“This is—”
“We’ve met,” I stopped her from reintroducing us.
Chapter Eighteen
Graveyard – Halsey
Andy
The way Madden glowered at Brandon with disdain told me a lot. His eyes narrowed, his nostrils flared like he was ready to beat him down, and how his back stayed stiff and angered secretly made me smile.
They always said you couldn't read a person's mind, but right now, as Madden threw daggers at my fiancé, I knew that wasn't true.
Madden hated the guy and they’d only just met each other.
Something shifted between us in the first few months after he moved in. It wasn't intentional but it happened. I hated admitting how much him leaving helped me clear my mind.
Seeing him now, though, brought back all the feelings I’d had for him. Forbidden thoughts. The fact that Cars was right, and I only had to mention getting married to bring him here wasn’t lost on me.
“Dinner's ready.” They both turned their attention to me. Madden went to the cabinet for dishes and Brandon grabbed silverware. It was almost as if we were a fucked-up reunion. They worked in synchronization, like they both knew me enough to know my routine.
Madden recognized my need to eat dinner at a table without distractions. Even if we ate out, we always made sure to sit at a table and eat. As if remembering, he set the table without asking. He always sat in the chair across from mine, but with Brandon here, he'd have to sit in a different one.
We served ourselves in silence, our eyes connecting every so often. It didn't take long for Brandon to need to fill the void.
Unlike me and Madden, Brandon disliked silence. For some reason, he thought it wasted time well spent on words.
“What do you do now, Reaver?” Brandon prodded, using the tone he did on opposing counsel.
“What, since my parents died?” Madden challenged. His response wasn’t kind nor was it necessary. I closed my eyes, finding it hard to breathe. “Sorry,” he offered me. When I opened my eyes, regret greeted me.
He might not be the old Madden, but he still held respect for me. That much, I could tell.
“No, I mean now that you're old enough to know what you want,” Brandon continued as if he didn't notice Madden’s annoyance. That was one of the things that bothered me about my fiancé. His ability to let people be rude to him and walk all over him, he couldn’t even stand up to me when passion overrode my cordiality.
Somehow, he took everything in life with stride. Unbothered, happy, not needing much. Our sex life was much the same. I loved him. He brought me joy, but the passion lacked and I felt it every single time he failed to make me orgasm.
“Nothing to concern yourself with.” He couldn’t be stupid enough to not know I was going on tour, but I let it slide, he didn’t deserve any more energy than he already received.
Brandon nodded, looking toward me.
“He’s almost twenty-four,” I butted in, noticing how Madden gripped his fork like it offended him somehow. “At twenty-four, I was sucking down Adderall and vodka shots to make it through law school. He’s far ahead of where I was.”
“He could own Vertigo Records, though,” Brandon commented, making my hackles rise. I never much liked people telling me what to do at this age either, but fuck when someone told Madden what to do—it bothered me even more.
He lost his parents.
He lost himself.
He lost everything.
Wiping his mouth, Madden set down his utensils and scooted the chair back. “I need a smoke break,” he muttered, standing. I nodded and he walked out of the room, forcing me to look at Brandon.
“Really? He's not a child, let alone your child.”
“Maybe I want children,” Brandon mentioned, wiping his mouth. Staring at him, I shook my head.
“This is the first I’ve heard of it. If this is how you'd treat a child of ours, I don't think that's a great idea.” Setting down my own fork, I felt my face heat more. What gave him the right to give Madden the third degree?
“I was simply asking him a question.”
“You brought up his father’s legacy, something he stays away from. You don’t know, let alone understand, the trauma of losing both of your parents.”
“You're overreacting,” he said, not cruelly but almost impassively, like this conversation shouldn't hold any weight.
We continued eating and Madden eventually came back. I smiled, calmness suiting his tired eyes. He must’ve smoked the good stuff since his posture relaxed a lot from before. He began drinking the wine I poured and then went for another glass. I wanted to stop him but really, he was fine, right?
When he finished, going for his third glass, uncertainty ate at me. Whether the nervousness came from worrying about him or myself. He’d have to stay if he got tanked. Even Royce had a life outside of being Madden’s right-hand.
“What do you do for work?” Madden asked Brandon, his eyes blown but seemingly coherent.
“I'm a divorce attorney,” he explained placidly. I wanted to pacify Madden by telling him it was not as boring as it looked but honestly, why should I boast for my fiancé when he’d clearly tried belittling Madden.
“That sounds colorful,” Madden joked, and the sarcasm dripped heavily. His eyes sparkled with mischief. When he was younger, that was exactly what he caused wherever he could.
“I think I'm going to head to bed sooner rather than later,” I mentioned, not wanting to stay here for this boring bullshit bonding experience. It wasn’t that I didn't love that Madden was trying with Brandon, I just wasn’t in the mood to be a buffer.
This dinner tonight, inviting him, was more for me. To reconcile and be close to him once more. Now, after all we’d been through, it felt awkward.
Madden stared at me in response, questions in his expression, but Brandon smiled and nodded. “Sounds good, babe.” Madden scrunched his face at the word babe while I closed my eyes and walked away.
Dealing with anything more would cause unnecessary arguments. Especially when it was my fault for choosing a man who’d never be what I wanted, let alone what I needed to be happy.
Brandon was comfortable and kind.
That was enough, it had to be.
Chapter Nineteen
Quick Musical Doodles – Two Feet
Madden
Brandon, the fuck... asked me to stay over. He didn't feel it appropriate for me to drive home after the bottle of wine I'd drank. Unfortunately for his worry, it was unneeded. Not only did I smoke a joint, I ate an edible and drank the bottle of Pinot Grigio. I was a high-functioning addict, after all. It was a blessing and curse in one. I loved that I could drink tons without being belligerent. It only sucked when I needed the escapism and couldn't find it.
Razorblade kisses would have to do.
I laid on my old bed. My head floating, my eyes unable to close and stay closed. An hour passed. After Brandon gave me a life lecture about not doing more, it took everything in me to not make him disfigured.
She wanted to marry him.
This fucking tool.
A divorce attorney, no less. Wasn’t there a sort of irony to this?
I didn’t satisfy my own discomfort by telling him I owned half of a tattoo shop and my own band. He could suck a bag of dicks if he thought he’d be any better than me.