Reba braced herself as she took hold of the door handle and turned it slowly in her hand as she pushed it open. What she found on the other side was not what she had been expecting at all. Brock was standing over the stove boiling a pot of water, glass of wine in his hand, steam traveling up his newly defined chest. Her eyes followed and for a moment she wondered what it would be like to lick the path the steam was creating.

She immediately shook her head and closed the door behind her. "What are you doin'?"

"I think," he mumbled into the pot. "I'm makin' pasta." He turned to face her with that signature grin of his and she all but melted against the door. "We've gotta eat and, I already told you I'm not goin' 'til we talk this out."

She sighed, it really was going to be a long night.

"Plus, with you now holdin' my shirt hostage, I can't really leave. What would people think? Me walkin' out of your house half dressed." He winked and Reba rolled her eyes.

She pushed away from the door and made her way back to her wine which had been topped up since it's untimely spill on Brock's shirt. She propped herself up on the stool and leaned on the island, not sure how she was supposed to talk to him or what she was supposed to say. The door in question should have been a long time closed, but the last few weeks had been different. Today was different. Today she slipped.

"Do you want a shirt?"

"Do you have a shirt of mine?" He said glancing over his shoulder.

Lie.

"No." Reba played with the rim of her glass so as not to give herself away.

"I guess I'll just remain shirtless until mine's clean then."

Reba took a sip of her wine, watching Brock as he busied himself. With his back still facing her he made his way around her kitchen, still knowing where all the necessities he needed would be. He reached up to grab a bag of pasta and Reba's breath caught in her throat. Her mouth went dry and she couldn't help but stare. His back flexed as he reached up and grabbed the bag and he set it on the counter beside him as he took out a handful of pasta. He snapped it in half and dropped it into the boiling water and added a pinch of salt and cracked pepper before moving his attention to her fridge.

"What are you makin'?" She whispered.

Brock spun around, onion in hand. "You're talkin' to me now?"

Reba rolled her eyes. "What're you makin'?"

"Carbonara." He placed the onion on the counted and went back to the fridge, grabbing chicken, garlic, and bacon. "Do you have white sauce or should I make it from scratch?"

Reba cocked her eyebrow. "Since when do you cook? And since when do you know how to make white sauce?"

He shrugged. "Since now? I took some classes a while back."

"Classes?" Her eyebrow raised further.

"BJ was on a kick about us doin' more things together. Guess it doesn't matter much now, but it comes in handy at the condo."

Reba rolled her eyes. This was exactly what she was talking about. He'd already given up and he hadn't even spoken to Barbra Jean yet because he was too busy chasing after her.

"Don't you think you should be makin' her carbonara instead?"

"A, Barbra Jean won't let me cook. B, she doesn't like carbonara, and C, well, let's just say it wasn't a very good session after you took off." He looked down and peeled the onion, slicing it into thin strands.

Reba watched on, sipping her wine, noting that he was actually quite good with a knife, clean too. She didn't remember him ever being clean in the kitchen. "So what happened?" She asked after a moment's silence and took another sip of her wine.

Brock took a deep breath as he threw the onion into a sizzling pan, adding the garlic, olive oil, salt and pepper before he turned back to her. He took a big gulp of wine before speaking. "You don't want to know."

"I do."

"Trust me, you don't." He took another swig.

"Please, Brock."

Now it was his turn to be the one who didn't want to talk. "I'd rather not tell you."

"Maybe it'll help if you talk to a non biased party?"

"What do you think therapy's for?" He snapped, he didn't want her to push him any more.

"Brock, whatever it is I'm sure—" She began but he cut her off.

"You're sure what?" He snapped. "That we'll work it out? That we just need more time and that a marriage needs to be lived in while it gets fixed?" He spoke with disdain spitting the words she had uttered to him on many occasions back to her. "We can't live in it any more, Reba. Do you really wanna know why? You really want to know? Well, here it is for you in black and white. Barbra Jean asked me for a divorce. She said she's tired of tryin' for something that's never gonna work. It's only gonna cause problems for Henry in the long run so she wants out."

Reba was shocked, her mouth slightly ajar as Brock made his confession, her mind reeling in all the wrong way. "I—you can work it out, can't you?"

"No." he said flatly and turned to stir the pasta.

"I'm sure if you both really wanted to, you could fight? Can't you fight?" Her head was spinning. Brock and Barbra Jean? Divorce? How would they tell the kids? The was so much bigger than the stupid are you two still in love crap she had been concerned about.

"Reba, there is no workin' it out, so stop."

"Why? You're just gonna let another marriage fall apart because you're too damn stupid to fight!?"

"Yes."

She threw her hands in the air, she couldn't believe him. He wouldn't even fight for Barbra Jean. He was simply going to let her walk out of his life like she had never even been there.

"You're pathetic." She spat.

Brock slowly turned to face her, his face unreadable as he slowly sipped his wine and set it down on the counter before topping it up. "No, actually, I'm not." He spoke slowly, ensuring she would get every word he was about to say. "I'm relieved. We signed the papers after you left, had a good long talk about our relationship. What it started out as, what it had become, and where it was goin'." He paused to drink again, taking his time. "We were never in love, Reba. We were two people who needed somethin' to fill a void to take our minds away from all the things we wished we'd done differently in our lives."

Reba stared at Brock in pure shock so he continued.

"She filled a need I had. One that I desperately wanted you to fill but you wouldn't, or couldn't, at the time and in turn I showed her that out of all the men she'd been with, one would choose her. Everything we did was for all the wrong reasons, at the time we didn't care. But, the fighting and the sleepless nights tryin' to figure out what we even had in common were too much. Too much for both of us. We learned a lot and we both only regret one thing in this entire mess."

Reba was barely able to speak, to ask him to confess his regrets seemed to big of a challenge for her at that moment. She licked her lips and took a deep breath. Watching his every move, she swallowed hard.

"What?" Her mouth was dry, to speak more words would have definitely brought her to her knees.

"Hurtin' you." He looked deep into her crystal blue eyes, seeing right into her soul.

Reba sat completely still, frozen to the chair almost. He had confessed this to her before, but it never really sunk in until now.

"Oh, Brock." She spoke quietly, quickly moving around the island to him, his eyes never leaving hers. "I forgive you." She whispered, bringing her hand up to rest on his cheek. He leaned into her touch and closed his eyes, taking in the moment.

Before he knew it she had wrapped her arms around his shoulders, her hand sliding up his neck and into his dirty blonde hair as she pulled him into to a tight embrace, their bodies fitting together perfectly, just like they always had.

Brock wrapped his arms under Reba's, pulling her even closer. He buried his nose in her hair, closing his eyes he took a deep breath in. She had a way of calming him, of always making everything seem better than it was. They held onto each other, both afraid the other would disappear into a dream. It wasn't until the pot of water boiled over the edges that they separated and Brock wiped his face roughly with his forearm.

"Sorry." He mumbled and turned down the pot before he tossed the onion mix in.

"Don't you apologize, I'm sorry."

He shrugged, not really wanting to get into this any further. In his mind what happened with Barbra Jean was done and he was okay with that. He knew that marriage was never meant to last.

"How 'bout you set the table, I'll finish up here?"

"Sounds great." Reba smiled and busied herself with the task at hand, glancing over at Brock every now and then. She watched him throw all the ingredients into the pan before he strained the pasta.

Reba made her way to the liquor cabinet an grabbing out another bottle of wine. She opened and set set it on the table. Her mind was full of questions, things she wanted to ask. Now more than ever what she really wanted to know was his answer to the question. Did he still love her? Was she one of the reasons they had divorced? The thought sent chills through her entire body.

What if this was all her fault?

She quickly excused herself and darted out to the laundry to check on Brock's shirt. She wrang it out she examined it before tossing it into the dryer and making her way back into the house.

"Almost ready." Brock said as he poured the pasta into the pan, tossing it a few times.

"Smells great, more wine?"

"Sure thing, Red."

Reba topped up their glasses which finished off the bottle and she moved to open the other. Already feeling the effects of her first three glasses, she decided to slow down during dinner. Things had already gotten out of hand twice today and she didn't need to go blurting anything out. That was Barbra Jean's job.