Page 34 of Friends That Heal Us
“Because we’re talking about us, and you bring up another man.” He takes a step closer, his body rigid.
“That other man is part of this. So is his wife. What do you not get?” I pause for a moment at his stupidity. “Stop turning this around to avoid the fact that you’re truly a douchebag.” I turn back around, storming out of the bedroom.
I stop in my tracks when I hear, “What the fuck!”
I turn around and find him in Ezra’s room. His jaw is clenched tight and his hands are in fists down by his side. “Is this why you don’t need help paying for the house?”
“Yup.” I whip myself back around and head down the stairs.
Silence fills the air once again. No doubt he’s taken aback by my one-word answer. As if he deserves an explanation.
“Are you fucking him?” he yells.
The night Ezra and I had surfaces in my mind. And why does a part of me feel a little guilty? A part of me feels like I should tell him.
I shake that thought out of my mind as I hear his steps right up against mine as I hit the last stair.
“Answer the question,” he barks with anger rising in his voice.
I turn around, take a step forward, and point at his chest. “No.”
“Then why is he living here?” My finger drops from his body as his chest rises and falls heavily.
“Because my husband and his wife fucked us both over. And do you know what we both need right now? Our best friends. But given that two of our best friends are lying, sons of bitches and are the ones who fucked us over, we need each other.”
His lips part, but no words come out. His fists twitch as if he’s trying to hold his anger in.
I shake my head and a bitter laugh comes out. “You can’t even defend yourself without dragging someone else down with you. How pathetic.”
I turn away, and my body hits something hard. A chest. A body. The smell of oil hits my nose. I don’t have to look at who it is. My body already knows as tension releases from my shoulders. He softly grabs my arms to keep me from falling back from the impact. “Are you okay?” His voice alone helps me take a breath.
“Of course she’s okay. Why the fuck wouldn’t she be?” Zayn spits out.
I glance up at Ezra just as his eyes shift to Zayn. His jaw tightens as he releases me from his hold. I step aside and my gaze shifts back to Zayn. His face is flushed red and his eyes burn with a sharp intensity as they lock on Ezra.
“Are you fucking my wife now?”
Ezra lets out a sharp huff at his pathetic question. “Get the fuck out of here.”
“You fucking leave. This is my house,” Zayn says, pointing to himself.
Ezra shakes his head. “What happened to you, man? This isn’t like you. None of this is.”
“Are you fucking my wife?” Zayn spits out.
Ezra stays quiet, and his eyes bore into Zayn’s clenched jaw and reddened face. The surrounding air thickens as our years of friendship are unrecognizable. My chest tightens as both Ezra and I stare back at Zayn, trying to make sense of the stranger before us. There’s so much rage running through him, which makes little sense when he’s the one that put us all in this situation.
He squares his shoulders and steps closer. Ezra plants his fist on his chest, stopping him from coming any further.
“What, you’re not man enough to tell me the truth?” Zayn questions, pressing into Ezra’s fist.
Ezra’s lips curl in disgust. “You’re not one to talk. You fucked Rya behind my back.” His body is rigid; he’s no doubt holding back from hitting him.
“So now you have to fuck my wife to get back at me? Is that it?”
“You’re fucking pathetic to think that. But then again, it is you,” he snaps, squaring his shoulders higher.
Zayn’s head jerks back. Confusion flickers across his face. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
