I go upstairs alone after dinner and find Griff lying on the bed, hands laced over his stomach, staring up at the ceiling. He came home shortly after I did, but he was quiet while we ate and came directly upstairs afterward, claiming he had a headache. It makes me sigh, seeing him like this. I hate this shit. I hate that the stupid little cunt he never should’ve got involved with in the first place is causing him all this trouble. Griff’s a good fucking guy. He didn’t deserve to get his heart stomped on, he doesn’t deserve to be dragged through the mud, and it pisses me off that it’s happening.

I climb up on the bed in my spot, lacing my hands over my stomach and joining him in his ceiling inspection.

I don’t even say anything at first. I don’t think I have to. It’s enough that I’m here. He knows I’m showing my support. He knows I’m here for him, whatever happens. Surely he knows as hard as I’ve worked over the years to get where I am, I’m not going to let some insignificant pain in the ass fuck it all up.

Right now, though, he’s stuck feeling all this shit, so I want him to know he’s not alone. He’s never going to be alone again.

After a moment of companionable silence, I ask, “You okay?”

He nods faintly, still watching the ceiling. “I was just thinking about our first place. Not the rental, but the place after that, the first one we bought.” He turns his head to look at me, smiling faintly at the memory. “Remember that? The red brick row-house?”

“That piece of shit?” I offer back a faint smile of my own. “Of course. Who could forget it?”

“We had absolutely nothing then,” he states, shaking his head. “Took us a year to save up enough to buy that place—we lived on those fucking bags of noodles, slept on twin mattresses, no box springs.”

“I fucking hate twin mattresses,” I state, turning my gaze back to the ceiling. “They always made me think of the group homes. Always made me feel inadequate. Remember that time I had Amanda Winters in my bed and she nearly fell off?”

Griff laughs. “I do remember that. I was in the same fucking room.”

“I should’ve known then. It didn’t bother me to fuck her in front of you. We should’ve just shared girls from the get-go. Fuck it. If they didn’t like both of us, they weren’t right for us anyway.”

“I wish we’d have met Moira a long time ago,” he states.

“I met her about as early as I could. She was only 19 when we got together. One year earlier is about all I could’ve done. Despite the pair of you being sentimental, there’s no reality where she could’ve stayed with us in that shitty row-house. She was just a kid then.”

“Her childhood was shitty,” he tells me, like I don’t already know. “I know we couldn’t have fucked her yet, but she still could’ve lived with us as a teenager. Done our laundry and cooked our fucking Ramen noodles. Our little unpaid housekeeper.”

“I think they call those slaves,” I remark, lightly.

“Nah, wife-in-training. You’re into all that shit, right?”

“I’m into Moira having time to enjoy our life, if that’s the shit you mean. I’m not sure she would’ve enjoyed that house quite as much as this one.”

He waves me off. “Nah, she would’ve been fine. She could’ve stayed home and read her books while we were out hustling our asses off.”

“We have plenty more years to look forward to with Moira, and none that require her living in squalor. It’s better this way.”

“It just doesn’t feel right,” he says, shaking his head. “After hearing about her childhood, it makes me feel bad. She’s the one always wishing she could have met us sooner. Maybe it’s more for her than us. Maybe we were always meant to be together. Our own little band of misfits—our own modified version of a family.”

“It’s not modified,” I tell him, dismissing the notion that just because our family isn’t like everyone else’s, it’s any less real. “We are a family. People may not think that when they see us, but fuck what people think.”

“I’m not worried about that,” he says. “I just wish we’d have found her sooner. We could’ve filled in each other’s voids years ago instead of taking so goddamn long to come around to this.”

I can’t age Moira down to an unfuckable age in my head, so I can only envision her when I met her, leaving the coffee shop at the end of her shift and coming home to us instead of her apartment. I understand Griff liking the idea of us all taking on the world together, but I like that Moira didn’t meet me until I made something of myself. I know she would’ve loved me just as much if she’d met me when I had nothing to offer but my love, but I like taking care of her. “Can you imagine Moira trying to cook dinner every night on that twelve inches of counter space we had?”

He smiles imagining her in the shitty little house we started out in, but that doesn’t make me smile. I hate the thought of her ever having to live like that—ever seeing me live like that. Doesn’t matter that she’d be fine with it; I wouldn’t.

“She’d stay with us if I cost us everything,” Griff states. “Moira wouldn’t leave us.”

I don’t know if he’s assuring me, or fishing for assurances himself. I damn sure don’t need them, so I guess it’s probably the latter. “Of course she wouldn’t,” I tell him. “Moira would still be ours if we had nothing else, but that’s not going to happen. We’ve worked too hard to get here, Griff. I’m not going to let some little bitch take it all away from us.”

Now he looks over at me, his gaze solemn. “I think I fucked us, Seb. She’s messing around with Danny Long now. No doubt he’s the one that put her up to all this—or at least fed into it. He’s not going to let her go. I’m sure he doesn’t give a fuck about her, but he knows we have deep pockets, and right now he has a hand to reach into them with.”

I mull that over for a minute. “What did Carrie say?”

“That I fucked us. Hard, no lube, I believe is the way she put it.”

“How much is it going to cost?”

“I don’t know yet. A lot. Carrie said their next step…” He hesitates, so I know this won’t be good. “They’re going to make Moira come in and divulge the details. Supposedly so they can determine whether or not I spent any money on her, to see…” A bitter little laugh escapes him. “To see if I owe Ashley any financial reparations.”

Quiet rage surges through my veins at that. “The fuck she will. No one’s going to embarrass Moira.”

“Carrie said she needs to be prepared. Ashley’s already said she’s going to subpoena her. She’s going to make this as hard as she can, Seb.” He turns his head to look at me. “I’m so sorry.”

I feel his gaze, but I don’t meet it. I’m too angry, and I don’t want him to think he’s the one I’m pissed at. I know this isn’t his fault. I mean, it is, but it’s mine for ever letting this shit happen in the first place. I should’ve been able to see all those years ago that he wanted Moira. I should’ve noted what a coincidence it was that he just so happened to meet “the one” right after I did—especially when Ashley damn sure didn’t seem like the one to me.

This is my fault. I should have taken this noble motherfucker under my wing a long time ago instead of letting him gallop around aimlessly on a white fucking steed and make a mess of everything. I should’ve brought him in a lot sooner, because Moira would never do anything like this. Moira would have always been loyal to us. Moira would have made us both happy.

She still will, it’s just this Ashley headache I have to deal with first.

Over my dead body is anyone dragging my wife to a lawyer’s office to deliver intimate details of our sex life. I’m not shy by any means, but I’m not going to let anyone humiliate her, and that’s the motive behind this. She’s not ashamed when she’s in bed with both of us or living our life. It isn’t sordid in practice, but sitting there and reciting the raw details in front of people likely to judge her... that’s going to make it seem worse than it is. It won’t just incriminate Griff; it may make Moira feel like she’s done something dirty and wrong.

I’m not about to let that happen.

Their days of making decisions without me are over. They both make terrible fucking decisions. They need me, or neither of them would ever have order in their lives.

Since Griff isn’t in my head, he’s not privy to any of this. He’s just apologized and I’m quiet as the dead, so he goes on. “I’ll bow out, if you want me to. I won’t let them drag Moira in and question her. I’ll just confess to everything so they won’t have to. We can talk to Carrie in the morning and see how fast we could split up the business stuff. If it’ll stick, we just separate everything. Even if I lose half of everything—”

I interrupt, since everything he’s saying is stupid. “No, Griff. That’s not going to happen. That’s not how we work. One of us doesn’t abandon ship when the other is sinking.”

He’s quiet for a moment, then he states, “I tried to.”

“I wasn’t sinking,” I point out.

“But I wouldn’t have been there if you ever did. I tried to ditch you.”

I’m dismissive because I have to be. Because it’s what I need to believe, and I hope the bastard doesn’t argue. “Eh, you were never going to leave. You just wanted to fuck my wife. Knew I needed some proper incentive. Well played, my friend.”

I think he knows why I’m so dismissive about it. Normally I’m a stickler for accountability; I would want him to own what he tried to do, but not this time. Before Moira came into my life, Griff was the only person I knew had my back. The only person I could depend on to stick by my side, even if everyone else jumped ship. That’s the reality I’ve known over half my life, and I need to believe it.

Griff needs Moira, Moira needs me, and I need Griff.

He doesn’t have to, since I gave him an easy out, but now he tells me, “I’m really sorry for that, too. My head was a mess. I didn’t mean any of it. I was just….”

I don’t make him finish. I nod my head and murmur, “I know. It’s all right. Water under the bridge.”

“The water ever rises again, you never have to worry about me jumping,” he states.

I turn my head to meet his gaze now and offer a faint smile. “Same here.”

“Good thing,” he mutters. “I’ve got water up around my ears right now.”

“I’m a strong swimmer. I’ll get you out of this, don’t worry. You need to stop trying to help, though. Stop talking to Ashley. Block her number. Don’t see her again.”

“I offered to let her keep the house today,” he tells me.

I close my eyes briefly, massaging the bridge of my nose. “Remember when the lawyer and I both told you not to do that?”

“I know, but she came after Moira. I couldn’t just do nothing. If I could throw some money at her—”

“If you throw money at the greedy cunt, she’ll just ask for more. Jesus, Griff.”

“I just want her to go away,” he drawls. “I don’t give a fuck if I have to pay. I just want her to leave all of us alone.”

“She will, but not if you offer her money. Just let me handle this. I’m better at this stuff. You were married to her, you’re too emotionally involved. Just back off and let me deal with it from here on out.”

“You’re gonna handle my divorce,” he says, skeptically.

I draw my phone out of my pocket. “I’m better at it.”

After a few seconds, he says, “You’re not texting her, are you?”

“Of course not. I have nothing to say to her that I want recorded.” I push send and glance over at Griff, a crease marring my brow. “I feel like an asshole even asking this, but things didn’t get physical when you went to see her today, right?”

He scowls at me. “Fuck no. Seriously? You think I’d have sex with her? I’m with Moira now.”

“I was just making sure,” I tell him. “No need to get defensive.”

I already had Griff get tested to make sure his skanky wife didn’t pass him anything, despite his assurances that they never fucked without a condom, but I can’t be too careful with my Moira.

“There absolutely is a fucking need to get defensive,” he disagrees, fully riled. “That’s a bullshit thing to ask.”

“I know her tricks,” I remind him. “I know she’s used sex to handle you before.”

“Not when I had a better option at home,” he states, still surly as hell. Then he looks up at the ceiling. “Or, not home, but you know what I mean.”

“This is your home as much as it is mine.” I miss a beat, then I tell him, “Ashley’s damn sure not getting your house, but after this is all over with, you should sell it and move in here. You can have the guest room for yourself, but you can stay in here with us if you want. On occasion, you can have Moira alone in there—not frequently,” I add, before he gets carried away with that offer. “But once in a great while. If we’re going to be a family, we should all live under the same roof.”

“I’d like that,” Griff says. “That house is too fucking big to live in alone, anyhow.”

I nod my agreement. “It’s settled then. After I get rid of your wife, I get rid of your house.”

“I think I can handle that part.”

“A house won’t try to manipulate you, so you might have better luck.”

He shoots me a dry look. “She didn’t manipulate me.”

“She manipulated the fuck out of you.”

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” he mutters, clearly getting annoyed with me.

I smile faintly. “We’ve talked about it enough. You don’t have to worry about it anymore. Consider the matter resolved.”

That should put him at ease—it certainly would Moira—but Griff questions me. “How exactly are you planning to resolve it?”

The bedroom door creaks open and Moira peeks her head in. She sees us on the bed, so she takes another step inside.

“Did you need something?” she asks.

I crook a finger for her to come closer. “We do.”

“What do you need?”

“You.”