by C. M. Albert
Not a day went by that I didn’t think of Ryan or yearn for him in a way that would stay with me for the rest of my life. I’d taken so much for granted with him, and as much as it hurt that I couldn’t make it up to him, I vowed not to do the same with Brighton and our daughter.
Because even if she were Ryan’s biological daughter, Brighton would be the only father she grew up with. We would make sure she knew and loved Ryan, but if anyone understood the real, permanent bond that comes with adoptive parents, it was me. She would love Brighton just as fiercely and wholly as I’d loved my daddy.
When Brighton held her for the first time, my heart bent a little more, twisting into a brand-new shape. I once thought that my heart was irreparably broken—and I’d told Ryan as much. He taught me, by loving me completely and unconditionally through the good times and the worst days of my life, that it wasn’t really broken.
Love heals even the worse scars.
If Ryan could redefine his definition of love so drastically, I knew there was nothing that love couldn’t overcome. Brighton and I had a lot more healing to do, especially after Ryan’s sudden and unexpected death. But as I watched him coo over the baby, kissing her forehead just like he always did mine, I knew we would somehow be okay.
I didn’t spin out like I did after Laelynn’s death. I worked with Dr. Paul on healthier ways to work through my new grief so I could still be present for Brighton and our daughter. It wouldn’t always be easy—I wasn’t so naïve to think it would be. But Ryan had left his legacy behind, showing Brighton what being an amazing husband looked like. And I had no doubt he’d live up to Ryan’s memory and fill those big shoes before long. He was well on his way, which was the only reason I was able to get through the last four weeks.
“I love you so much,” he whispered to our daughter. “Baby, what if we name her Ryan?”
Everything shifted into place. Ryan. It was perfect. My heart felt almost “right” for the first time since my husband’s death. I smiled, remembering his dark, rugged looks. His thick, brown hair with the cowlick over his forehead. The dimples, and bearded jaw. His strong yet tender hands, the ones that felt as if they were made specifically to hold me. They’d reached back to save my ass more times than I could count. And his eyes. The same ones I hoped our daughter would have one day—kind, wise, fiery, and passionate. But most of all, confident and brave.
If Ryan had been the holy to my wild, what would our daughter be?
“Do you have a name in mind?” the nurse asked, as she took care of all the post-birth tasks that were necessary, if not fun.
Brighton handed Ryan back to me, and I snuggled her tightly to my chest, wondering how it was possible for my heart to expand this fast, even in the middle of grief.
She’d been born from the overwhelming love of three people stumbling their way through a storm of pain, until they finally emerged on the other side, better versions of themselves. If the past few years had taught me anything, it was that love really was worth the risk. Our daughter was proof of that.
“Her name is Ryan Samantha Kerrington Wells.”
Chapter Forty-Three
Brighton
THE FIRST MONTHS of Ryan’s life were a bittersweet blur. We were exhausted from our new sleep schedule and having such a steep learning curve. Luckily, Becca and her family had already moved in next door, becoming not only a good friend to Olivia, but a godsend to our entire family. When we didn’t have the answers, she did.
Olivia and I were getting the hang of things, slowly but surely. I hesitated to say that though, because it seemed like every time I did, Ryan’s sleep schedule changed, and we were having to adjust all over again. We were happy that Stitch was doing so well with the big changes in our house. He seemed to miss Ryan a lot, and we often found him curled up on the sofa of his home office. We knew by the way he already seemed protective over the baby that they would become fast friends one day.
Ryan’s memorial service was the hardest day of all since the baby was born. We kept the ceremony small and intimate, as Ryan would’ve wanted. And he was buried in his family’s plot alongside Laelynn.
I worked from home as much as possible to help care for Ryan and focus on the design side of my business. I officially turned all day-to-day operations over to Rob, who seemed to be running things like a champ. It’s not that I wouldn’t ever go back, but I had everything I needed in this house. At first, I was afraid it would be too hard on Olivia—being surrounded by all the memories of their marriage and what she’d lost. But she said it was comforting to know that their baby was not only conceived here, but that she would be raised here. Memories of Ryan still hurt, but they also healed.
We decided to renovate the room that was once the guestroom where Olivia used to escape on some of her darkest days. We turned it into a playroom since it was adjacent to the kitchen and sunroom where we spent so much time. Olivia let me handle the bulk of that but had a few design ideas of her own to contribute, of course. When I was clearing out the room, I asked Olivia what she wanted to do with the memory box I made for her. We moved it upstairs, deciding to store it in her closet. It held so many important memories, but we were also ready to start taking baby steps to move forward.
Before she put the box in her closet, she ran her hand over the surface one last time. I loved the way she smiled at the flowers I painted on the lid. Purple tulips. Our flower.
She was ready to add Ryan’s things to the box, as well. The death certificate and his autopsy report. The watch he was wearing at the hospital and his wedding band. One day, we would share everything with our Ryan. But today, we needed this closure.
Olivia paused when she lifted the box’s lid, staring into it as if she’d seen a ghost.
“What’s wrong?” I asked as I folded and put away my socks.
“There’s something in here, with Ryan’s handwriting on it.”
I joined her by the bed and looked down. Sam’s items had joined Laelynn’s, though they each had their own special boxes to keep everything separate. They rested on top of two blankets, one that had belonged to each of our lost babies. But on top of those little boxes lay three legal-sized envelopes, each bearing Ryan’s small, neat print on the top.
“What do you think these are?” I asked, lifting them. There was one addressed to each of us, including the baby.
Olivia’s hand shook as she closed the lid and sat on the bed. “I don’t know. I’m afraid to find out.”
I set the envelopes on the bed and moved to stand between her legs. She wrapped her arms around my waist, and I held her against my stomach. “We’ve already lived through the worst.”
She took a deep breath, and I saw her tapping her fingers in the silent relaxation mantra she used when she was stressed or anxious. Then she looked up at me, her eyes trusting, curious, and full of so much love. “What should we do with Ryan’s? Should we open it?”
“No. Whatever it is, let’s save it for her. We can give it to her when she graduates. She’ll be old enough by then to handle whatever’s inside.”
So that’s what we agreed on, setting our daughter’s envelope back inside the box.
“Would you do me a favor?” Olivia asked quietly before we opened ours.
“Anything.”
“Would you mind painting a hydrangea on the memory chest one of these days?” she asked. “For Ryan.”
“I’ll paint it tomorrow,” I promised.
I leaned forward and kissed her forehead. I knew whatever was in these envelopes, it would be bittersweet. I didn’t know if I was ever going to be ready for something like this. I just prayed it gave us both some closure. Therapy only goes so far. It was the rebuilding of our life day by day that was helping the most. Staying open with each other. Learning to communicate. And me taking diaper duty. That helped a lot, too.
“Do you have any idea how much I love you?” I asked Olivia, nipping gently at her lower lip. It was too soon to make love again, but we were counting down the days
.
“I might have a pretty good idea,” she said.
And that was all I ever wanted. To be able to love Olivia.
The funny thing about love is we think it’s something we can control. That we can choose who gets our heart. But love is elusive, effusive, and permanent all rolled into one. Our ideas about what we all wanted from one another had changed over time. I went from trying to wrestle my feelings for Olivia to the ground to stealing whatever feelings I could get when I was around her, as if that would ever be enough. As if I could live with anything less than Olivia’s entire heart.
But it was Ryan’s love that surprised me and changed me most of all, questioning everything I thought I knew about love—friendship, romantic love, sexual love, soul mates . . . they were such mucky waters to wade in. How do you compartmentalize love?
You can’t.
When I stopped trying to control my feelings and how I thought I was supposed to define love, an entire new world opened for me. I know it did for Ryan and Olivia, too. We all benefited from this new definition of love in the end. Because the truth is—the more you love, the more you love.
Look, I never claimed to be Shakespeare. That was Ryan’s forte. All I know now is—Ryan left us with the greatest gift of all. His daughter. And every day we were redefining what love meant and trying to love a little harder than the day before.
I wrapped my arm around my wife’s shoulder—only now, Olivia was my wife in every sense of the word. Some thought it was too soon, but we knew it was what Ryan would want for us, and for his daughter. The second time we said our vows was in a ceremony even more simple. It was in the county clerk’s office with just the two of us, plus Becca and Joey to act as our witnesses and hold the baby. We already exchanged rings the first time, but I wanted to give her something special for our wedding. It was a bittersweet day for Olivia, and I wanted to remind her that just because we were making it official, it would never erase the importance of their marriage. It didn’t mean Ryan was any less a part of our lives.
Every day since then, Olivia wore the locket I gave her. An engraved tulip and hydrangea pom were entwined on the front of the necklace. It opened like a clover to reveal miniature pictures of our entire family: Ryan, Olivia, me, and our daughter.
I gently squeezed her shoulder before picking up my envelope from the bed. “Are you ready to do this?” I asked, nudging her.
“As ready as I’ll ever be.”
So, we sat there in silence and read the letters we found in our envelopes, one at a time. They were full of all the love Ryan had for us. I knew it would be something we would cherish forever and return to repeatedly throughout the years. Because in the end, in typical Ryan fashion, he held none of his love back.
And if Ryan’s life had revolved around anything, it was definitely his heart.
Brighton’s Letter
Dear Brighton,
If you’re reading this, it probably means I kicked the can. Which means you’re probably celebrating because now you finally have Olivia all to yourself. (Calm down, it’s a joke.)
After Laelynn died, I knew life could change in the blink of an eye. Nothing we think is ours is permanent. Which is why I spent so much time doing everything I could to make Liv happy, no matter how that looked to anyone else. Because if I only get this one precious life with her, why would I waste it doing anything but that? She was my everything, Kerrington. I know you know that. And I can see she is your everything, too. So, don’t chum it up.
I have a confession to make. Ever since you got us those watches for Christmas, I was afraid to use mine. I did, but I avoided the app at all costs. The reason why is because I’ve noticed some changes in my health lately, and it scared the fuck out of me. Especially when I have more to lose now than ever before. It could be nothing, and that’s what I’m hoping it is. But you know what I say—better safe than sorry. I have an appointment next week. Liv would be so proud that I finally made a doctor’s appointment for myself without her having to ride my ass about it.
Which brings me to this letter.
It’s silly, I know. After my appointment, when I know more, I’ll figure out what to do with them. But it felt important to get these feelings down on paper just in case. If now’s not my time to worry about this kind of stuff, I’ll happily destroy them and spend the rest of my life showing you both how much I love you instead of telling you. My prayer is that you never read this. But if you do . . .
I love you. And I don’t just love you. I’ve come to love love you. I don’t care what anyone else calls it. I know it for what it is. Perfection. You are the first time I ever loved without expectation, without limits, and without a promise of anything in return.
For as much as I busted your balls about Olivia, I finally understood why she was so drawn to you—you’re like a force of nature neither of us could deny. And you know what? I’m so glad we didn’t. I don’t know what in the world possessed me to ask you what I did that day at the Crown and Feather. Maybe all along it wasn’t just about Olivia. Maybe my soul recognized that we would both be safe with you. And maybe, even then, I craved you a little bit, too.
I was so angry then when you and Liv did what you did. (Don’t even get me started on that from beyond the grave.) I needed you to know that it hurt me, deeply. But I’m not telling you this now to make you feel guilty over something we can’t go back and change. I think everything happened for a reason. And I’m quickly realizing that it was more than just what happened, or the lie Liv told to cover it.
I was scared. Terrified, actually.
I was scared that you and Olivia would fall head over heels into a love so deep neither of you needed me. Not as a friend. Not as a husband. I know how stupid that sounds now, after all we’ve been through. But at the time, it was raw and brutal and terrifying all at once. I forgave you both a long time ago. And now? Like I said, I’m grateful.
You see, I’ve done a lot of thinking recently. I’ve come to realize that mine and Liv’s truth pact was made from a place of fear. As a way for us to control our love when we were spinning out dangerously. Is honesty a critical part of every marriage? Yes. But if we’d really been honest, instead of making a truth pact, we would have talked more openly about our fears. Our wants. Our needs. We were too busy worrying about losing each other that we didn’t realize the only way not to was to choose love. Every day. Day after day. No matter how hard it got.
That’s what I want you to take away from this, Brighton. Because that’s what you taught me. I hate that stupid quote about how if you love something, you’re supposed to set it free. If it comes back to you, it was meant to be. But maybe there’s some truth to it. What I think the author was saying is—when you stop trying to control your love for someone else, and simply love, that’s when you know you’ve finally gotten it right. Things work out as they’re meant to.
I let Olivia fly free, and she did come back. Only she came back even better, dragging your sorry ass along with her. By giving up my need for control, by really listening to her when she told me she wasn’t ready to end things with you yet, that’s when I finally got it right. By trusting that her love for me was bigger than anything I was trying to control. And what ended up happening was that we all loved more for it. Not less.
I never thought, in any version of this universe, that I would be able to love another man—never would’ve even entered my mind to consider it. Then you came into my life. (I blame your killer abs, disarming smile, and cocky swagger for not being able to resist.)
I don’t know how to even label what we are to one another. Best friends? Lovers? Soul mates? Brother husbands? (Sorry, not sure what the dude version of sister wives is.) All I know is that—independent of Olivia—I love you, Brighton Kerrington. I loved you so much it hurt, because I was afraid of what my loving you would do to Olivia. But she saw it—she wasn’t stupid. Do you know we had a conversation once, just her and me, about this very thing? It was before you and I were physically intimate.
She said, “Ryan, you look at Brighton the way you looked at me when we first met.” Which made me snort laugh, because the first time Liv met you in person, that was exactly what ran through my head. I actually thought, Oh, crap. I’m fucked. Because some things are stronger than our control. Some things are fate.
Just as surely as Olivia was my destiny, so were you.
Now, before I lose my man card for admitting all this, let’s talk practical things. Not like I’m trying to control anything from the grave. I would never do that. But . . .
Don’t purposely hurt Olivia. I realize now it’s impossible not to hurt each other in love. But there’s a difference in intent. I know you and Liv never meant to hurt me. Don’t purposely hurt her, or you can bet your sweet ass I’ll be haunting you for the rest of your days.
Get your ass over to our house already. Don’t be afraid to make it yours.
Love our daughter with everything you have, but don’t try to control her. Let her learn how to fly. I hope she’s every bit as wild and fierce and brave as Olivia. And as funny, kind, and generous as you. Oh, and study up on the dad jokes, okay? Olivia thinks she has the market on those, but we dads need to represent and stick together.
That’s all I’ve got, Kerrington. I could tell you a million other little things to make life easier, but where’s the fun in that? Some things you need to figure out on your own. Just you and Liv. Just promise me something? Immortalize me, okay? I wasn’t kidding when I said I was terrified about not being a part of Liv’s life, or your life. I want to be the butter between your bread for the rest of your days. Okay now, see? That is exactly why you need to practice your dad jokes before Baby T comes.
