by C. M. Albert
“Yeah, but you also promised you’d distance yourself if feelings got involved. You lied. You stuck around. Kept taking more. Until it wasn’t enough, and you just had to have her for yourself. Did you think she’d leave me for you? Is that what you were hoping?”
I stood up, pissed now. “Screw you. If you want to talk without being an asshole, let me know. I have an open house to get ready for. Hopefully, after this weekend, I’ll be out of your hair for good.”
I turned and stormed from the library, leaving my good friend sitting there, wrestling with the truth of our betrayal, not even twenty feet from where it happened.
I’d messed up. There was no denying that. But the truth was, I still wanted Olivia. Nothing could ever make me stop wanting her. Not even seeing Ryan breaking as I walked down the stairs.
Maybe it was me who was the asshole, after all.
Chapter Five
Olivia
“WE REALLY DON’T need to go.”
I’m not sure if that was more for me or Ryan. He said he was going to talk to Brighton earlier and came back looking frustrated and sad. He’d changed into athletic clothes and went to the garage to work out, so I’d given him the space he seemed to need more of these days.
Now, we were getting ready for the open house. Cars were already arriving, and the party was coming to life. The house looked beautiful at night with outside lights illuminating the front entrance and abundant flowerbeds. The fairy lights we’d strung last week over the pergola twinkled across our yards like morse code—warning me to stay home.
Ryan sighed, and I could tell he wished that was exactly what we could do. But he calmly knotted his tie as he faced the mirror. “No. I think it’ll be good closure, for all of us. Plus, you could get some work from this. Everyone’s going to love the job you did over there. It’ll be good for business.”
“I already have my next client lined up, Ryan. I don’t need any more than that yet.”
“If you really want to get back to work, you need more than one client. As you know, it’s all about networking.”
“Thanks, but I know how to run my business,” I snapped.
“Yeah, I know. I seem to remember being there when you first learned how,” he said, arching a brow at me. “You know—in your MBA classes.”
Point taken.
“Sorry. I’m just . . .” I wrang my hands together, anxiety swelling in my unsettled stomach. I hadn’t been able to eat all day. I was so nervous about being in the same room with both of them again now that the truth hung naked and raw in the air between us.
He gave me a sad smile. “I know. It’s going to be a hard night, no matter how we slice it.”
“He’s going to be leaving soon,” I whispered.
He ran a hand over my hair. “I know, baby.”
I bit my lip as I looked up at him, searching for any of the compassion I remembered him having for Brighton. “Are you ready for that?”
He steeled his jaw, the twitch near his eye giving him away. “It’s probably for the best. Every day is a constant reminder, Liv. We all need to move on.”
I’d heard those words before. Was asked to move on before I was ready. I wouldn’t do it again. But now was not the time to press the issue.
“Let’s go,” I said instead, taking his hand in mine.
“We could be late.”
I knew this was an olive branch. The only way Ryan knew how to bridge us back together. I’d missed him so much these past few weeks—afraid he’d never be able to touch me again after everything that had happened. Relief flooded through me, my heart aching at how hard that must’ve been for Ryan to reach out for me this way.
I couldn’t help the small smile that lifted the corner of my mouth as I stared up at my husband. It wasn’t all sunshine and tulips for us yet, but it was a step in the right direction. Even I knew that. I tugged at his tie, letting a genuine smile overtake my face for the first time in weeks. “As long as you don’t mess up my makeup.”
Being thirty minutes late was a small price to pay for Ryan and me being intimate for the first time in almost a month. I had to admit, I’d missed him terribly. As Ryan slid inside me, I closed my eyes, letting him erase the memory of my betrayal with Brighton from my skin.
THE OPEN HOUSE was in full swing by the time we got there, and I recognized many of the neighbors and guests. Everyone congratulated me on a job well done, but somehow, all I felt was sadness. This house was meant to be flipped, but it was full of personal, intimate memories I was scared to part with. I hated seeing all these strangers in this home.
I looked around for Brighton but couldn’t see him anywhere. Ryan took my hand, and we headed toward the kitchen in search of a beer. The room started closing in on me before we even got there. There were too many people, and I was getting hot under all the lights. I tugged at his hand, trying to get his attention.
That’s when a family walked by. A small baby was bundled in a blue blanket and tethered to his father’s chest in a BabyBjörn. The mother’s hand was getting pulled by an overly excited little girl with strawberry blond ringlets. My heart hammered in my chest, but I couldn’t look away. The kids were just about the ages ours would’ve been, had they lived.
My mouth went dry. I tugged at Ryan’s hand again. “I can’t do this. I have to go.”
“What? Why? We just got here.”
“Stay then. Tell Brighton I got sick or something.”
“Liv, what’s going on?” His gaze swiveled, following my line of sight. The mom was pressing a straw into an apple juice box and handing it to her daughter. “Do you know them?”
I shook my head, my eyes landing on the baby’s chubby leg hanging from the baby carrier. Little blue socks warmed his tiny toes.
“Did we put socks on Laelynn before we buried her? I can’t remember,” I said suddenly, my voice cracking. I held his hand tighter as panic gripped at me. I was going to vomit. I could already feel the bile rising.
Ryan led me to the back door, parting guests without apology until he got me outside. He gripped my shoulders, trying to get me to look at him, but I couldn’t.
“I think I forgot to put socks on her, Ryan.”
“Liv, it’s okay.”
“It’s not okay,” I said, my brows furrowed in horror as I looked at my shoes, concentrating on anything other than the party around me. “What if she doesn’t have any socks on? I can’t be a mother. I couldn’t even do that right.”
I sank to the hard stone steps, draping my arms over my knees and taking in deep, jagged breaths. A panic attack was imminent, and I wanted to leave before it came.
“She had socks on,” he finally said.
I glanced up at him. “Are you sure?”
He nodded. “They were the tiny white ones with the ruffled lace tops. They were supposed to be for her baptism, but Carly said they’d be perfect.”
“Perfect?” I asked, horrified. “There’s nothing perfect to bury a baby in. What does that even mean?”
“I just meant that my sister was trying her best to help.”
I hardly remembered her even being at the funeral. “I didn’t know there would be kids here tonight.” Maybe because it was a nighttime open house, I assumed it would be for adults only. Families usually came on Saturdays and Sundays. “I can’t stay. I thought I’d be okay, but I’m not.”
I stood, my legs shaking as I steadied myself against the large stone column. That’s when Brighton rounded the corner, heading our way with an attractive brunette on his arm. Her highlighted hair was curled in perfect beach waves and angled over her shoulder in an asymmetrical bob. Her eyes were a bright and vivid green, and they sparkled as they looked up at Brighton with obvious affection.
Just like that—time stopped. My breathing quickened, and the party around me faded. Brighton was the only thing in the center of my line of sight. His eyes were trained on mine, but I couldn’t get past the fact that he was here with another woman.
“Kerrington,
” Ryan said, somewhere off to my side.
“I was just coming to find you. Everything okay?” he asked, scrunching his eyes to really look at me for the first time.
I felt clammy and nauseous. I could not stand here while he introduced me to someone who clearly had feelings for him. I knew it wasn’t right. I knew it was beyond hypocritical. But my heart would never be ready to see Brighton with another woman—and that was never clearer than it was right now.
“No,” I said, licking my lips. “I’m really sorry, but we can’t stay. I’m not feeling well.”
“We just wanted to say congrats. The house looks great,” Ryan said.
“It’s in large part because of their help,” he told the woman standing next to him. “This is Ryan Wells and his wife, Olivia. She’s the designer I was telling you about.”
The designer. Not the woman I’m in love with. But the designer.
“It’s so nice to finally meet you both,” she said, reaching out her hand. “I’m Paige Morgan.”
She was his realtor. I knew I’d recognized her face from somewhere. She was with a well-known boutique group that catered to the wealthiest clients in our area and the greater part of western New York.
Ryan shook her hand, then wrapped his arm around me. “Sorry, Kerrington. Paige. We really have to go.”
“I understand. We’ll catch up tomorrow?” he asked, his brows furrowed with concern.
I couldn’t answer. The parents I’d seen in the kitchen stepped out onto the porch, and their daughter accidentally brushed my leg on her way down the stairs as she ran into the backyard to explore. I watched as Brighton took in the same scene, his eyes falling on the baby boy in the dad’s carrier. My heart constricted because I knew what he saw when he looked at that baby.
The blue socks. Sam. The son he would never have.
Brighton’s Adam’s apple rose and fell, and his jaw clenched almost imperceptibly. But I knew him now. I knew what drove him, and what hurt him.
Ryan didn’t wait for me to answer. He linked his fingers through mine and led me home. The loud din of conversation was at our back as we finally shut the door behind us. That’s when my tears fell. I kicked off my favorite black loafers and padded to the guest room. I had no energy to make it up the stairs.
White. They were white, Ryan said. I remembered those delicate, lacy socks I’d picked out for her with so much excitement and hope.
I sank onto the thick carpet next to the memory chest that Brighton made for me by hand. It was partly what caused mine and Ryan’s fight all those weeks ago. I tucked my legs under me as I opened the lid, grateful that the hinges kept the box open so I could look through its contents. I’d put everything I had from all our pregnancies inside. I needed to make sure Laelynn’s socks weren’t in there.
Hot tears slid down my cheeks as I held each item. I lifted the soft, pink blanket and pressed it to my cheek.
Ryan sat next to me, pulling my hair off my shoulder so he could see me better. He ran a thumb over my cheek, wiping away the moisture as I lifted a small yellow bow to show him. There were hospital forms and condolence cards at the bottom, along with a box of the most important items. A small clip of hair. Her fetal death certificate.
“It’s not fair,” I finally said, looking up at him through my tears. Stitch barked from his crate in the other room, hearing that we were home. But all I could see were Ryan’s sad, brown eyes as they held mine, the weight of his palm on my back.
“Why would god do this? Why would he take her from us and give them two perfect babies?”
“Liv, you can’t think of it that way.”
“It’s the only way I know how, Ryan. We didn’t deserve this. We’re good people. We would’ve been great parents.”
“We still can be someday.”
“I don’t trust my body anymore,” I whispered.
I looked down at my breasts. They held milk in them less than a year ago. Almost an entire year had passed since we buried Laelynn. I’d never forget having to expel the useless milk from my breasts in the shower to prevent my glands from getting swollen. It eventually dried out, and I was partially relieved and partially devastated. Unsure if they’d ever hold sustenance again.
The odds were too great that my body could never hold a life to term inside of it, but I didn’t say that to Ryan tonight. Instead, I fell onto his lap, the contents of the box scattered all around us on the floor. I stretched my legs out and curled around his bent knees as he ran his hands through my hair.
I thought I’d gotten past this. I thought I was getting better. My body shook as I cried into Ryan’s lap, realizing it was never really going to get better.
This was all there was.
Chapter Six
Ryan
OLIVIA FELL BACK into a funk I couldn’t drag her out of for the next three days. Luckily, I had Mondays off from work. I puttered around the house while she slept late, tackling some of the easier projects on our never-ending “honey do” list. It kept my hands busy while staying close by in case she needed anything. Stitch followed closely on my heels as if he knew something was off. I wished I could call Dr. Paul for advice, but he wasn’t my therapist.
Maybe Olivia was right. Maybe marriage counseling was the answer. I was still angry about her lying to me, even though I was trying hard to forgive her. They’d both been right about one thing—it had been my idea. Part of me wanted to hold onto my justifiable anger, but the rational side knew I had to come to peace with what happened if we were going to save our marriage. And if not peace, then at least come to terms with my responsibility as the catalyst.
I grunted as I crawled under the laundry room sink and worked on fixing the small leak. I was sure I just needed to tighten the slip nut and maybe wrap the old pipe with a little plumbing tape. I lay on my back, looking up at the ancient piping system. They sure didn’t make things like they used to. As I worked on tightening the clamp, I thought of Brighton. It wasn’t the first time I wished things could’ve turned out differently. He’s someone I would’ve felt comfortable talking through stuff like this with—and not just about the leak, but how to make things right with Liv.
I heard a small creak I didn’t like and pulled my hand back. I inspected the pipe, and it looked as good as it could for a house that was over a hundred years old, so I went back to tightening the slip nut.
I didn’t like how I’d left things with Brighton on Friday. Yeah, I had every right to be pissed about what he’d done with Olivia. But I certainly hadn’t intended to see where everything went down. I don’t know what came over me. But the jealousy burned hot in my core as I stood there staring at him, thinking about him touching her without me.
That was the kicker. The part I was afraid to examine too closely.
Without me.
The truth was, I missed us all being together more than I cared to admit. I wished I could rewind time and reconsider how quickly I’d cut everything off out of fear. Because as weird as it sounded, there was a part of me that loved the way he touched her. Loved the way she opened up with him differently than she was able to with me. Not better, just . . . different.
I wasn’t sure how I really felt about everything now. I was torn between being angry and upset to just wanting everything to go back to the way it was—when Brighton was a part of the solution and not the problem.
It wasn’t even the physicality that was the issue—he’d been right about that. The emotional intimacy that drew them to one another was what terrified me the most. I knew she loved me. That wasn’t even a question. What I didn’t know was whether she loved him too much to truly let him go. And if she couldn’t? What then?
I didn’t have time to ponder the answer because the corroded pipe creaked a little louder, then proceeded to snap. Residual dirty water that was lingering in the P-trap dripped all over my clean, white T-shirt. I held a section of the broken pipe in my hand and cursed. On my way out of the cabinet, I hit my head on the hardwood casing and swore again.
I marched over to Brighton’s house and knocked. His truck was in the driveway, and I knew he could help me fix this. I knocked louder. When he still didn’t answer, I tested the knob and found it unlocked.
Pushing the door open, I called out, “Kerrington? You home?”
Home. The thought lodged itself in my heart. He hadn’t lived here for most of the summer, staying with us instead as the dirty renovations amped up. Still, it now felt like Brighton’s home. The thought of anyone else living here churned my stomach and made me feel like I had a bad case of indigestion. I’d have to talk to him about Livy’s reaction to the family she’d seen at the open house. Maybe ask if he could be a little picky about who he sold it to. I knew I didn’t have a right to ask. But if he loved her like he said he did, he’d do anything to protect her, wouldn’t he? And I needed his help doing just that.
I searched the first floor and couldn’t find him anywhere, so I headed up to the second floor to the library. It called to me like a siren, my curiosity luring me in farther, deeper into the heart of the home. Kerrington wasn’t there, but the door to the small, hidden room was open, taunting me.
I ground my jaw, unable to step toward it, even though I couldn’t tear my eyes away. The room was small—not long enough for a man as tall as Brighton to lay down on the cozy reading bench. That meant one of two things—and both options created a poisonous mix of rage and desire within me.
“Ryan?”
I swung around at the sound of Brighton’s voice, dropping the corroded pipe.
“What the hell are you doing in here? Did you come to take me out? With a pipe? In the library?”
I snorted. He had no clue the crazy thoughts that were racing through my mind right now. But as I stood there staring at him, the anger slowly ebbed from being directed at him and aimed at all we’d lost. And I didn’t know what the hell to do with any of that.
“Nah, I’m no Professor Plum,” I joked. “If anyone wants to take you out, I’ll leave it in Miss Scarlett’s hands. She’s more than capable.”
