Page 133 of Three Pucking Ex's Brothers

He’s always been that way, and our relationship was no different. He rarely was into public displays of affection; everything was reserved behind closed doors. And I know if I want to protect my boys—Freddie, Tommy, and Rush—I need to go with him or he won’t stop.

Not until he’s made himself clear.

I look at Rush’s split, bloody lip. Freddie’s heaving chest and wide eyes. And I can feel Tommy staring a hole in my back.

Tears pool in my eyes as I meet Brett’s gaze.

Once, I lived for that gaze. Once, it was all I wanted. But even as he looks at me now, I know it’s not the same. It’ll never be the same because he doesn’t look at me like Rush does. Or Tommy, or even Freddie.

Rush moves for me, but Freddie stops him. I turn to see Tommy’s tearful gaze meet mine. He knows. I know he does, but he doesn’t say anything.

“You want to talk?” I say through tears as I turn to Brett. “After what you did, after?—”

“Come with me right now, and we can forget about this. We can go back to the way things were and?—”

A sob tears through me as his gaze softens a hair.

“Baby, please. I know you just wanted to hurt me, that’s why you did it.” He flashes his gaze at Rush.

I take one step toward Brett, and Rush balks.

“Nora, no…you can’t seriously?—”

I look at Freddie, the hurt on his face registering. What I’m about to do will hurt them, and there’s no going back.

But I also know Brett’s not going to leave without me. I’ve seen him angry before. He’s never hurt me, and I don’t think he would, even now, but he will hurtthem.And I will not let my selfishness cause them anymore pain.

So, I do what I have to do.

I turn my back on them as Brett stares me down. He reaches his hand out, and I don’t want to take it. But for their sake, I need to do whatever it takes to get him out of here, and keep them in one piece.

So I take Brett’s large, cold hand and let him lead me out of the house, into the dark night.

I close my eyes, trying my best to shut out Tommy’s cries and Rush’s curses.

But the voice that hurts the most is Freddie’s.

“Let her go,” he says. “Brett’s right. She never wanted us.”

I fight the tears as Brett drags me to his Beamer. I look to my car, and he tugs my arm.

“Leave it.”

I don’t fight him, because I know I’m not in the best shape. I’m no longer feeling the effects of my alcohol, but I can barely see straight through my tears.

Brett doesn’t bother to open my door. I stand on the precipice, caught between my heart and a hard place. But I know as hard as it is, this is what I have to do. Brett and I need to have this conversation and we need to have it away from them.

The men I have fallen in love with in the wake of his destruction.

Brett doesn’t say a word for the whole ride back to his house, even as we pull up to the driveway. Walking inside should feel like home. Once, it was my home.

But it looks almost exactly the same as when I left. Because it was never my home.

It was alwayshis.

Just like this life was always his and never mine.

I recall all the days I spent here, the last six months as he traveled. All the days I spent alone, waiting for his call or for him to come home. All the nights we spent inside, away from the world like he was ashamed of me or something.