by C. M. Albert
“Touché,” he said. “But seriously. What’s with the pipe?”
“I was trying to fix our laundry room sink. Had a little leak. Now I have a gaping hole where this pipe used to be.”
“And you’re here because . . . ?”
“I don’t know. I thought you could fix it really quick. Surely you have some PVC pipe lying around. Maybe a new P-Trap?”
Brighton folded his arms over his broad chest and lifted a brow. “I’m not your personal handyman, Ryan. Why don’t you just call a plumber?”
I started to answer, then stopped. Why had I come over here instead of calling a plumber? “Look, can we sit and talk for a minute?”
Brighton eyed the pipe, skeptical. I set it on the nearest table and walked over to the couch. “I’ll be careful not to get my dirty shirt anywhere near your fancy pillows.”
He sauntered over, but it didn’t escape me that his eyes flickered briefly to the hidden room. “Hang on,” he said. He walked over and pressed a button inside the small space. The wall immediately began to close, a bookcase swiftly covering up the evidence of my wife’s affair.
He joined me in the sitting area, plopping down in one of the comfortable armchairs near the fireplace. His arms draped over the back, his body filling the space with his overwhelming presence. Is this what she’d fallen for? The confidence that radiated off Brighton was brighter than Edward Cullen’s chest in the sunlight. He was a man unapologetically used to taking up space, yet never caring that all eyes were on him. I couldn’t help but recall the first time I’d met him. How I thought he would be a douchebag with his square, firm jawline, overly bright smile, and shirtless chest flexing as he crossed the yard toward me after a long day of hard work.
“It seems like just yesterday that I met your cocky ass coming across the driveway,” I said, my mind racing through reels of memories that included our neighbor since then. Things had changed so fast—and I found myself wishing we could go back to beers on the patio and easy conversation.
“Now look where we are,” he said drolly. “A picture of bliss.”
“Are you truly sorry about what happened?”
“I already told you this, Ryan. I’m sorry about how it hurt you. Are we doing this again?”
“Liv’s not doing so great,” I said quietly.
“What do you mean?” He pulled his body forward, so he was now sitting on the chair’s edge.
“You saw how she was Friday night.”
“Yeah? So? I thought she’d just gotten nauseous again.”
“What do you mean ‘again’?”
“Uh.” He ran his hand over his blond hair. The summer had been kind to him, lightening it from the first time I’d met him and making him look even more like a walking Adonis.
“Kerrington?”
“I’m sure it’s nothing. She just—the day of your fundraiser, she was finishing up her punch list over here. And she went a little pale, then got sick in my bathroom. She said she hasn’t been eating enough, and the anxiety of everything just got the better of her. You don’t think it’s something worse, do you?”
“No. It’s more emotional than physical. I dragged her to the fundraiser last week, and it was taxing for her to be around all those people asking about Laelynn and how she was doing. Then Friday night—I don’t know. I thought she was getting so much better. But she saw a young family at the open house. They had kids who were around the same age ours would’ve been, and she freaked out a little bit. She’s been in bed all weekend. She says she just needs a few days, but she hasn’t done this in a long time. Maybe since the car accident this summer.”
“Do you think it has something to do with the fact that she opened up to you about what happened with us? That maybe the weight of everything is crushing down on her? When is her next appointment with Dr. Paul?”
It felt weird talking to Brighton with so much concern for the same woman—for my wife. Yet, somehow, it also felt right. We both loved her.
“Tomorrow.”
“Make sure she goes,” Brighton said.
“I plan to. Think I’m going to call in and take a day off to be with her. I’m worried.” I glanced down at my dirty shirt, stained from all that was once trapped inside. It was a visual reminder that even though it had broken, at least now it could be fixed. All things could be, eventually.
“Do you ever think of staying here? Instead of selling?” I asked cautiously.
Brighton’s head snapped up, his clear green eyes drilling into mine. “Why would you ask me that?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. It just feels like your home now,” I said, looking around. “It’s hard to imagine another family filling this space.”
“I can’t, man. I’ve got nothing to tie me here. It’s too hard, you know? Being here next door to you guys. I think it would be best for us to get some distance. Give you the space you need to make things right once and for all. Looks like your journey got waylaid a little on a speed bump named Brighton,” he said, chuckling. “This summer might’ve slowed down your progress, but you guys are well on your way, and it won’t stop you from finishing up your trip together.”
He shook his head, looking out of one of the large, floor-to-ceiling windows. It had been drizzling all morning. Even though the sun was trying to surface, little rivulets of water covered the windowpanes, leaving sad, little trails as they slid down the glass.
“What if you weren’t just a speed bump, Brighton?”
He swallowed, then cracked his knuckles. “I can’t do this, Ryan. I can’t play these games anymore. You think this was all just fun and games for me? Some sick, twisted fantasy to come between someone’s marriage?”
I knew it wasn’t. That’s not what I’d meant.
“I’m not as strong as I pretend to be. I told you before this started that I wouldn’t jeopardize my own heart to save Olivia’s. That if feelings got involved, I would leave.” Brighton cleared his throat. “You know it’s time for me to leave.”
My chest tightened, like I had the weight of the world crushing down on it. I clenched my jaw, nauseous at the thought of him not being around. Maybe Olivia was right—I hadn’t thought through all the down-road consequences of him leaving yet. I just knew I wasn’t ready to say goodbye, and I didn’t even love, love him the way my wife did.
What the hell had I done to everyone because of my own selfishness?
“Not before I apologize, too,” I said low. The surprise on Brighton’s face was evident. He closed his eyes, taking in a deep breath as he waited. I knew what needed to be said, once and for all, to start fixing things.
“You were right,” I admitted.
“Excuse me?”
“Look, I’m only going to say this once. You were right that I didn’t think about you enough in all of this. How it would affect you when all was said and done. I was so worried about Olivia that I was freaking willing to share her with you. I would’ve done anything to make her happy again, but I didn’t stop to really consider the collateral damage it was going to cause along the way.”
“And I’m the collateral damage.”
“So am I, my friend. So am I. But I never meant for you to be.”
Neither of us said a thing. I tried to figure out where we could possibly go from here. What did I want from Brighton? What did I have any right to ask for? And more importantly, I needed to find out what Olivia wanted—what she really needed.
I stood up, angry at myself. I needed to make this right somehow.
“Where are you going?” Brighton asked, standing up with me.
“To call a plumber. Then I’m going to have a heart-to-heart with Olivia.”
He shook his head. “You’re not calling a plumber, Ryan. I was just chopping your balls. I got a kit down in the back of my truck. It’ll take me ten minutes to fix. How about I come over when I finish my meeting.”
“What meeting?”
“The meeting I was in the middle of with my sister when you barged into my ho
use unannounced.”
“You didn’t answer,” I said lamely.
“I’ll be over in a few. Shut the water main off at the street so we don’t turn one problem into two.”
I nodded, then headed toward the library door.
“Hey, Wells?”
I stopped, gripping the door frame. “Yeah?”
“I forgive you,” Brighton said, then cleared his throat. “It was worth it.”
I grinned, letting his words sink in. As I left the room, so many confusing emotions flooded over me. But one thing was for certain—it didn’t feel right to say goodbye. Not yet. Things felt unfinished.
I turned back around, catching Brighton’s eye. “Hey, Kerrington?”
He grinned, shoving his hands into his pockets like he always did. “Yeah?”
“Maybe you weren’t just a speed bump. Maybe you were supposed to be our destination.”
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.”
“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?