My Soulmates are IDOLS Books 2+3 | 18+ [SoulBond Series]

315-316: Chapter 9

Ezra

Exhaustion was easy to blame.

Fatigue came with life, and it was a decent reason when faced with a pounding headache and blurred vision. It was an acceptable excuse for a less than enthusiastic participation and a desperate need for a quiet night.

But just because one was bone-tired and weak kneed, it didn't mean that one could justifiably become an asshole.

Ezra wasn't exactly the lord and saviour of bad mood from stress and exhaustion. Oh, he was a mean snappy bitch when he was sleep deprived and lacking in his usual double shot of espresso. Sometimes, he'd push it to five which would result in a massive dump. But that didn't mean that he would forget where he shouldn't step, and where he shouldn't push even when intoxicated and mind-fucked.

They'd pushed too far, had torn out her buttons instead of prodding them gently like the husbands they strived to be.

"Oh, you motherfuckers," his words seared the air, a dangerous thin voice that coiled skyward.

He was taking a shit when they'd fought. But the door was as thin as his hater's bare list of accomplishments, and he'd heard everything crystal clear—mid-diarrhoea with a palm to his face and a hand to his stomach. Mild food poisoning from something he'd ate.

Ezra would admit that he hadn't been there to see their sobbing daughter in the basinet, red faced and absolutely pitiful with her little breathy hiccups of seeming neglect. She was a master at giving teary faces of languish and Ezra supposed it could be difficult not to react negatively from her innocence.

But he knew her, they all did, and she was famous for her never ending wails.

God, a little snap of anger was alright when faced with a situation as confusing as this one. No one could be a goody two shoes even when grown and suddenly perfect role model for their child. But that didn't mean that they could push that far. He'd snapped out a yell for them to shut up and wait but they clearly couldn't hear him.

Ezra would have arrived just in time if it weren't for the need to clean his ass, which he did with a bidet and a slap of the wad of tissue upon his behind. He would allow a streak of shit on his pristine white undies if he knew how much she was hurting.

He was far too late when he exited, empty bowelled and absolutely flabbergasted to the heartbroken expression of the love of their lives. A title that the rest were clearly exploiting and testing the limits.

She was clearly not well—a smudge of purple dashed under her eyes, a few pounds thinner since they'd last seen her and sporting a pallor that rivalled a zombie. There was no colour on her skin, none of that beautiful peach that he once relished and enjoyed upon his lips; lacking in the plump squishy flesh that he'd once loved to grope.

But her eyes had been swollen and violently red, trembled bottom lip and the swell of crystal droplets upon feathery lashes.

She was trying, he knew how hard she tried. She tried her best to do everything properly. But no one could try in an environment filled with lashing critique and overflowing judgement. And there was no need for her to have to try so hard if it meant sacrificing all of her happiness.

The baby didn't care if it drank formula or human milk. The baby only wanted to be comfortable. That was a fact that the rest didn't seem to agree with. Ezra reckoned it was the competitive spirit, or perhaps bottles of unsolved parental trauma poured into a single child.

The boys turned to him, shock blooming on their faces. It was a lightning strike of realisation, a horrified streak of green and then bloodless white. But Ezra stomped past, too angry to sugar coat the situation, and as mad as a thousand angry mother ducks, grabbing coats and snatching keys.