The Home-wrecker (The Goode Brothers)

Sean’s arm is slung over my shoulder as he walks me to my next class. He doesn’t have a ten a.m. course, but he insists on walking me around campus as if I’m not safe here by myself.

“What are we doing tonight?” I ask, glancing up at him. Secretly I hope he has something planned for just us. A movie, a date, or even just being alone at his apartment. But lately, getting my boyfriend to even express interest in me feels like pulling teeth.

I throw out the line, and he never takes the bait.

“I’m going out with the guys. There’s a fight on tonight. I told you that, babe.”

I nod. “Sorry, I forgot.”

He chuckles and playfully tugs on my hair. “My little dumb blonde. Always forgetting.”

Forcing a laugh in return, I shake it off.

I can be such a ditz sometimes.

When we reach my building, I stop at the door, but he insists on walking me all the way in. After I open it, I feel him following me. My art history class is in the big lecture hall, and there are plenty of open seats, so I don’t have to rush in. Technically, I’m not even in this class. I’m the TA, so I don’t need to find a good seat.

“You have two more minutes,” Sean reminds me when I try to kiss him goodbye.

I settle against the cool white paint-covered brick wall as he crowds me like he’s protecting me from something.

Then, I spot a familiar face entering the building.

My eyes follow Caleb Goode, and my heart picks up speed when I notice him walking straight toward us.

“Goode,” Sean says, addressing him as he turns away from me. The two guys greet each other with a casual handshake and chest bump thing. And when Caleb glances at me, I have to look away. “What are you doing here?” Sean asks him.

Caleb points toward the door. “I had to switch to art history,” he says. “I didn’t have enough humanities credits to graduate.”

Sean scoffs. “That’s so fucking lame. Like you need this shit in the real world, right?”

Caleb only chuckles uncomfortably, and I bite the inside of my cheek.

“I don’t know a single thing about art history,” Caleb says, and I can feel his eyes on me again.

“I can help you,” I reply in a soft stammer.

“You’re in this class?” he asks.

My lips tug into a crooked smirk. “This is my major. I’m the TA.”

Caleb’s expression doesn’t change as he nods. “Lucky me.”

Swallowing the strange feeling building in my throat, I glance down at my watch. “We should go in. Class is starting.”

Sean slaps my ass and kisses my cheek before shoving me toward the door. Then he turns to Caleb. “She’ll make sure you pass. It’s the least she can do after fucking up your car the other day.”

Leaving them behind, I enter the classroom and head toward the front. The professor is a woman well into her sixties, and she’s nice. Most of the semester already, I’ve spent just watching and helping where she needs it. But it’s laid back. This means I get to spend three hours a week just listening to someone talk about art, and as boring as that sounds to most, it’s like heaven to me.

When I glance up at the door and watch Caleb walk in after talking to Sean, he gives me an awkward wave. Caleb has the kind of face you don’t forget. He’s not just handsome. Sean is handsome. Henry Cavill is handsome.

Caleb is…unforgettable.

And it’s so much more than the features of his face—the sandy-brown hair he keeps combed back and the sharp cheekbones and the warm hazel orbs.

It’s the light in his eyes. The gentleness of his smile.

I hope that whoever ends up with him appreciates that.

Sean talks about how strange Caleb is because he never hangs out with them or flirts with the cheerleaders at practice, but I don’t think he’s strange. When he looks at me, it’s like he actually sees me.

Caleb takes a seat toward the back, and when the professor starts talking, I head up the stairs and slide into the seat next to him.

“Aren’t you supposed to be teaching or something?” he whispers.

I smile as I rest my chin in my hand and keep my eyes on the screen portraying Degas. “Not really. I mostly help grade papers.”

“Sounds boring,” he replies.

“I love it.” After a moment, I add, “I’m sorry about hitting your car.”

“I don’t care about my car,” he replies under his breath. When I glance toward him with a soft smile, I see something like hesitation on his face, like he wants to say more, but he doesn’t.

“I can still help you in this class,” I say, looking into his soulful eyes.

He stares back, and the warmth from his gaze makes me feel as if I’m melting. “Thank you.”

Present day

“Okay, pour the chocolate chips in now.”

Abby’s tiny hands grip the side of the mint-green porcelain bowl as she dumps two cups of miniature chocolate chips into the batter.

“Like that?” she asks.

“Perfect,” I reply, patting her gently on the back.

Then I hand her the wooden spoon with a smile.

“You want to try to mix it too?” I ask.

“Yes, I’ll do it,” she replies proudly.

She struggles at first. And soon, chocolate chips are flying all over my kitchen. I wince when I hear one fall behind the stove.

So I step behind her and hold the spoon over her hand. “You’re doing a great job, but let me help.”

Together, we mix chips evenly through the batter, and she starts to fidget with anticipation for the next step.

In the distance, I hear the garage door opening, and I glance at the clock to see that it’s just past three thirty, which means Caleb’s home early.

“Now what?” Abby asks excitedly.

I hand her the ice cream scoop with the floral pink handle, and I show her how to form the batter into perfect cookie-sized balls.

She pops a dollop of batter into her mouth with a mischievous smirk.

Together, we giggle as she says, “Yum!”

Behind us, I hear the door open and look over my shoulder to see Caleb walking in. He drops his keys and wallet on the entryway table as Abby squeals with joy.

“Daddy’s home!”

There’s a serious expression on his face that he quickly hides with a bright smile for our daughter.

“Hey, peanut!” he greets her as he crosses the kitchen toward us. First, he kisses the top of Abby’s head and then my cheek. “How are my girls?”

“We’re making chocolate chip cookies!” she shrieks.

“Looks delicious,” he says with a fake smile for her.

After standing up, he lets his grin fade away and makes brief eye contact with me before escaping to our bedroom. Not only can I tell he’s had a hard day of his own, but I also have to break the news to him that the two-week wait has closed, and I took a test today. Negative, again.

“Okay, peanut,” I say to Abby, “I want you to fill this whole tray with these little cookie balls and call me when you’re done.”

“Okay, Mama,” she replies.

After brushing my hands on my apron and pulling it over my head, I follow Caleb up to our room.

“You’re home early. Everything okay?” I ask with concern when I find him peeling off his work shirt and draping it over the chair in the corner.

When my husband turns toward me, I can practically see the tension dripping from his shoulders. I feel like he’s aged twelve years in the past twelve months. The last year has been hard on us all.

Typical for Caleb, he often carries all of this tension alone. Just once, I wish he would unload all of that worry and anxiety and let me help him carry it.

“Nothing you really need to worry about,” he replies, and my mouth sets in a thin line.

“Caleb, talk to me.”

With a shake of his head, he mumbles, “It’s just work stuff.”

“Okay, do you at least want to talk about it?” I ask.

“Not really.”

Standing near the door, I watch him as he peels off his belt and slacks, throwing them haphazardly onto the bed before sliding into a pair of his black joggers.

As he turns toward me, he looks as if he’s just remembered something. “Actually, there is one thing I need to talk to you about.”

I lean against our dresser. “Okay, hit me.”

It takes him a moment to reply as if he’s trying to gather his words or decide how he’s going to phrase them—which has me a little concerned.

“Adam called me today,” he says plainly.

Uh-oh.

“Apparently, there’s a guy who works at Sage’s club who had a fire at his house last night. He basically called to ask if we’d let this guy stay in our rental room above the garage, but I told him that’s crazy, right? The guy’s a⁠—”

He pauses, staring at the door as if he’s watching to make sure our daughter is out of earshot. Then he whispers the next two words.

“Sex worker.”

Maybe if he had told me this a year ago, I’d respond with shock or horror. But after everything, I’m not sure anything could surprise me now.

“What did you say?” I ask without much reaction.

The way he phrased that question made it sound as if he’s already told his brother no or that he wants me to side with him and tell him how crazy that is, although, to be honest, it’s not all that crazy to me.

“Well, I mean, I told him we have a little girl to protect here,” he says, waving his hand toward the kitchen where Abby is still working on the cookies. “I can’t just let strangers come stay at our rental room.”

I nod to show that I hear him and then carefully reply, “I thought that was the whole plan of the rental room.”

“Yeah, but not…sex workers.”

I put up my hands to stop him. I know my husband is not that ignorant. Whatever is really bothering him has to be more than that. Subtly, I work around the topic.

“Okay. Let’s forget that part for now. Sage owns that club, and we trust her immensely. So just because somebody works there doesn’t mean they’re dangerous, Caleb.”

This only makes him look more frustrated.

“I know, but fuck, it makes me uncomfortable.”

“I understand, but it’s not fair for you to judge somebody you haven’t even met,” I reply.

He scratches the back of his neck for a moment before glancing at me.

“Actually, I have met him.”

“Oh?”

“He was a…a friend of Isaac’s,” he stammers.

“Oh.”

Now we’re getting somewhere.

The room grows silent as Caleb and I stare at each other. His younger brother Isaac has been a red-button topic for as long as I’ve known Caleb.

It was a couple years before Abby was born when Isaac ran away from home without a word. To say his family has harbored some pretty deep scars from the entire thing would be a grand understatement.

So I tread lightly on the topic.

“Is the reason you want to say no to this because the guy works at the sex club or because…” My voice trails off as he looks up from the floor to my face. The weight of what I’m implying lies heavily between us.

That my husband can’t bear to be around somebody tied to Isaac.

That the guilt of even seeing him might be too much to handle.

That he feels any guilt at all.

“I don’t know,” he mumbles to himself.

Dropping into the chair in the corner, he props his elbows onto his legs and runs his fingers through his hair.

A piece of my chest aches to see him in so much distress. It’s as if I can feel the anxiety that courses through him as it courses through me, too.

Quietly crossing the room, I brush my fingers through his soft brown hair and pull his head toward me, letting him rest it against my lower belly. For a moment, he allows himself to melt into me.

As I caress my fingers down his neck, I speak gently. “I can’t make this decision for you. I know how hard it is, but just keep in mind that we can always protect Abby. No matter who rents that room above the garage. And whatever you decide, you don’t have to decide it alone.”

He wraps his large arms around my legs, tugging me closer. And even though I know he’s struggling, I love this feeling.

I love knowing that he needs me.

I love feeling as if we’re in this together.

I miss this.

I can only imagine the river of thoughts, feelings and fears running through Caleb’s mind right now. I just wish he would voice them. I wish he’d let me hear every single one.

But I know better.

I know that my husband is strong but silent. He sees his purpose as protecting us, no matter the cost. And I know to him that means to bear the burden alone.

But just once, I wish he would let me protect him.

“Mama,” a small voice calls from the kitchen. “I’m done.”

“Okay, peanut. I’ll be right out,” I holler back.

Caleb tilts his head up toward me, and I stare down into those disarming eyes I fell in love with ten years ago.

With a shrug, I say, “I think it’d be fun to have someone new around. I’m sure your mom would love to help me fix up the room for him.”

Caleb’s expression turns contemplative. I don’t know the reason he finally changes his mind. Maybe deep down, he sees helping this man as a way of helping his brother. Or relieving himself from some of the guilt he feels.

But with a soft nod, he finally says, “I’m going to tell Adam yes, then.”

My smile softens. “Okay.”

“Okay,” he echoes.

Then I run my fingers through his hair again and lean down to press my lips to his.

As I pull away, I add, “By the way, I took a test today.”

His expression changes before he winces. “Fuck, Briar. I completely forgot. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” I reply, rubbing his shoulder and acting like it’s not a big deal. “It was negative, of course.”

“Why didn’t you wait for me?” he asks with sympathy on his face.

I just shrug in response. Because I hate his disappointment, I think. Because we are incapable of relying on each other for some reason. Because if I take the test alone, then I don’t have to act devastated by the results.

Instead of saying any of that, I just force a grin. “Everything’s going to be okay.”

I watch the muscles in his jaw tic as he clenches his teeth and swallows, fighting off emotion.

Solemnly, he replies, “I know.”