When Olivia left,the silence hit hard. I sit on the edge of the couch, elbows on my knees, dragging a hand through my hair like that’ll quiet my brain. Her voice still echoes in my ears. Her tears are still on my shirt. Every part of her is still here, even though she’s not.
I love her. God, I love her. And I love Hannah too. I swear.
Saying that out loud would make me sound like the kind of man I swore I’d never be. But it’s true. I love the woman who built a life with me, who gave me two incredible daughters, and I love the woman I never really let go of, even when I told myself I had. This pains me, and it isn’t easy to accept.
It’s not supposed to be possible—to love two people like this. But here I am. Split down the middle. Bleeding out on both ends.
We keep saying we’ll stop. Be friends. Reset. But wedon’t know how to do that. Not when we just remembered what it feels like to have each other again.
And that scares the hell out of me.
Later that evening,I’m seated on the porch, looking at the lake, at everything and nothing at the same time. And like any sane person, I open a bottle of whiskey and don’t even mind grabbing a glass. I drink from the bottle, and drink, and drink. Thank God nobody is here, this is pathetic. I look pathetic.
I’m already buzzed, so I go inside and take a shower. I need that and to get some sleep. Water blasts my back; steam fills the room. It should help, but it doesn’t. All I can think about is her. My hand is on my cock before I even know I’m touching myself. The images hit fast, her legs wrapped around me, her breathy moans, the way her body opened up for me like she’d been waiting for it. Waiting for me.
My grip tightens, strokes faster. I picture her riding me, biting her lip, whispering my name like it means something. Like it still does. I come hard; the sound I make is part relief, part regret.
I get out and towel up, just when I hear my phone buzz.
FaceTime Incoming: Hannah
My stomach drops. I’m too drunk to deal with this right now, and I’m feeling like shit. I pick up and see her; she’s in bed, in a tank top, with no bra. Her cheeks are wine flushed. And that look in her eyes? I know it well. She's lonely, drunk, and horny. “Hey, babe,” she purrs. “You look fresh out of the shower.”
“Yeah,” I say, playing it cool. “Just needed to clear my head.” There’s a pause. She nods, but her smile tightens. “Should I be worried about you being there with Olivia?” Oh, here we go.
“You’re drunk,” I say, softly. “Let’s talk tomorrow.” She doesn’t push, doesn’t say anything really. Instead, she slips her shirt off, fingers sliding down her stomach, and she starts touching herself. She knows sex has always been a way for us to communicate or to avoid communicating.
I watch her. I know shouldn't do this right now, but I do. I see how she stretches for me, I hear her moan my name, I see her rhythm speed up. “Oh, Ethan, I miss you.” Fuck, I do too. I feel all sorts of things right now, but this is my wife, the woman I’ve loved for the past decade. And without thinking, I start stocking myself again. Her breasts are bouncing, she’s panting, wet. So, I let myself go. When I’m done, I feel bad, I feel guilty because even though she looks so good right now, all I can think about is Liv.
“I love you,” Hannah says, voice barely a whisper. “Love you too,” Is not a lie, but it feels wrong. And I end the call with a hole in my heart and my mind in shambles.
When the morning comes,I’m restless. I can’t stop thinking about her, wanting her. No matter how many times I try to stop myself from feeling this torn, I can’t. I love Hannah, I do. But Olivia? Olivia’s the part of me I never figured out how to live without.
I get up, brush my teeth, and lace up my shoes. Put on a hoodie, a hat, and get out the door. I don’t text anyone; I need the silence today.
I run.
Through town, past the square. Every street is a fucking memory. The alley behind the hardware store, the library bench. The dinner she used to work at. It’s allher. This town isher. I don’t stop until I’m standing in front of her house. The porch is still crooked, and the wind chimes are still singing like they remember me.
I stand there, breathing hard, like maybe the past will open the door and let me in.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
OLIVIA
Sunlight cutsacross the hardwood like it’s got something to prove. And I don’t need that today. My head’s a mess. A full-blown, screaming, buzzing mess. My body aches, like heartbreak somehow decided to go physical this time. There’s a heaviness in my chest that won’t let me take a full breath.
It feels like I’m losing him all over again. The same hollow ache, the same quiet finality, except now we both understand exactly what we’re giving up.
We need to be just friends, business partners, nothing more. We said all the right things adults are supposed to say when they’re trying to be responsible. But it doesn’t matter what we said. It doesn’t matter what we feel. It doesn’t matter because for a few days, we slipped and remembered what it was like to be us.
And it hurts. God, it hurts.
It hurts that I had to come back here— to see him,to help, to play the part of the calm, capable version of myself, and instead, everything I was afraid of just happened. All the years I spent stitching myself together, undone in one look, one laugh, one night.
I press my palms to my eyes until I see stars, like maybe if I push hard enough, I can reset my brain, erase the ache.
I can’t. I’m fucking miserable, and I need to go home.
