The Home-wrecker (The Goode Brothers) by Sara Cate

Author:Sara Cate [Cate, Sara]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2024-03-24T18:30:00+00:00

Twenty-Nine

Briar

I don’t sleep much. The bed feels so cold without Caleb in it with me. He clearly isn’t sleeping much, either. I can hear him moving downstairs all night.

The more time that has gone on through the night, the more my anger turns into sadness.

Am I angry that Caleb cheated because I think I should be angry? Or am I angry he cheated because I had the opportunity to be with Dean, and I turned him down?

Or am I sad that my husband and I seem to want the same man, and I’m afraid it’s tearing us apart? Or even worse…that my husband has kept his sexuality from me this whole time?

When morning finally arrives, I pretend to be asleep as Caleb gets ready for work. I feel him approach, brushing my hair from my face before leaning in and pressing his lips to my head.

It guts me, but I’m not ready to talk to him yet. I just need to figure out how I feel first.

After he leaves, I finally climb out of bed. It’s futile to try and sleep now.

Instead, I shower and replay everything. I can’t deny that when I take away everything else in this situation, the thought of Dean and Caleb together is more alluring than I expected it to be. I think the truth is, I’m not mad about it—just curious.

What were they like? Rough or romantic? Did Caleb tell him to do it, or did Dean gently force it on him in his own special, charming Dean way?

Did Caleb like it? Does he want more?

How long has he had these feelings and never told me?

By the time I get out of the shower, I realize that the only thing I’m truly angry about is the fact that I wasn’t included in any of this. I’m mad at both of them. What if they have feelings for each other and Caleb leaves me for him? What if our marriage is a lie?

I’m full of questions, and there’s only one person home right now who can give me answers.

After getting dressed and drying my hair, I march across the yard to the garage, climbing the stairs in silent frustration. I bang twice on the door.

“Dean, open up.”

I hear movement inside, followed by footsteps before the door opens. He looks tired and weary as he holds the doorframe and waits for me to talk. As he stands before me, I curse internally at how goddamn handsome he is, and the anger bubbles to the top again.

Shoving him inside, I slam the door shut behind me. Pointing a finger in his direction, I sneer. “How dare you?”

“Oh, so he told you,” he replies dryly with sarcasm.

“Don’t be coy with me,” I snap.

Then, without thinking, I let my hand fly as I slap him hard against the side of his face. His head turns, and he freezes as the sound echoes through his apartment. My hand stings, but it’s a good pain. It’s exhilarating, a welcome relief from everything I’ve built up for so long.

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