Prologue
Olivia
THE FUNNY THING about a lie is that instead of making you feel better, the truth starts to eat at your soul, demanding you to look in the mirror and face it. Until you do, everything in your life, and I mean everything, becomes centered around that lie—and what made you speak the poisonous words to begin with.
For me? It was nothing less than bone-splintering fear.
The lie? One simple word: no.
Before that, our eight-year marriage was built on love, respect, and most of all—honesty. When your relationship was born out of grief and slides even deeper into the darkness, loss after loss, the only thing that can set you free is the truth. It’s your lifeline. Your only ray of hope.
Which was why we’d created a truth pact, Ryan and me. It was as sacred as our wedding vows, and maybe even more so because it came after our first miscarriage. How do you bear such grief? How do you go on? We naively thought if we were one hundred percent honest with one another, that would be enough. That it would solve all our misery, like a crutch through the thick pain and muck of heartbreak.
It worked for a few years—through another miscarriage. Until, finally, that fragile, false hope we’d shackled around honesty shattered after the loss of our daughter. Stillborn. The truth was, no words, no matter how honest, could bridge the hollow, gaping hole where my heart used to be. The loss of Laelynn obliterated me, until I became so broken my husband was desperate in his attempts to reach me. To save me. To restore me to the woman he’d fallen in love with. Even if it meant sharing me. But when Brighton Kerrington entered our lives, the truth suddenly became a whole lot more complicated.
“And you fell in love with him?” Dr. Paul asked, reviewing my chart.
“I did,” I answered honestly. Because after that one lie burned hot across my tongue, I knew the only way out was through. Through the darkness that caused me to lie to begin with, betraying myself and all our marriage stood for.
“And do you still love him?”
“I’ve never stopped.”
“How does Ryan feel about this?”
I lifted an eyebrow and glanced at my therapist. “How would Mrs. Paul feel if you fell in love with another woman?”
“Touché,” he said. “However, Mr. O’Brien would be pretty shocked if I fell in love with any woman, I’d have to say.”
His warm smile helped me relax. “Point taken.”
“Why don’t we stick to your marriage?”
I nodded, picking at the cuticle on my thumb. It was a nasty habit I found myself leaning on when I was uncomfortable. Which was often these days.
“Back to my question. How is Ryan handling all of this?”
“As well as you could expect. He went back to work and is finding excuses to be away from home more.”
“Do you think he’s avoiding you because he knows you lied?”
“I don’t think he knows,” I said quietly. “Not for sure.”
“Really, Olivia? You don’t think he suspects at all?”
I thought back to the subtle ways he’d changed over the past few weeks. How distant he felt, and how our lovemaking had gone from the best it’d ever been to almost nonexistent. It felt as if all the progress we’d made over the summer was disappearing just as quickly as the warm temperature that would soon give way to the bitter cold of winter.
“What would be the worst thing that would happen if you told him the truth?”
Dr. Paul was Ryan’s idea to begin with. Four months ago, I’d wanted nothing to do with him. Now, he was my biggest ally and staunchest supporter to heal and get things right this time. I’d failed so epically in handling my grief after losing my babies. In fact, I still had work to do there. But we were tackling one fissure at a time. Because you can’t address the foundation when the upper floor is in flames.
My job was to put out the fire and pray that the damage wasn’t irreparable. Then address the unstable foundation my life was built on these days. I felt like at any moment, everything would come crashing down again, plunging me back into darkness.
“That he would leave me. That he would stop loving me.”
The words crawled over my skin like death itself. For all our troubles, Ryan was my soulmate. There were no two ways about it. Losing Ryan would be like cutting off my oxygen. I wouldn’t make it long without him. I wouldn’t want to.
The only problem was—Brighton was now wedged into my heart, too. It was so strong and palpable that I no longer felt complete without them both.
I know “they” say you should be complete all on your own. Here’s what I say: SCREW THAT SHIT.
Am I a complete and happy human being without a man? Well, sure. But who really wants to be alone? Not me. The only problem? Now that I’d felt the warmth of Brighton being in my life, it was impossible not to want them both. That’s not something I’ve been able to share in those exact words with Ryan. Partly because he’s been stuffing down his own pain for so long that I was afraid one more “truth” might send him overboard. But mostly it was because I highly doubted his idea of happiness involved having an open marriage. The term itself left an icky taste in my mouth, but at the end of the day, that’s all it would boil down to. And Ryan deserved better.
Brighton did, too.
“You need to tell him the truth, Olivia. Your real healing won’t begin until you do. Though, I have to say, I’m proud of how much you’ve opened up since we first started working together.”
“Yeah, sorry about that. I was in a place.”
“Oh, I remember,” he said and chuckled. “While I don’t agree with Ryan’s methodologies, you do seem happier and more capable of handling whatever comes your way. Including telling Ryan the truth and dealing with the fallout from that. You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for.”
Was I? I wish I had the confidence in myself that Dr. Paul now had. They say the truth shall set you free. I guess we were about to find out.
Chapter One
Olivia
IT WAS HARD to heal when I was spending most of my days finishing a job with the man I needed just as badly as my husband. It was torture for us both. I’d been upfront with Brighton about my lie, which only made me feel that much worse about my betrayal with Ryan. But I didn’t want him to accidentally hear from Brighton that we’d slept together alone—without him.
The fight we’d had was no excuse, nor was the way Ryan yelled at me or slammed his hand against the door where I stood, shattering the tiny glass windowpane. He wasn’t generally a physical man, and I was confident he would never hurt me. But these were not normal circumstances, and no one expected the jealousy that came with sharing me. You would’ve thought we’d have seen that one coming, but Ryan was a confident man by nature. Then again, he’d never had to share any part of me before Brighton.
The intimacy he’d handled well. It’s when I fell in love that things got tricky.
“Almost done?” Brighton asked, rounding the corner. His blond hair was getting a little longer on top, and he had to run his hand through it to get it out of his eyes.