7. Garner
GARNER
I was a goddamn coward.
Olivia's breathing had finally evened out, but I couldn't fall asleep. Instead, I stared at the ceiling, a hard knot of self-loathing lodged in my chest.
Last night had been everything. The culmination of a decade of wanting, of watching, of loving her from a distance. And this morning, when she'd looked at me with those soft, sleep-warm eyes, I'd panicked. Pulled away. Retreated like the fucking coward I was.
Because what if she regretted it? What if she was just caught up in the pretense, in playing house? What if I wasn't enough?
So I'd shut down. Closed off. Watched hurt bloom across her face and did nothing to stop it.
I rolled onto my side, careful not to disturb the barricade of pillows between us.
In the soft moonlight filtering through the curtains, I could make out the curve of her shoulder, the tumble of her hair across the pillow.
Even now, even after I'd fucked everything up, all I wanted was to cross the divide and pull her against me.
But I'd lost that right. Hell, I'd fucking thrown it away.
Sleep came in fitful bursts, plagued by dreams of Olivia walking away from me, always out of reach. When light finally filtered through the curtains, I’d been awake for hours, watching the gentle rise and fall of her breathing.
She stirred, stretching slightly before her eyes fluttered open. For a split second, before memory returned, there was a softness in her gaze. Then the walls came up, and she sat up, keeping the sheet tucked around her.
"Good morning," she said, her voice neutral.
"Morning," I replied, wishing I could rewind time to yesterday morning to do it all different. "Breakfast?"
She nodded, already reaching for her phone. "I need to shower first."
I watched her gather her things and disappear into the bathroom. The door closed with a soft click that somehow sounded final. The shower started, and I dropped my head into my hands.
How had I managed to ruin the one thing I wanted most?
By the time Olivia was done, I'd dressed and packed most of my things. Our checkout wasn't until later, but there was comfort in the mindless task of organizing, folding, zipping. Things I could control, unlike the mess I'd made of us.
"The final couples' activity is at ten," she said, towel-drying her hair. "Another trust exercise."
"Great," I muttered, not even trying to hide my lack of enthusiasm.
She paused, looking me in the eye for the first time since yesterday. "We still need to keep up appearances until we check out."
I nodded, hating the distance in her voice. This wasn't my Liv. This was someone else, someone I'd created with my own fear. "I know. I can handle it."
Something flickered across her face, disappointment maybe, before she turned away. "Good."
Breakfast was another exercise in awkward silence, broken only by necessary conversation to maintain our cover. Olivia picked at her food, her fingers occasionally finding the hair tie on her wrist, the nervous habit she thought no one noticed.
I noticed everything about her. Always had.
The last activity was held in a bright room with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the lake. Couples sat scattered around the space on comfortable cushions, partners positioned back-to-back.
"Today we're exploring emotional vulnerability and safety," Serena said. "You'll sit with your backs touching, unable to see each other's faces. This creates a safe space for honesty. I'll ask a question, and you'll each answer honestly, without interruption from your partner."
Olivia and I settled onto our cushions, her back warm against mine. Even this minimal contact sent electricity skittering down my spine. I closed my eyes, savoring it even though I didn’t deserve it.
"First question," Serena called out. "What makes you feel most vulnerable in your relationship?"
Silence fell as couples considered their answers. Then, one by one, people began to speak. Soft murmurs filled the room, confessions and fears shared in the safety of this strange arrangement.
When it was our turn, Olivia spoke first, her voice so quiet I had to strain to hear her.
"I hate feeling invisible," she said, the words landing like a heavy weight in the bottom of my gut. "Like what I want, what I feel, doesn't matter enough to even be acknowledged."
I swallowed hard. She wasn't talking about our fake relationship anymore.
"Your turn," Serena prompted when I remained silent.
I took a deep breath. "I need... I need to be seen," I admitted. "Even when I can't say the words. Especially then."
I felt Olivia's slight intake of breath, the way her spine stiffened against mine. But she didn't speak, and the moment passed as Serena moved on to the next couple.
"Question two: What makes you feel safest with your partner?"
This time I spoke first, the words coming easier now. "When she doesn't let me get away with my bullshit. When she calls me on it, pushes back. Makes me better."
Behind me, Olivia's breath hitched. When she spoke, her voice was thick with emotion. "When he sees me, really sees me, even when I think I'm hiding."
The questions continued, each one digging deeper.
With every answer, the pretense slipped away, leaving only raw truth between us.
We weren't talking about our fake relationship anymore.
We were talking about us—the real us, the friendship that had defined most of my life, the bond that ran deeper than I'd ever admitted.
"Final question," Serena announced. "What are you most afraid to tell your partner right now?"
The room fell silent again, the weight of the question settling over everyone. This time, neither one of us spoke right away. I could feel the tension in her back, the slight tremble that ran through her.
"I'm afraid," she finally whispered. "That I've been fooling myself. That what I thought was real was... convenient. Temporary." Her voice broke on the last word.
I closed my eyes, my heart hammering against my ribs. This was it… my moment to be brave, to tell her everything.
And I fucking choked.
"I'm afraid of losing what we have," I said instead. "Of changing something that works and ruining everything."
It wasn't a lie, but it wasn't the whole truth either. I wasn't only afraid of losing what we had. I was terrified of not being enough for her, of her realizing she could do better. I always had been.
As the activity concluded, couples turned to face each other, many of them with tear-streaked faces and loving smiles. Reconnecting, reaffirming.
Olivia and I turned slowly. Her eyes were dry but wounded, her mouth set in a tight line. I reached for her hand instinctively, but she pulled away.
"I need some air," she said, and walked out, leaving me sitting alone, surrounded by couples holding hands and sharing tender kisses.
I found her outside on one of the walking paths that wound through the resort grounds. She was staring out at the mountains, her arms wrapped around her middle.
"Liv," I called.
She didn't turn. "Don't."
I stopped a few feet away and shoved my hands in my pockets to keep from reaching for her. "We need to talk about this."
"About what?" Her voice was flat. "About how we had sex and now you can barely look at me? About how you've been acting like it was some kind of mistake?"
"It wasn't a mistake," I said.
That made her turn around, her eyes flashing. "Then what was it, Garner? Because from where I'm standing, you got what you wanted and then shut me out completely."
The accusation stung, not because it was cruel, but because from her perspective, it made perfect sense. I'd acted exactly like some asshole who'd gotten what he wanted and moved on.
"That's not—" I began but was interrupted by the ring of Olivia's phone.
She pulled it from her pocket, glancing at the screen. "It's Ruby." She answered, turning slightly away from me. "Hey, what's up?"
I watched her face change as she listened, shock and then concern washing over her features.
"When?" she asked. "No, we're checking out in a few hours. We'll be back tonight... Yeah, of course. Keep me posted."
She hung up, her mouth turned down in a frown.
"What happened?" I asked.
"Someone from town took a picture of us here," she said, tucking her phone away. "It was probably Donna. Ruby said it's already making the rounds. News about our marriage will be all over Mustang Mountain before we even get back."
I took in a deep breath and huffed it out. "That complicates things."
"We need a plan," she finished. "We can't show up at Miles and Kinley's housewarming party tonight as friends. Not when everyone thinks we’re married."
Just like that, we were partners on a mission again, the personal mess shelved for later. I nodded. "So we go with the story we told here, that we eloped. But we can say things have been rough and that’s why we went on the retreat.”
The look in her eyes shifted from anger to regret.
“I never meant for you to get caught up in this in real life.
What if we stage an argument at the housewarming party?
Not big enough to blow up the whole event, but enough so no one will be surprised when we file for a fake divorce from our fake marriage?
We can end it for good with a fight at Friday night music in the park. "
I didn’t like it, but our options were limited. “Whatever you want to do, baby girl.”
Her eyes flashed with hurt, and I felt like the world’s biggest asshole. “I think it’s for the best.”
Nodding, I resigned myself to our impending break up. It was my own damn fault for not being a better man.
Within an hour, we'd packed, checked out, and were on the road back to Mustang Mountain. The drive was quiet but less tense than before, both of us focused on the task ahead rather than the emotional minefield we'd been navigating all weekend.
I kept my eyes on the road, but I was acutely aware of Olivia next to me—the way she absently twisted her hair tie around her finger, the slight furrow between her brows as she thought.
"So what exactly is the plan?" I asked as we passed the Welcome to Mustang Mountain sign. "How public should this argument be?"
Her mouth turned up in a sad smile. "Public enough that word will spread, but not so dramatic that we become the main event at Miles and Kinley's party. Then it won’t be a big surprise when we stage our final breakup on Friday night. We should change first though."
I glanced down at my jeans. "I’ll probably go in this, but I can wait while you change so we can show up together."
She shook her head. "I'd rather drive myself. That way we can leave separately.”
The message was clear. She wanted space. Space from me.
I pulled up outside her apartment building, idling at the curb. For a moment, neither of us moved. There was so much to say, but the words were stuck in my throat.
"Thanks for the ride," she finally said, reaching for the door handle.
"Liv, wait." I caught her wrist, my fingers brushing against her hair tie. "About this weekend?—"
"Don't," she said. "Not now. We have a job to finish."
I let go. I’d fucked things up, and it was time to follow her lead. "After, then. We'll talk after."
"Maybe." She climbed out, grabbed her bag from the back seat, and closed the door with a soft thud. I watched her walk up to her building, key card in hand, until she disappeared inside.
The drive to my place took less than ten minutes. My apartment was above the tattoo shop, convenient for work, but a bit noisy sometimes when the shop was busy. With today being Sunday, the shop was closed, the street quiet.
I took the stairs two at a time, hoping a hot shower might chase away my bad mood.
Inside my apartment, I dropped my bag by the door and headed straight for the bathroom, stripping as I went.
As the hot water beat down on my shoulders, I replayed the last three days in my head, cringing at the way I’d treated my best friend.
What the hell was I so afraid of? Olivia was the best person I knew. She was loyal, kind, and fierce when it mattered. She'd been my best friend since we were kids. She knew all my flaws, all my failures, and she was still here. At least she had been until I'd pushed her away.
I got dressed, snacked on what I could find in my fridge, and unpacked from the weekend. There was still an hour before I needed to be at the party, and my apartment felt too empty, too quiet.
Restless, I grabbed my sketchbook and a pencil, settled on the couch, and let my hand move across the page.
Olivia's face emerged, just like it always did when I drew without thinking.
This time, I captured her as she'd been the other night while she slept…
soft and vulnerable, her hair spread across the pillow, her lips slightly parted. Beautiful. Perfect.
I flipped the page, not wanting to see the evidence of what I'd thrown away. Thank fuck, my phone buzzed with a text.
Priest: Heard you're back. Going to Miles and Kinley's thing tonight?
I typed back a quick confirmation, then checked the time. I needed to leave soon.
Before I closed my sketchbook, I tore out the drawing of Olivia, folded it carefully, and tucked it into my wallet. The piece of paper was a reminder of what was at stake. Of what I stood to lose—had maybe already lost—because I couldn't get out of my own way.
I grabbed my keys and headed out, determination replacing the dread that had dogged me all day. I'd get through this party, stage my argument with Olivia. And then, somehow, I'd find the courage to tell her the truth.
All of it.