The kitchen is clean, dishes drying on a paper towel.
“Justice?”
“In here,” she calls out from the direction of the dining room.
I continue, house shoes shuffling across the floor. She’s pulled the blinds in the dining room. Sunshine streams in. There’s one plate of bangers, eggs, and country-fried potatoes on a decorative table I bought on a whim.
“This wasn’t here last time,” Justice murmurs, gesturing to the table. She’s seated and dressed. Her eyes lock on a white envelope on the table, an invitation.
“Aye. Leith was buying shite for his entire house online. Got me a table. Why are ye dressed?” Realization slowly dawns across my face. “Why the feck are ye dressed, Justice?”
As if in deep contemplation, a cloud had passed Justice’s face, and now her entire body flinches at my shouting. “You don’t get to yell at me, Brody.”
“Raise yer voice too. It’ll make me feel better because as I fecking see it, ye wanna talk all soft, sweet. Look innocent, while I’m the bad guy,” I beat at my chest. “Why are ye dressed? Were ye ‘bout to sneak off?”
“No . . . I . . . I’m trying to let this sink in, Brody.” Her bottom lip quivers as she slides the invitation across the table. “This makes your engagement real. Not some barbaric agreement between clans like this is the eighteen hundreds.”
I pluck up the glossy paper. “Means nothing.”
“Tomorrow, you’ll celebrate your engagement—”
“Erika and I are not fecking getting married. If I gotta repeat myself, I’ll tie ye up.”
“Officially announcing your engagement at one of the nicest hotels in Beverly Hills, Brody. A block away from the hotel where we had our first spa experience and everything. At a venue that . . . that some people have dream weddings.”
“Aye, this looks fecked up. Mam, she did this. She never spends money on frilly shite. But she did this.” I look Justice in her eyes. “It’s all for show. To pull the wool from my eyes, I fecking guess. To get me to realize how real it is. So that I won’t go through with it.”
“Well, I’m trying to heed your words, Brody. But I’m staring at a beautiful, romantic reality. A reality that, like with Lance, doesn’t include me. Damn, I can’t believe this.” Her voice wobbles. “This whole being told one thing while another thing actually happens. Lance was all ‘I love you, Justice,’ but there was always a but. An excuse for why he ignored me or why he cheated on me. Always to keep up an image. Isn’t that what’s going on here? I’m not doing this again.”
I’m giving it my all here, and that’s the response I get. Triggered, I snarl, “Okay, wit does that mean?”
Justice’s eyes bite shut. “You’re angry. I understand.”
“Okay. I’m discussing shite with ye. Flapping my mouthfor no reason, aye!”
“How can you not step into my shoes, Brody? Ten nights ago, when you popped up in my bedroom, I thought I made it clear to you then. How about this? If I were having a grand engagement to another man?”
“Don’t,” I growl, jealousy burning through my soul.
“See,” she croaks. “A role reversal is unfathomable to you. While I sit on the sideline, you can create a happily ever after with Erika. Regardless of the end goal, it’s too much, Brody.”
“Too much?” I tear the invitation down the center, letting the thick, expensive paper flit to the floor. Justice’s drawing away from me, same as she had almost two weeks ago. Wriggling my tensed jaw, I growl. “Don’t tell me it’s too much.” Ye just have to wait. I’ll fix this.
Nodding slowly, Justice huffs. “You’re allowed to be angry and engaged, while I twiddle my fucking thumbs. When does the charade end, huh? During the honeymoon . . . huh? After the first child? Hello, Brody.”
I tuned out, absorbed with a plan to eradicate my problem. “Ye done? So, I can talk now, aye?”
“Stop being an asshole. I’m not even afforded a moment for all this to sink in. You’re virtually telling me to protect my heart. But let me tell you something, my depiction of a relationship includes me giving all myself to you. I need you, but—”
“If ye need me ain’t no butts about it!”
Defeated, Justice drops her hands on top of her head, lifts her face to the ceiling. “You get a backup plan. While I sit on the sidelines, waiting again. History repeats itself.”
“Nae history here. The two of us will be unhappy motherfeckers, Justice. Unhappy together!” I pick up the plate and fling it across the floor. “Feel better?”
Mouth trembling, she murmurs, “You’re scaring me, Brody.”
“Run then, Justice. Ye cleaned up, dressed. Was I supposed to come down to a fecking note?” I sneer.
Through slitted eyes, I watch Justice arise from the chair, rounding the table toward me. “Brody—”
“Don’t come over here, lass.” I take a step back, unleashing more bass in my tone. “Do not!” Ye keep regretting us.
Justice holds up her palms. “Alright.” Her voice dips, hardly audible, as she mumbles, “Goodbye.”
Food smears across the marble, and the glass has shattered in all directions. At the sound of the front door opening and closing, I grip the shiny new chair over my head and heave it across the hallway. It crashes into the bare living room—one leg fractures, and the other splinters off. The seat bounces across the way.
“Feck her. Feck this house. Feck those McFarlands.” I tug at my beard, the only constant love of my life.
“I’ve neglected ye, old friend.” I should have gotten a trim last week. I head upstairs to ring my barber. That settles things. I’m still taking the day off. My barber will need to be clearing out the entire shop. This is how I cope.