Rebound: Chapter 9

The Brassington is a five-minute walk from the house and isn’t usually open on Sunday mornings. I’m not the kind of guy who normally takes advantage of my wealth and influence, but today is far from normal. A quick conversation with the owner ensured it would be open and ready, the kitchen staffed, and the drinks flowing. The place is set up like an English country club, all dark wood paneling and bookcases and top-shelf liquor. It’s exactly what I need today. Anything brighter would feel too cheerful and make me want to puke.

This is the first time I’ve ever sent a 911 message to my family, but by the time I walk into the private room at the back, they’re all there. Just like I knew they’d be.

Maddox, my youngest brother, is dressed in baggy sweatpants and a faded T-shirt covered in Sanskrit writing. Drake is reading the Times, a coffee on the table in front of him, his hair still damp from the shower, just like mine.

Nathan immediately looks up from his phone, his dark eyes flashing with concern. “You okay?”

“Nothing more Scotch won’t fix,” I reply briskly, motioning for the waiter hovering by the door. “Could you bring us a bottle of fifty-year-old Macallan?” I ask him. “And food. Lots of food.”

“Yes sir, right away. Would you mind me asking, um, what exactly you mean by food?”

I’m on the verge of snapping back with a sarcastic reply, but I bite my tongue. It’s not his fault I’m in a shitty mood. “Bagels. Smoked salmon and cream cheese. Fries, lots of fries. Bacon. Waffles. Eggs, sunny-side up and scrambled. Cookies, chocolate chip. And ice cream.”

I give my brothers a crooked smile. “What do you guys want?”

The waiter looks dumbstruck, and I quickly assure him that I’m joking and send him on his way. There’s a pot of coffee on the table, and I pour myself a cup while I wait for the Scotch to arrive. As soon as it does, I add a couple fingers. The old Macallan reminds me of Amber. In the bottle, the liquid is exactly the same shade of brown as her eyes. Have I always thought that, or is it just today that everything reminds me of her?

I take a minute to enjoy the warm combination of coffee and Scotch sliding down my throat before facing my brothers. I’m about to speak when my phone rings. It’s Mason, calling from London. I prop the phone up next to the coffee pot and nod at him as his face fills the screen. The other three gather round so they can see him properly.

“You all right, bro?” Mason says. There’s a delay between his lips moving and the sound arriving, but when it does, it’s clear despite the distance.

“Yeah. Sorry for the drama. You didn’t have to call. I know you’re busy.”

He shakes his head, and there is a slight blur with the movement. “Don’t be stupid, dude. My big brother sends a 911, I’m there for him, no matter what meetings I have to cancel.”

I cringe a little inside. Those meetings were Jamestech business and were important. I open my mouth to apologize, but Maddox lays his hand on my shoulder and gives me that little zen-master smile of his. He may be the youngest, but after years of traveling the world, he gives off the vibe that he just might be the wisest of us all.

“It’s fine, Elijah,” he says. “Mason doesn’t mind. None of us mind. You matter more than anything else we had planned today.”

“Yeah. What he said,” Mason responds, nodding vigorously. It’s the middle of the afternoon in London, and he’s dressed in a business suit. Sunday meetings—the glamorous life of the corporate world. “So, what’s up?”

I pour some more Macallan, see them exchange looks. It’s not quite ten a.m. I take a sip and run my fingers through my hair. “Amber asked me for a divorce.”

Nobody reacts straight away, which I expected. Maddox will think it through, Mason’s on a slight time lag, and the two lawyers are world class at keeping their cards close to their chests. Nathan’s nickname is the Iceman, and he didn’t earn that by gushing about his feelings. I pay special attention to his face, though, because I know the subtle signs that tell me what’s actually going on inside his head. There’s a very slight thinning of his lips, and his eyes narrow fractionally. That means he’s angry as hell.

“She did what?” he asks, his voice low and steely.

“Asked for a divorce. Then left. She flew to Charleston to stay with her grandmother.”

Drake leans over and clasps my arm. He’s the only one of them who can tolerate my wife. I’d go so far as to say that they’re close. I’m not proud of this, but there have been moments when I’ve felt jealous of their relationship. Not that I ever suspected for even a second that anything untoward was going on between them, but she seems to actually like him. She likes him so much that she voluntarily spends time in his company, the lucky bastard.

“How are you doing?” he asks, his eyes running over my face as though he’s searching for damage. “How is she doing?”

“How is she doing?” Nathan interjects, slapping his palms down on the table. “Who gives a fuck how she’s doing? She has spent years making our brother’s life miserable.”

“It’s not that damn simple, Nathan,” he snaps back. “And if you took your head out of your ass for a minute, you’d see that.”

This isn’t a courtroom, and this isn’t a case they’re contesting—this is my goddamn life. “Both of you, shut the fuck up!” I exclaim, surprising them. “She isn’t doing so great, and neither am I. But she’s convinced that she’s right, that she’s somehow, I don’t know, setting me free.”

“Well,” Nathan says, leaning back in his chair and making an obvious effort to calm himself. “At least that’s something she and I finally agree on.”

I sigh and shake my head. Everything is always so black and white to him. So straightforward. And although he’s coming from a place of love, I still feel like punching him in the face.

“Nate, we all adore Melanie,” I say, dumping yet more Scotch into my mug. “But what if we didn’t? Would you love her any less?”

“That’s not the same thing. Mel makes me happy. Amber makes you miserable. Look at you right now—you’re practically inhaling that Macallan.”

“That’s because she left me. That’s because my heart is fucking breaking.”

I slam the mug down so hard that liquid sloshes out, and Maddox quickly mops it up with a napkin. “We all need to take a breath,” he says quietly. “This decision can only be made by Amber and Elijah. That’s who it’s happening to, not us. Elijah is our brother, and he’s come to us looking for support. How about that’s what we give him?”

I see a flash of anger in Nathan’s eyes, but I also see grudging respect. He knows that Maddox has a point, and he gives a single nod. “Yeah. Okay. Sorry about that.” Shaking his head, he sighs. “I just hate how unhappy she’s made you for all these years.”

It’s been hard for him, for all of them, watching my marriage deteriorate. I guess it’s easier for him to hate her—like she suggested last night, to make her the villain of the piece. But we’ve made each other unhappy. I’m as much to blame for the state of our marriage as Amber is, a fact he seems incapable of recognizing.

We all go silent for a few minutes as the food arrives and is spread out on the buffet table behind us. It gives us a break, time for us all to take a breath, like Maddox said. I sit back down with a full plate but don’t have the appetite to eat any of it.

“Damn, that looks good,” Mason says from the phone. “This is torture.”

“What?” Nathan says, holding up a forkful of waffle. “They don’t have food in England?”

“Not food like that. The guys are pretty hot, though. Something about that accent does it for me. Anyway, while you’re all busy stuffing your faces, here are my views. Elijah, bro, I feel for you, I really do. Gotta admit, when I first heard that news, my initial reaction was ding-dong, the witch is dead … Because Nathan’s not lying. You’ve been miserable. Amber’s made it pretty fucking clear that she has no time for us either, so I don’t give a shit how she’s doing—but I do give a shit about you. This sucks for you, and you’re obviously in pain. But that will pass. Give it time, man. Let it settle, and it won’t feel so much like the end of the world. Plus, look on the bright side—you get to come clubbing with me. I can be your wingman.”

“Jesus fuck,” I say, half smiling. “Is this supposed to be a pep talk? Because that’s a fate worse than death.”

“It’s better than staying at home on your own and jerking off fifty times a day.”

Maddox looks up and lays down his fork. “Fifty times a day? Christ Mason, you must be dehydrated.”

“I don’t jerk off fifty times a day, asswipe—I have an actual sex life. We’re not all Buddhist saints.”

“I’m not a Buddhist,” Maddox says calmly, immune to the jibes about his celibacy. “But unlike you, I do at least know how to spell it.”

“I know how to spell it,” Mason insists. “It’s B-U-T-T-C-R-A-C-K.”

It’s actually helping, seeing my brothers joke around and insult each other in this lighthearted way. It’s grounding me, making me feel like the world isn’t quite such an empty place after all. This is what I needed. I even manage to eat a piece of bacon.

“Look, I’ve actually gotta go soon,” Mason says, glancing at his watch. “London traffic is as bad as Manhattan, and I promised Dad I’d meet him for drinks. Do you want me to tell him about this?”

Our dad suffered a minor cardiac event a few months ago. It wasn’t serious, certainly nothing like the heart attack he had previously, but it worried us all.

“How’s he been?” I ask.

Mason pulls a face. “He’s an opinionated, domineering old goat who keeps threatening to come into business meetings to ‘show me how it’s done.’ Because, you know, I’m five years old, and I’ve never actually been to one before.”

“Right. Well, that sounds good. Sounds like normal. Tell him, then, yeah, that’s fine. We need … We need to talk about what this means, and how we’ll present it. At some point. If it sticks.”

Mason deals with everything related to Jamestech’s corporate image, and if Amber and I do split up, people will need to know. There will be a press release, and a surge of public interest, and … Fuck. That is a problem for another day.

“Don’t worry about that crap,” Mason says. “You just concentrate on getting shit-faced with the others, okay? That’s your one job for today.”

“Getting shit-faced is my one job?”

“Damn right, and I can tell you’re going to ace it. I love you, brother. See you in a few days, okay? Stay strong.”

I put my phone back in my pocket and take another long swig of Scotch.

“If it sticks?” Drake says, looking at me intently. “Do you think there’s a chance it won’t? Do you think there’s a chance you could work things out?”

Nathan’s knife clatters to the table, but Maddox shoots him a warning look.

“I don’t know. It’s all been a hell of a shock. I had no idea she was heading in this direction. She might be my wife, but she’s a mystery to me. Things haven’t been great, especially recently, but I thought … Fuck, I don’t know. I suppose I thought she was as firmly committed to our misery as I was. Which, now that I say it out loud, is totally fucked up. Jeez.” I scrub my hand through my hair and groan. “I just don’t know what the fuck to do with myself. Nothing feels right without her.”

They’re all silent for a few moments. I hold my face in my hands and fight against the tears that want to pour out.

“It’ll be okay, Elijah,” Maddox says. “Mason was right. Time will help. It always does.”

“And it hasn’t happened yet,” Drake adds. “It’s not over ’til it’s over. You need to keep talking to her. Don’t give up.”

“Here.” Nathan pours more Scotch into my mug. “Drink this.”

I do as I’m told and realize I’m topping up last night’s excess. Mason was right about that too—I am indeed going to ace my one job for the day.

“We’re here,” Nathan says, his hand solid on my shoulder. “We’re here for as long as you need us.”

“Yeah?” I ask, glancing up at him. “I know you mean that, and I appreciate it. But I also know that part of you is wondering about the prenup and already considering the divorce settlement.”

His eyes tell me I’ve hit the jackpot, and he shrugs. “I’m not going to lie—those things have crossed my mind. Those things matter. Nobody expects divorce to get as bad as they almost always do, and even couples who part on good terms can get dragged into the dirt.”

He doesn’t have to add that Amber and I are hardly a couple on good terms, and I hate that he’s right. I also hate that I understand where he’s coming from—he’s my brother, my family, and he’s looking out for me. He wants to protect me the only way he knows how.

“Well, I’m afraid I’ve got some bad news,” I reply, reaching for my Scotch with a shaking hand. “We didn’t have a prenup. Dad advised it, you advised, even Amber said she wouldn’t mind … but I never saw the need. I believed in us. I believed in me and Amber. I believed in our future together. Is this where you say I told you so?”

“No, it’s not. No amount of I-told-you-sos could make up for seeing you like this, Elijah. I’m sorry, I really am. The way I feel about Amber isn’t likely to change, but I do understand better these days. Back then, I was a baby cynic. I never believed in the fairytale like you did, and I hate seeing you hurt like this.”

I nod and suck in more booze. Of all us James boys, he’s always been the most cynical when it comes to matters of the heart. It’s ironic that he ended up with the fairytale he didn’t believe in and I ended up with nothing.

I never considered how that must have made Amber feel. She knew the whole story involving my dad’s intervention, that he found Nathan a wife specifically so he could produce an heir, which he has gone on to do. In Amber’s mind, that should have been her. She will have felt the sting of it, the rejection, the failure. The fact that because she couldn’t have kids, Nathan was being asked to step up and fill that gap. Fuck. Now that I know more about what was going on with her, I see things so much more clearly. How hard has all of this been for my wife? How much pain has she been hiding?

She asked me not to contact her for a few days, so it’s not like I can ask. It’s also not necessarily going to change where we’re headed. If she wants out, she wants out—and I have to face up to the fact that it might be for the best—for both of us. It’s sad, but in the real world, sad things happen every damn day.

I feel like boiled shit right now, but there’s every possibility that once the shock fades, I will feel differently. Who knows? Maybe I’ll be out clubbing with Mason. Maybe I’ll meet someone else and go on to have a completely different future. A second act.

Hell. I hate everything about this. I raise my Scotch mug to my brothers in a twisted version of a toast. Today, I will let myself fall apart in the safe company of my siblings. Today, I will concentrate on doing my one job—getting shit-faced.

Tomorrow … Who the fuck knows?