“Then get the fuck out,” he spits out, chin tilted up in a total move of defiance. “I didn’t ask you to come in here, so if you’re going to be a fucking dick, then get out.”
“When were you going to tell me you’re moving out?”
His expression falls for half a second before his mask is back in place. So quick, if I wasn’t paying such close attention, I’d miss it. “It’s none of your business, Zeke. I was going to tell my mom this weekend.”
“It’s none of my business?” I seethe. “Of course, it’s my fucking business, you little fuckingmocoso!”
“What? You think you fuck me a few times, and suddenly you’re privy to information?” He laughs—actually fucking has the nerve to laugh. “Yeah, right.”
My head feels like it’s going to explode any second, and I might just fucking stroke out. “You’re not moving out.” My words are spoken through gritted teeth.
“Yes, I am.”
“Why? What for? You don’t even have to pay rent here, so why leave?”
“Why leave?!” His voice goes high pitched as his eyes widen. “Why leave… hmm, let’s see. Maybe because I’m living under the same roof as my mother and her husband—the same man I’ve been fucking. This has got to stop, Zeke. It cannot continue like this, and it’s a little—no,a lot—concerning that I’m the only one that seems to grasp how fucked up this is!”
There is so much I want to say back. I want to scream in his face before bending him over my knee and hide his ass until it’s red and flamed. But I can’t do that. I can’t do any of that, because my watch just vibrated, letting me know someone just pulled up out front. Meaning Valerie is most likely home.
“This isn’t over,” I growl, walking to the door.
“Yes, it is. I’m moving out next week.”
“The fuck you are.”
“Go be with your wife, Zeke.” The words roll off his tongue like poison. It takes all my self-control to not turn around as I stalk out the door and down the stairs.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Elias Carnell
“Is this the last box?”
Looking over my shoulder at Katie, I nod. “Yup, that’s it.”
“I forgot how much I fucking hate moving.” She laughs, setting the box down on the island of our new kitchen.
The last week has flown by. One minute, we’re looking at houses, deciding which one we should occupy for the next twelve months, and the next, we’re hiring movers and unloading box after box. It’s surreal.
We found a really sick place too. I still can’t believe we lucked out enough to score it. It’s a two-level, three-bedroom house on half an acre of land. All of the bedrooms are upstairs, and the one I claimed via rock, paper, scissors has a balcony off of it and faces the west, so I already know it’s going to make for some killer sunsets out my window.
Katie will be occupying the other two rooms—one to sleep, obviously, and the other as her photography studio. She mostly does outdoor shoots, but it’ll be nice for her to have a place to work that isn’t her bedroom or the dining room, which I’m pretty sure she’s been doing up until now. Her mom’s place is only a two bedroom, after all.
Tension has been higher than usual at Zeke and my mom’s house. She took the news better than him, obviously, but she still wasn’t pleased. The whole reason she wanted me to move back here was to live with them and spend more time as a family. I fed her some story about how I was an adult and needed my space, which I guess, isn’t totally a lie, but it’s also not the truth either.
Zeke, on the other hand, fought me the entire time. Any time he was home and out of my mom’s earshot, he’d be in my room, demanding I unpack everything. I think he honestly didn’t think I’d go through with it. This day couldn’t come soon enough. He was practically shooting daggers at me through his black narrowed eyes as Katie and I packed my stuff into our cars.
Cranking up the music, we work on unpacking together. Neither of us has a lot of stuff since we both were living with our moms, so it doesn’t take us that long; about two hours total. We have plans to go shopping this weekend to get stuff we need for the house—plates, silverware, furniture, all that good stuff. The house is bare, save for our beds and a couch that Katie was gifted from one of the moms she just did a newborn shoot for.
“So, who’s coming tonight?” I ask her as I finish breaking down the last box.
“Um, Enzo and a couple of his buddies.” They’ve been spending an awful lot of time together, butthatisn’t something we talk about.“Then a few of my friends from college are in town. Well, they get into town”—she checks her phone—“in like an hour. You met them once, remember, right after I graduated.”
“Which ones?”
“Knox, of course, and his husband, Aston, then Aston’s twin brother Anderson and his fiancé, Crew.”
Nodding, I say, “Okay, so Mister Smartass and husband, and then the two dudes who couldn’t stop drooling over Zeke. Got it.”
