by Tyler, Q. B.
Copyright © 2019 by Q.B. Tyler
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination and used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Cover Design: NET Hook & Line Designs
Editing: Kristen Portillo—Your Editing Lounge
Interior Formatting: Stacey Blake—Champagne Book Design
Proofreading: Leslie Middleton
Title Page
Copyright
Playlist
About This Book
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Epilogue
Preview of Bittersweet Surrender
Acknowledgements
Also by Q.B. Tyler
About the Author
Somebody That I Used to Know—Gotye
Everybody Knows—John Legend
Video Games—Lana Del Rey
Breathe 2 AM—Anna Nalick
Unbreak My Heart—Toni Braxton
Someone Like You—Adele
Come Home—One Republic
Speeding Cars—Imogen Heap
Run To You—Whitney Houston
It Will Rain—Bruno Mars
How Can You Mend A Broken Heart? —Al Green
It’s All Coming Back To Me Now—Celine Dion
Drunk in Love—Beyoncé
What do you do when the love of your life forgets?
Not the good times.
Not the love.
Not the passion.
But the pain and heartbreak and betrayal.
He doesn’t remember that he broke my heart.
But I do.
He doesn’t remember the darkest parts of our marriage.
He doesn’t remember that six months ago, I said goodbye.
What do you do when the love of your life remembers your marriage but not your divorce?
For the women who fought like hell for their happily ever after…
and for the ones still fighting.
Present Day
Four zero six
Four zero seven
Four zero eight…
The sound of my heels against the linoleum flooring is all that floods my ears as I walk down what appears to be a never-ending hallway.
I pass the rooms one by one trying my best not to look inside. Trying my best to avoid eye contact with all of the families that are waiting anxiously in the intensive care unit to know the fate of their loved ones. I’m not good with tragedy or death or sickness. I’m not good with hospitals; they give me a sense of uneasiness I’ve never been able to shake. I’ve been here ten minutes and I already feel the anxiety crawling up my throat and threatening to expel from me in the form of bile or tears. The agonizing fear had taken ahold of me the second I received the phone call and slowly unfurled in my chest the entire way to the hospital.
“Mrs. Clarke, are you in any position to drive yourself to the hospital? Perhaps you should arrange for transportation? …Mrs. Clarke? Mrs. Clarke?”
I’d let the phone fall from my fingertips, and it crashed and skid across the freshly mopped marble floors of my kitchen. The breath fell from my lips in quick bursts as I imagined a life without the man I’d known for the past nine years. The one I’d been happy with for over ninety percent of them.
Four zero nine.
I stare at the numbers next to the door, holding my breath as I attempt to make my way through the open door when a familiar face comes into view.
“Liv.” The sense of familiarity washes over me, giving me a sense of comfort as he walks towards me and shuts the large door behind him. I try my best to see inside before he closes the door, but he pushes me back slowly and guides me to a small bench in the hallway. “Did you drive here?”
“N—no.” I stammer out as I shake my head. “I wasn’t sure I could. How…” I swallow down the tears. God knows my eyes have cried over this man hundreds of times, but now wouldn’t be one of those times. He was fine. He had to be fine, and thus I wasn’t about to cry for him now. Not when he’d eviscerated my heart earlier this year. He wasn’t allowed to spend another minute holding my tear ducts hostage. My lip trembles, refuting my thoughts and I swallow down the tears. “Wren,” I whisper the name of my husband’s best friend, Wren Hamilton, who also happens to be the best neurosurgeon in the city. “What…what’s going on?”
He puts his hand over mine, and I watch his eyebrows furrow as he rubs his hand over my bare ring finger. “He loves you so much, Liv. He’s such a wreck without you.”
I look up from where our hands are joined, where his warm hands cover mine that feel frozen solid. Despite the comfort, I slide my hands from underneath his and just like that the tears have dissipated. “Yeah, I’ll bet. I didn’t come here to rehash the details of my failing marriage, Wren; I came here because I was told Bennett was in an accident.” I turn my gaze towards the door and speak my greatest fear into existence. “He’s not going to die, right? Because…” I clear my throat, trying to dislodge the ball of emotions that has filled the space from speaking those words aloud. “He can’t die.” I bite my bottom lip just as tears well in my eyes. I’m afraid to blink, knowing it will cause one to cascade down my cheek.
“He’s alive, Liv, but he’s unconscious. He was in a car accident and suffered quite a bit of head trauma. Traumatic brain injuries are quite normal in the severity of his accident, but there are some things I need to keep an eye on.” He pulls his stethoscope from around his neck and holds it in one hand as he leans over and rests his forearms on his thighs. “He’s banged up, Olivia, but he’ll live. If that’s even what you would say he’s been doing the last six months…” he trails off and I roll my eyes at his obvious attempt to make me sympathetic to our situation.
“Okay, now is really not the time.” I brush my hands down my black pencil skirt and cross my arms over my chest. I’m so not in the mood for this. Is this an ambush about the divorce? Hell, is Bennett really even in there? I let the morbid thought float through my mind once before shaking my head, knowing that Wren would never do something deceitful like that. He’s actually a good guy, the best, and I know he’s just being Bennett’s best friend, but he’s my friend too.
“Then when is the time, huh? You won’t talk to me or Lys,” he barks referring to his wife and my best friend as he stands up and begins to pace the floor in front of me. “Whatever is going on with him physically, will heal. I’ll see
to that. But his heart won’t heal that easily.” His eyes transform into haunted and exhausted orbs with a hint of resentment. Like it’s my fault that all of this is happening. As if it’s my fault that we’re going through this.
“He cheated on me, Wren. I didn’t do anything.”
“I don’t completely agree with that.” He puts a hand up in attempts to silence me. “But I agree his offense outweighs yours. Liv, it was a mistake and he’s been begging you for your forgiveness!”
“And? He fucked some woman. A woman he’s STILL fucking!”
“He doesn’t want her, Olivia! It’s…complicated,” he snaps as he puts his hands on his hips. His dark blue scrubs are harsh against his pale skin, but bring out the color of his eyes, especially now as they’re so dark and angry, they’re almost navy.
“Bullshit, don’t hand me that. He’s still sleeping with her, Wren. He’s still with her.”
He sits back down next to me. “He only wants you.”
“Wren, you need to let this go. Bennett and I are over,” I whisper as I put my hand on top of his, as if he’s the one in need of comfort. I look down at our hands again and note the contrast I’m very familiar with. My honey brown skin against his pale. Although my soon to be ex-husband was much tanner, with an olive complexion, just the visual causes a flutter of nostalgia.
It’s 2019, so being in an interracial relationship isn’t something that causes much, if any negative attention, except when my husband was hit on and women just assumed I wasn’t his wife.
Or when I was forced to interact with my mother-in-law. But no, of course she’s not racist, because “Jennifer Porter has been my best friend since college.”
It didn’t bother me, and Bennett kept her far away from me much of the time, not to mention his devotion to me was unwavering. He loved me deeply, irrevocably almost painfully. The “threats” to our marriage, if you could even call them that, were shot down without another glance. It was obvious he only had eyes for me and wore his ring proudly.
He was that way from the beginning. He pursued me for months and convinced me to date him. Showing up at my job, sending me flowers, and finding me almost anywhere as if he had a tracker on me. I would have been a little creeped out if it weren’t for the fact that his best friend was dating mine.
Even still, it was a little creepy.
It took all of two dates for me to fall, deeply. And though I tried to play hard to get, I was his from the moment he pressed his lips to mine on that bridge in Central Park. And the way he proceeded to court me the next few months, showed he was mine too.
We were engaged within a year and married the following. We were that level of happy that people hated. Outwardly our marriage was perfect and on the inside, it was just as beautiful. We had passion and love and trust and I was completely devoted to Bennett Clarke.
Life was perfect.
Until everything came crashing down.
Nine Years Ago
“I thought that was you.” I look up just in time to see Bennett something take the seat across from me at my very small table at the coffee shop just off campus. My textbooks litter the space in front of me as I’m studying for finals and my laptop is perched precariously in my lap. I pull my headphones from my ears, wondering in what world my appearance gives the impression that I have time for chit-chat even if the man is unbelievably gorgeous.
Piercing green eyes with flecks of honey trace my face. Eyes full of promises—though I’m not sure what they are yet. Effortlessly dressed in a full navy suit that looks like it cost more than three months of my rent, this man oozes sex and style and a masculinity that makes my heart race. He’s not wearing a tie and his top button is undone revealing just a hint of chest hair that I never realized is such a turn-on until this very moment.
“Umm…Bennett right?” I narrow my gaze slightly, trying to recall the last name of my best friend’s new boyfriend’s friend.
My best friend, Alyssa March, is a biology major and somehow had gotten mixed up with this very young, very cute Doctor, Wren Hamilton, at this hospital that she volunteered at to collect the hours she needed for med school. It was all so very Grey’s Anatomy.
I’d met Bennett in passing one night when Alyssa and I had gone out after class, and said dreamy and very possessive Doctor paid us a visit to make sure we were “behaving.” I rolled my eyes at the sentiment and asked her what it was like having another parent disguised as a boyfriend and she giggled back that she loved it and made some Daddy joke.
Bennett, who’d followed in tow, introduced himself and proceeded to stare at me for the remainder of the time, his eyes burning into me over his whiskey like he was a lion and I was his prey and he was plotting his next move. I knew I looked good that night, in my favorite black dress that hugged my curves as my sleek straight hair cascaded down my back, but the way he went back and forth between undressing me with his eyes and sabotaging any conversation with a guy who tried to talk to me, I’d briefly wondered if he liked more than the way I looked.
“You wound me, Olivia Warren.” He smiles and I don’t miss the fact that his smile is quite literally perfect. Straight white teeth and a dimple on only one side underneath one layer of stubble. He nods at my computer and the array of books surrounding me. “What are you studying?” He takes a sip from the paper cup and I try to ignore the way his throat moves or the way his Adam’s apple wobbles as he swallows.
Don’t look at his mouth, Liv.
I tuck a long curled hair behind my ear, a telltale sign that I’m nervous, and try to avoid his gaze. “You can just call me Liv. That’s what everyone calls me.”
“Well, what if I don’t want to just be like everyone. Then what should I call you?” He smiles again with a hint of cockiness, but more playfulness, and I’m grateful I’m sitting down, or else my knees would probably buckle.
“Ummm…” I look away from his green eyes. Green gorgeous eyes that look emerald. I’d never seen eyes that color and mixed with his tanned complexion, he looked like the “Greek God” women went on about in romance novels.
I was going to bomb this exam if I didn’t get my shit together.
“Statistical Analysis,” I say finally.
“That’s what I should call you?” he jokes.
I roll my eyes, but I can’t stop the uptick of my lips at his corny attempt to be funny. “That’s what I’m studying and I have a final in like two hours.” I blink my eyes several times as if to say, sooo bye?
He puts his hands up in defeat before running a hand through his thick dark hair. “Fine, I’ll let you be.” He pulls his card out from his inside pocket and hands it to me. “Maybe when you’re done, you’ll call me and we can celebrate you being finished?”
I lick my bottom lip and realize my mouth has gotten very dry. I reach for the coffee in front of me and take a long sip. “I don’t know if tonight will work,” I tell him as I pray that this blow off will deter him from pursuing me further. It’s not that I’m not attracted to him, or that he’d done anything wrong. I just don’t date much, and I don’t need the possibility of this clouding my head while I take the most taxing final of my college career.
He smiles and nods his head as if he hears the implication loud and clear. “You’re graduating this weekend, like Alyssa?” Or not?
“Yep.” I run my fingers over the indents of the precise block letters stamped on his card. I run my gaze over it and catch his full name.
BENNETT CLARKE
“I’ll see you this weekend then,” he says and my eyes shoot up to meet his. Wait, what? He winks and then he’s gone, leaving me alone with my very confusing thoughts and the smell of the sexiest man alive swirling around me.
By the grace of God, I made it through the test because I spent about half of my exam wondering what he meant by his ominous statement.
Is he coming to the graduation? To be supportive of Wren?
He asked you out on a date and gave you his cell phone number, and you think he
’s coming to be supportive of Wren?
I ponder this all the way home when I spot the pink roses sitting in front of my door. I pick them up as I walk into the apartment I share with Alyssa, pressing my nose into the pale pink flowers. I’m just about to call out for her, as I assume they’re from Wren, when I see my name very carefully written on the card.
Olivia,
I hope your exam went well.
Congratulations on being finished with college.
I hope you’ll give me a call sometime.
BC
Present Day
I’m brought from my thoughts by someone approaching, and before I even look up, my heart sinks and I dig my nails into my palm as I steel myself for my mother-in-law. “Wrenny!”
“You called her?” I groan, under my breath as I stand up and wait for her to criticize everything about me. Heaven forbid I stay seated. Dressed to the nines, as usual, Caroline Clarke glides down the hallway. Her brown hair is cut into a sleek bob and I know there’s not a hair out of place. Bennett’s mother exuded style and confidence and is undeniably chic. I always thought she reminded me of Audrey Hepburn in Breakfast at Tiffany’s. If she didn’t drive me completely insane, I’d actually love to raid her closet.
“Mrs. C.” He smiles and gives her a polite nod.
She doesn’t acknowledge my presence when she stops in front of us and fixes her eyes on Wren. “What happened to my baby? Is he alright, can I see him?” Her voice is surprisingly calm, though I’m sure she’s just building up to the full-blown hysteria.
“I was just discussing that with Liv. He’s suffered some head trauma, more specifically a subdural hematoma, which is a brain bleed.” I immediately prepare myself for the performance that Caroline Clarke is gearing up to give. It will be unprecedented, I’m sure. Her hand finds her chest and then her mouth and then her chest again. Her heavily made up green eyes are wide and unblinking as they move to room four zero nine. “Very common in car accidents, nothing to be alarmed about, we’re just going to keep him for a few days.”
