Dade straightened from his chair. “Lucas, I was under the false impression—”

“That I was fucking your wife,” Brock finished for him. “Yeah, Dade, I know. Your PI sucks. I clocked him five minutes into my first nightmare meal with Olivia so I obviously clocked him five seconds into my second one. What you obviously don’t get is that, in a healthy relationship, a man doesn’t keep shit from his woman or vice versa.”

Ouch!

“Lucas, I—” Dade started but Brock cut him off again.

“If you got something to say, say it to me. Do not land your shit on Tess’s door.”

“He’s a little protective,” I said, defending Brock to Dade and then I turned back to Brock. “Honey, I think you might want to get over being pissed and sit down and talk with Dade.”

Brock’s eyes narrowed on his ex-wife’s husband.

Then he asked, “You gonna tell me why my boys are jumpy as shit?”

“Yes,” Dade answered but said no more. Or at least he didn’t speak fast enough.

“So…” Brock started, “spit it out.”

“She’s fragile,” Dade stated.

Brock let out an entirely unamused, short bark of laughter before he declared, “Man, Olivia’s made of stone, figuratively, and I assume you’ve fucked her so you know also literally.”

Ouch again!

“Brock, honey,” I whispered as Dade’s mouth got tight again.

“No, Lucas,” he bit out. “What I mean is, this is what she communicates to the boys.”

Brock’s entire body went still.

Then he asked softly, “She’s playin’ my boys?”

“With every breath she takes,” Dade answered.

I froze and stared at Dade.

Oh my God.

“Why the fuck would she do that?” Brock asked what I thought was a very good question.

“I would assume, since you’ve known her longer than I, you understand that she’s careful to acquire important allies. And I would assume, as you divorced her, that your reasons for this were at least partly what mine are going to be.”

I heard Brock pull in a sharp breath through his nose at learning this news but Dade went on,

“And she simply is who she is. So, I would assume that you understand that her needing as much attention as possible is as necessary to her as breath. But she’s forcing affection she’s not capable of obtaining in natural ways in case she should, for instance, need to battle me or…”—his eyes slid to me, then back to Brock—“you.”

“Fuckin’ piece of work,” Brock clipped under his breath, looking away while lifting a hand and tearing it through his wet hair.