reach my cell. Phones off when we’ve got clients in the chair—that’s the rule—and today was nonstop.

I check the timestamp. An hour ago. I call again.

Damn it, Scilla, pick up.