Rowan blinks but stays quiet.
“I’ve said things I’m not proud of. Made threats, talked down to you, pushed you away because you made a decision I didn’t like. As your big brother, I’m supposed to set the example. Be the bigger person. Make the best choices. Stay strong no matter how much I’m being beaten down. Except all I’ve done is show you what not to do. Instead of letting you become your own person, I was trying to shove you back into a mold you didn’t fit into anymore. It was selfish of me, and I’m sorry.”
“Wow.” He blinks.
There isn’t much else I need to say. From now on, I plan on being better.
The end.
I stand. “I better get going.”
Rowan grabs a set of keys from a bowl on the counter. “Let me drive you to the airport.”
“Airport?”
He chuckles. “Iris took the jet back to Chicago earlier.”
“She what?”
“Looks like you’re flying commercial tonight. You better buy a ticket before you lose the chance.”
I’m still trying to wrap my head around the fact that Iris is in Chicago right now.
Why would she stay? You never gave her a good reason to after the way you spoke to her.
I swallow back the lump in my throat. “I fucked up.”
“It’s nothing some good groveling can’t fix.”
“Groveling?”
“Get in the car and I’ll explain.” His grin is worrisome.
Well, shit. This is going to be an interesting car ride.
Does groveling include mentioning to Iris how I rode a commercial flight for the first time in a decade solely so I could get to her sooner? Because if so, then the middle economy seat I was subjected to buying at the last minute was worth every excruciating minute, seeing as I was stuck between a toddler who wouldn’t stop talking and a mother holding a crying infant.
My ears are still ringing by the time I make it back to our house. Harrison opens my door, and I get out. I don’t think to ask him about Iris until I walk into a silent, dark house.
“Iris?” I call out as I walk through the halls filled with her plants.
No one answers back. I search the whole house twice before I come to the conclusion that she isn’t here.
“Fuck.” I pull out my phone and call Iris. Not surprisingly, she doesn’t respond.
I dial Cal’s phone number next, but he doesn’t pick up.
Me: Is Iris with you?
He doesn’t answer right away, and I’m not interested in sitting around. I might as well drive to his place while I wait.
Less than thirty minutes later, I park outside his apartment and decide to call him again. He finally answers, but his voice is gruffer than usual.
“What do you want?”
I see Iris got to him first.
“Where’s Iris?”
A door shuts in the background. “She’s sleeping.”
“At your place?” My teeth grind together.
“I don’t think it matters much to her so long as it isn’t yours.”
“Put her on the phone.”
“She doesn’t want to talk to you right now.”
“I want to hear her tell me that herself.”
“Man, just listen to me. Go home and take the night to cool off. Both of you are too emotional to deal with one another right now.”
“Fuck this.” I hang up the phone. I’m not about to let Cal tell me how to handle my wife. They might be friends, but I’m her husband. She belongs in our house no matter how upset she might feel right now. Couples talk issues out. They don’t need third-party mediators to handle their shit for them.
Cal’s doorman holds the door open for me. I press the elevator button and wait, tapping my loafer against the floor until the doors slide open. The ride to the top is quick.
I knock my fist against Cal’s front door. “Open up.”
“Motherfucker.” I hear him grunt before the door swings open.
“Go home,” he seethes as he shuts the door.
I block it with my foot and throw it back open. “Where is she?”
He shoves me, and I stumble back.
I blink. Cal pushed me? He doesn’t touch anyone, much less throw his weight around because he is pissed. The only time I’ve ever seen him do such a thing was on the ice during high school hockey games, and it was a part of his sport.
He jabs a finger against my chest. “She doesn’t want to deal with you right now.”
“So what? You know what’s best for her?”
“One of us has to, seeing as you sure as hell don’t. I knew you weren’t capable of taking care of her. I freaking knew it and I still helped you, thinking maybe you were really starting to change. That maybe you really did love her.”
“I do love her. Not that I owe you any explanation.”
“No, Declan. Clearly you don’t if you called her a failure like every other disappointing fuck in her life.”
“Shut your fucking mouth.”
“Why should I? It’s not like you ever do the same.”
My jaw tightens. “I made a mistake.”
“A mistake?” He laughs. “You belittled your wife until she felt as worthless as you. You made her feel small, useless, and insignificant—all because you care more about your job than the person you claim to love. So all I can say is congratulations, Declan. You spent your whole life protecting us from our father, only to become just like him.”
“Fuck you.” I bite down on my tongue and taste blood.
He salutes me with his middle finger before slamming the door in my face.
Nothing feels worse than returning to the house without Iris. Defeat presses against my shoulders, making each step feel more difficult than the last. I drag myself inside the dark house that is as silent as a tomb. What used to bring me comfort only fills me with dread now, especially knowing what I did to earn it. I’m stuck replaying my brother’s words to fill the silence.
You called her a failure like every other disappointing fuck in her life.
You belittled your wife until she felt as worthless as you.
You spent your whole life protecting us from our father, only to become just like him.
It’s the last one that hurts the most. To hear how Cal thinks of me…
It makes me want to rage. Not because of the sacrifices I’ve made, but because he is right. If I don’t check myself, I will become just like my father.
It’s not like he started out as a cold bastard either. It took him time, and heartbreak, to get to a dark place faster than most.
You can be different. It’s not too late.
I release a deep breath as I move toward the kitchen. After my flight from hell and my brother’s conversation, I have no energy to cook anything, but my grumbling stomach demands some kind of nutrition.
I sift through the pantry, turning over different items before settling on Iris’s favorite.
Pasta straight out of a box.
The pressure in my chest intensifies as I consider all the times she cooked for me over the weeks. It might not have been gourmet, but I didn’t care so long as she kept me company.
Company I no longer have because I drove her away.