“No kidding. But we move on,” Roman volleyed back.

“I don’t deserve to.”

Rocco downed his soda then shifted his focus back to him. “No, you don’t, asshole. But that’s how it’s going to be.”

Why did they care? “Go away.”

“You have a good woman. A family none of us knew about. And no one here can say that they wouldn’t lose their mind to save them either. Not Parker or Cash either.”

“But Jared.” Brock’s head swung side-to-side, spinning. “He’s a different story.”

“True that. But you know who else has a fan? Sarah—in Sugar. Nicola and Mia too. And because all you fuckers are love struck and bringing girl talk into our inner circle,”—Rocco gestured to Winters and Brock—“we’ve got chicks gossiping. And they like Sarah. Man, we’re family. Estranged at the moment, but the roots are still there. So we can’t let you kill yourself.”

Winters reached for another burger and threw it at him. It landed on the floor. “Brock, buddy. Eat. Get dressed. Get sober. Get your wife back and claim your life.”

***

One solid week. That was how long it took to sober up and keep down a meal.

One solid hour. That was how long Brock had sat a few houses down from his mother-in-law’s house. He contemplated how badly his rehearsed speech sucked then glanced at the dashboard clock.

He gave a self-imposed deadline. One minute to pull it all together. His mother-in-law had left Sarah alone at the guest house, and the kids weren’t at home either. They were at school. What a novel concept. Brock walked up the driveway, past the main house, to the backside of the property. The guest house loomed ahead.

The only thing he knew for certain was that his life awaited him on the other side of the door. He twisted the knob but stopped. Took his hand off and sucked down a breath and ignored the urge for a drink. Barging in wasn’t the right move. Knocking was. Knocking to see my wife. This blows.

Two quick raps and he stood there, unsure what to do with his arms. He ran a hand over his freshly shaven jaw. Checked his hair in a reflection on a nearby window and then pocketed his fists into his jeans to keep his fingers from tapping.

The door didn’t have a peep hole, and she couldn’t see who was there from the front windows. The angles were all wrong. He tried to ignore how this house had little in the way of security, not that his ramped-up safety measures had kept his family from danger.

The door cracked and Sarah peered out, one big brown eye wide open. “What are you doing here?”

“Hi.” His heart clutched. What was he doing here?

“Brock?”