I don’t know why I said that, or if it would just make things worse. But I headed across our yards with more determination to fix things than ever before.
And it would start with the laundry room sink.
Chapter Seven
Brighton
“YOU NEED TO untangle yourself from all of this,” Paige said, looking over the rim of her coffee mug at me. I’d left her on the back patio, waiting all this time, while Ryan and I had our little—I don’t know. Whatever the hell that was.
“It’s not that easy, Sis,” I said, frowning as I plopped into the comfortable rocker that Olivia had hand selected. That was the problem. Everything in this house reminded me of her, and our time together. It was like an addiction I didn’t want to walk away from.
“Oh my god,” she said, setting her coffee mug down on the small table between our chairs. “Do you love her?”
When I didn’t answer, she groaned. “Christ, Brighton. You fell in love with a married woman?”
“It’s not like I did it on purpose,” I said. “And I’d really appreciate it if you kept this bit of news to yourself. I don’t need all my sisters on my ass about it.”
“You know I keep my word, and I’ve already promised to keep mum about whatever it is that’s going on with you. But what’s going to happen now that you’re leaving? Did you really think you could just walk away?”
I ground my teeth, looking down at my clasped hands that rested between my knees. I wouldn’t go into all the details with Paige. She was my sister after all. But I could really use some unbiased advice. Though with the way she was reacting, I wasn’t sure that was possible. She seemed to already have an opinion about the whole situation—with just the limited information I’d shared. But she didn’t have the whole picture.
“I haven’t met anyone like Olivia, ever,” I started. “My plan wasn’t to get involved with a married woman. We were just friends at first. It’s complicated. But, Paige, we’ve both been through a lot of the same things. She understands the pain I went through after losing Sam.”
“Yeah, but why not just keep it friendly? If you join a support group, they’ll all understand what you went through after losing your son, too.”
“It’s different,” I growled, gripping my hands tighter together. “It’s hard to explain how and why it progressed the way it did. You just have to trust me when I tell you the feelings are real—on both sides.”
Paige gasped. “Does her husband know?”
I nodded. I could not possibly tell her any more than that. Or about how he had been an integral part of it all—part of what made the whole situation even more confusing than ever. Or how the two of us worked symbiotically to heal Olivia by loving her. How it actually made sense at first and was working. Until it wasn’t.
“And he’s okay with it?”
“It’s not exactly what you think. It’s complicated. That’s all I can say.”
“And all I can say is—you need to untangle yourself from this. From whatever game it is they’re playing. I don’t want to see my baby brother get hurt again.”
“It’s too late for that,” I said, lifting my coffee to my lips. It was cold, but it was still coffee, so I finished off the mug.
“What now? Do you still want me to put the house sale on hold? I have three families who are potentially interested in it, Brighton. They won’t be for long.”
“I just need to make sure Olivia is going to be okay, first. I can’t focus on making a decision around the house or deal with negotiating contracts when she’s all I can think about.”
“But what if she isn’t okay in the long run? What then? Are you going to be able to walk away? You can’t stay here forever. And I can’t keep listing and delisting the house. It looks bad for buyers. They’re going to start thinking something is wrong with the place.”
“I’m sorry, Paige. Maybe I should’ve waited a bit longer before listing it.”
“Brighton, I’m going to be blunt. There’s nothing worth staying for here. This is not going to end well for you.”
I set my mug down on the table and stood.
“Where are you going?”
“I have a pipe to fix for my friend. I’ll let you know when to put the house back on the market.”
“What do I say to buyers?”
“Tell them anything you want. Just don’t sell it yet. I need a few more weeks, maybe a month.”
“You may as well not list it until after the holidays then. No one is going to buy near Thanksgiving and Christmas. Not even in this market. And what about your cousins? It’s not fair to the estate to let it sit that long.”
“I’ll cover the mortgage myself, then.”
“Brighton! That’s thousands of dollars.”
“I have it covered, Sis.”
She shook her head back and forth, her lips pursed. “It’s not just about the money, Brighton. What about your heart? Or do you have that covered, too? Because from where I’m sitting, it doesn’t look like you do.”
“What’s a heart worth having if you aren’t willing to risk it all?”
“Said the man right before his heart was crushed.”
I grinned at my older sister. She had the best intentions. I knew she did. But I was already, and irrevocably, in way over my head. I knew the right thing to do was to leave now and never look back.
Instead, I headed to my work truck and pulled out the sink repair kit. I’d start with the broken pipe. But sooner or later, the three of us were going to need to have a heart-to-heart about what to do about everything else that had shattered. It might not be as easy to fix as the pipe, but it would be a whole hell of a lot more rewarding.
THE PIPE TOOK longer than we thought to deal with because of the age of the house. We got the main issue fixed, and the sink no longer leaked, but the pipes would all need to be replaced sooner or later. It just came with the territory of owning a historic property.
When I was done, I went to the kitchen to find Ryan. It had gotten dark out, and he was at the stove making what smelled like homemade pasta sauce. A big pot of water boiled on another burner.
“All done?” he asked, barely looking up as he added fresh spices into the pot.
“Yep. All fixed. I didn’t know you could cook like this.”
Ryan nodded. “My family was big on Sunday dinners, and one of my grandmothers was Italian. I grew up learning how to cook one thing only—pasta. Chicken parm. Lasagna. Ziti. Spaghetti. Ravioli. Gnocchi.”
“And homemade sauce, apparently.”
“Secret family recipe,” he said, grinning. “I was hoping you would join us for dinner.”
“Does Liv know I’m here?”
Ryan nodded, stirring the pot. “She’ll be down in a few minutes. She had to shower first.”
I pulled a chair out from the kitchen table. It was more intimate than their formal dining room and where we ate the most over the summer. “Anything I can do to help?”
“Nah, you’ve helped enough already with the sink. I appreciate that. I didn’t mean to take advantage of you being next door or anything. I just knew it was something you could probably fix easily enough.”