“Ryan, let’s just call a truce, okay? We’ve each done and said things I’m sure we wished we could take back. But we can’t. We’ve apologized. Can we put the past where it belongs and try to be friends again?”
Ryan snorted. “You want me to be friends with my wife’s secret lover?”
“Look—”
“I’m just joshing, Kerrington. Calm your tits,” he said, sounding more like the Ryan I knew. He went over to the fridge and grabbed a longneck for me.
I yanked it from his hand and accepted the bottle opener, flipping the top off. I took a long pull as I looked at Ryan. “I think it’s a little soon for secret lover jokes.”
“If I can’t laugh about it, I’ll end up crying, and no one wants to see that.” Ryan set the spoon down and took a pull from his own beer. “I was just messing around, though. Let the past be the past.”
We clinked the mouths of our beer bottles and settled in for a nice conversation about how things were going now that Ryan was back at the university full time. Based on what he was telling me, I suspected he was using work to avoid all the pain he was bottling up again. In my experience, that was never a good idea. But I kept my mouth closed, not wanting to rock this fragile boat any more than it already was.
Ryan set a stack of plates onto the kitchen island and nodded toward them. “Mind setting the table? Liv should be down any minute, and dinner’s about ready.”
I pushed my chair back and stood, surprised to see Olivia standing in the doorway. She was freshly showered, but quite frankly, she looked exhausted. She had dark bags under her eyes, and I noticed she’d lost a little weight—which she didn’t need to.
“Hey,” I said quietly. I wanted to go over and hug her. To erase the damaged look from her eyes.
“Hey,” she said back, going to lift the plates herself. “I got it. You sit down and relax. How did the open house go?”
She set a plate in front of me, and I could feel her hips brush my arm as she leaned down to add the cloth napkin and utensils. I wanted to grip her hips and pull her onto my lap, crushing my mouth down onto hers. I wanted to feel her curl up in my arms and take away all the stress of whatever was bothering her. Was it still because of her babies? Or was I now adding to her pain instead of lifting it?
I cleared my throat, unable to concentrate with the smell of vanilla and citrus floating around me. “It went well. We have three serious buyers asking about the house.”
“But?” she asked, sensing there was more.
“But I asked my sister to put a hold on the sale for now.”
Olivia gasped, dropping the plate she was holding. Shards of ceramic splintered off in every direction as Ryan hurried around the kitchen island to help clean it up.
“Why don’t you sit down, Olivia? It’s been a long day and a hard weekend. You deserve to relax, too,” Ryan said, rubbing her shoulder.
Olivia rolled her eyes at me. “He always goes into hyper-protective mode when I get all mopey and shit.”
“Isn’t that a good thing?”
“It’s a wonderful thing. But I’m confused. Isn’t Paige Morgan your realtor?”
“She is. She’s also my sister,” I said, taking a sip of my beer.
“Your sister,” Olivia said, as if putting two and two together. She snort-laughed, but quickly waved it away as she took a seat in the chair next to mine.
“Why are you putting the sale on hold?” Ryan asked. “You just listed it. I thought you’d be excited to get a couple of good offers.”
“They weren’t offers yet, just interest. Maybe we could sit down after dinner and talk about it some more?”
Ryan looked to Olivia. “I’ll let the missus decide. I’m taking tomorrow off, so I’m not in any rush.”
“You’re taking the day off tomorrow?” Olivia asked, brightening.
“Mmm-hmm. I thought I told you already.”
“I’m pretty sure I would’ve remembered if you had,” she teased. “I’d love to catch up after dinner, Brighton. I want to hear more about the house and what’s going on there.”
Indeed. If only I understood my own impulsive decisions.
Chapter Eight
Olivia
AFTER WE ATE, Ryan lit a fire in the living room. I tried not to focus on the fact that it was the same room where I’d lied to him not that long ago. About the same man who was now joining us after dinner with a glass of wine in his hand.
“So—”
“Tell me—”
“Sorry. Ladies first,” Brighton said, laughing at how we both started talking at the same time to fill the awkward silence.
“I just wanted to hear more about the house,” I said, curling up on the couch next to Ryan. I tucked my legs beneath my bottom to get comfy.
“Do you really?” he asked, narrowing his eyes at me. “Ryan said Friday was a little hard for you. I was worried you’d gotten sick again.”
“No. I just—I don’t know how to explain what happened. Things were so hard last week at the fundraiser with seeing everyone again for the first time. Then, going to the open house with your home all finished and looking like another family could just waltz right in and live there . . . I don’t know. It just—triggered something in me, I guess.”
“Maybe we should back this up a little bit first,” Ryan said, clearing his throat.
“This,” he said, waving his wine glass in a triangular motion in the space between the three of us, “is an unusual situation to say the least. I know part of this is my fault, for wanting to keep you and Kerrington so separate. My conversations between him and me were just between us; and our conversations about everything were in private too,” he said, looking at Olivia.
“While some things need to stay private, there’s a lot that the three of us never discussed properly after our . . . time together. I think if we had, none of this awkward stuff would’ve happened. We’re all adults here. Can we just get on the same page and figure out where to go from here? I think we all need that.”
I traced my finger around the rim of my wine glass, surprised by Ryan’s words. He’d been so quick and sure to cut things off between all of us. It started because of Ryan and ended because of him, too. But somewhere in the middle of all his decisions lay my heart, battered and confused.
“How did everyone feel initially, right after—you know—everything happened?” Ryan asked.
Even though he was the oldest one in the room, he seemed to have a hard time just saying it like it was. “If we’re going to be transparent, let’s be transparent, shall we?” I said, taking a sip of my cabernet.
“By all means. That’s exactly what I want us to do. I don’t think we’re going to be able to move on if we don’t get everything out in the open.”
“I agree,” Brighton chimed in. “I feel like a lot was left unspoken after all was said and done.”
I licked my lips, looking between the men. I’d learned a lot from Dr. Paul. Being honest and speaking my truth was a priority these days. So, if they wanted to hear my truth, I would give it to them.