Chapter 33
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
OLIVIA
I wake up angry.
Not throw-a-vase mad. Not even cry-into-your-pillow mad. Just that simmering, bone-deep, low-level rage that creeps in before your feet even hit the floor.
Hannah. Laughing at the bar like she owned the place.
Like she hadn’t hijacked the night with her casual “wife and baby mama” declaration like it was a damn party trick.
And Ethan? Just standing there. Jaw tight, lips sealed, saying absolutely nothing.
I grab my phone. No message from him. Of course not.
Must be too busy choking on guilt or still playing house with his actual wife.
“Whatever,” I mutter, but it sounds hollow. Because I know it’s not whatever. It’s never been whatever. Julia knocks once, purely for formality, and waltzes in like she lives here. Which, to be fair, she basically does at this point.
She’s holding two mugs, both steaming. “Coffee,” she declares, handing one over like a peace offering.
“And before you ask, yes, I spiked it. I figured you’d need something stronger than caffeine.
” I take it, grateful. “Thanks. You were not wrong.” She flops onto the bed beside me, messy bun listing slightly to the side, hoodie sleeves pushed up.
“You want to talk about last night?” she asks, voice cautious but teasing. “Because I’m still processing the part where she introduced herself like a Real Housewives tagline.” I snort, despite myself. “‘The wife, the baby mama.”
Julia raises an eyebrow. “Wow. That was alarmingly accurate. Should I be concerned you’ve been rehearsing?” I shrug, take a sip of the spiked coffee, and it burns a little, exactly the way I need it to. “You cope your way, I cope mine.”
She laughs, and it feels good, that short, honest kind of laugh that shakes something loose inside me. At this point, what else can I do?
I know what and who she is. She knows what and who I am. We all played our parts last night. She is the wife; I’m the ghost —the mistake. It’s messy and unfair and weirdly inevitable. And maybe, deep down, some part of me knew it was always going to end like this.
I glance at Julia, who’s now scrolling through her phone, humming like this is just another morning. “It’s fine,” I say quietly, mostly to myself. “I’ll be fine.” She looks up, eyes soft but skeptical. “You always are,” she says.
And I want to believe her. I really do.
Later, I’m halfway through an email when my phone buzzes. His name lights up the screen.
Ethan: Hey. How are you? Can we meet for lunch?
Oh, now he wants to talk. For a full minute, I just stare at the message, fingers hovering over the keyboard. I can practically feel my pulse in my thumb. Then I type back before I can talk myself out of it.
Me: Busy, but yeah, we can meet.
The second I hit send, I regret it. But I go anyway.
Because apparently, I’m still that kind of idiot.
The café is small, tucked near the site, all warm light and burnt espresso.
He’s already there when I walk in, sitting by the window, same black T-shirt, same tired hands wrapped around a mug he’s probably not even drinking.
He looks like hell. Unshaven, eyes bruised from lack of sleep. I don’t ask. I’m not sure I want to hear the answer. I slide into the seat across from him, set my phone on the table, and stir my iced coffee to have something to do. He leans forward, voice low. “Liv, I’m sorry.”
I shake my head immediately. “You don’t need to apologize.”
“I do. I shouldn’t have let her go to the tasting.
The comments, the looks, all of it was out of line.
” The way he says it, so softly, almost undoes me, but I keep my face neutral.
I sip my drink, the ice clinking against the glass.
“Let’s just keep this simple. While we still can.
I can’t even imagine how she must have felt, seeing me there.
Having to talk to me. I know how I felt.
And it wasn’t great. So let’s leave it at that. ”
He nods slowly but doesn’t look away. His eyes are fixed on me like he’s trying to read between the words, to find the version of me that used to reach back. I don’t give him anything. Not a smile, not a lifeline.
When we finally finish, I slide out of the booth, drop a few bills on the table, and sling my bag over my shoulder.
“I’m heading to the site,” I say, keeping my tone easy, businesslike.
“Need to catch Audrey before she leaves.” He pushes back his chair.
“I’ll come with.” Oh, great. Because what I really need right now is time alone in a truck with him after last night.
It’s weirdly quiet when we get there. Same as the ride here. The kind that makes you hyper-aware of how close you’re standing to someone you shouldn’t be at all.
The site looks almost peaceful, the skeleton of the bar catching the afternoon light, the faint sound of construction somewhere down the block.
A breeze moves through, kicking up dust and paper.
We walk toward the back, both pretending we’re fine.
He’s talking about timelines, supply delays, and something about paint colors.
I nod at the right moments, half-listening, half-counting my breaths.
Then his hand finds my waist, casual, familiar, too easy, and for a split second, my body remembers before my mind can shut it down. And thank God, that’s when Audrey shows up. “Hey, sorry I’m late,” she calls out, and I could honestly kiss her.
We both step back like guilty teenagers.
Ethan clears his throat; I open my notebook like it’s a shield.
We spread out on one of the picnic tables, printouts, floor plans, and lists of last-minute orders.
Audrey starts talking through deliveries, permits, and staffing.
I nod, take notes, throw myself into the details because that’s the only safe thing left to hold onto. We keep it professional.
We talk about lighting fixtures, signage, and marketing rollouts. Every word measured, every glance edited down to something neutral. When we finish, Audrey packs up her things, waves, and heads off. The silence that follows is sharp enough to cut through the noise of traffic in the distance.
I can feel him watching me, waiting for something I’m not going to give. So I gather the papers, tuck them under my arm, and keep walking.
That night, he texted. Again.
Ethan: Dinner with the girls at my dad’s. You still in?
I forgot I agreed to this. By now, everybody knows we are kind of together, because they are on a ‘break’, but it still feels wrong, and weird. I stare at the screen for a second, then type back.
Me: Yeah. Be there.
I shower, throw on a cute but not trying-too-hard dress, and toss a couple of craft kits into a gift bag.
When I get there, the girls run straight into my arms like I’ve known them forever.
We watch Barbie Mermaid Power, eat spaghetti, and I help them color paper crowns while Hannah’s name lingers like a shadow I’m trying not to look at too closely.
Later, on the porch, Ethan walks me to my car. His kiss is soft. “Wanna stay the night?” I almost let myself stay. But I don’t. “Night, Ethan.” He nods.
I drive home alone. Windows down.
The heart is doing that stupid thing where it hurts and hopes at the same time.
We agreed to have lunch with Agnes a while back, and today is finally the day.
It’s been over three weeks since the girls came here, and they have been fantastic.
When she shows up, I get it. She’s smart, funny, and dry as hell.
Protective of Ethan like a sister who’s been through the war with him, and maybe she has.
I like her. Which honestly pisses me off a little.
I wasn’t looking to like her since she’s so close with Hannah.
She watches Ethan laugh at something dumb I say, then turns to me like she’s sizing me up. “He’s never looked at anyone the way he looks at you,” she says. “Not even close.” And I believe her because I know that look.
“I know this isn’t my place, and I should just close my mouth, but he loves you.
” I don’t say anything. That’s not news for me.
“He is conflicted, between you two. He’s taking this time to really figure his feelings out, but I know he loves both of you.
” That makes my heart skip a beat. I know he still loves her, I know that his perfect world is to have both of us, and not in a sexy male fantasy.
In a ‘let’s figure this out’ kind of way.
And honestly, I admire him for it. Not everyone can admit they love two women at the same time, let alone their first love and their wife. But, is it fair?
That night, she stays with the girls. Ethan and I end up at my place.
When the door closed, we’re on each other.
His hands on my waist, mine already in his hair.
We don’t speak, because what’s left to say?
We both know these days have been hard; we haven’t had time for ourselves, but we don’t need to linger there.
We don’t have to over-explain what we both know.
My dress is gone. His shirt’s gone. He lifts me like it’s nothing, like I’m not breaking open a little more every time he touches me like this. His mouth is on mine before I can think, and that’s the point. I don’t want to think.
Then he slides in. One deep, slow thrust that knocks the air out of me.
“Fuck,” I breathe. He groans against my neck, and then we’re moving.
He says my name like a vow, and I kiss him to shut him up.
His hips slam into mine like he’s angry about it.
I bite down on his shoulder because if I don’t, I’ll scream.
His hand slips between us. “Come for me,” he whispers.
And I do. It hits hard and fast, like a fuse snapping.
I arch. He holds me up through it. Keeps going until I feel him pulse inside me, his breath sharp and ragged in my ear.
We don’t talk after we’re done. This didn’t feel like it always does; something changed, and I already know tomorrow’s going to hurt.
But we kept having sex. Maybe because we enjoy it, perhaps because we missed each other, or maybe because neither of us wants to talk. And if we stop, we’ll talk.
The morning comes quickly, and neither of us wants to cook, so we decide to head to Lily’s for coffee and breakfast. This place has changed a lot since we used to come here. It has been passed down for generations, and now my hopefully future sister-in-law runs it.
His phone buzzes when we are mid-conversation, and I know it’s her for the look he gives me.
“Hannah asked me to call her. I’ll be right back,” I nod, trying not to let it show.
But I’m pissed, it’s like every time we are having fun, or having a moment, or just enjoying our company, she’s there.
I watch as he steps outside to make the call.
I can see him walking back and forth, hand through his hair.
He looks pissed. Confused? I don’t know what’s happening, but whatever it is can’t be good.
He comes back, and he’s pale as a ghost; his jaw is tight, and he’s not even speaking. “Ethan?” I sit up straighter. “What is it? What’s wrong?” He won’t look at me. What the fuck is happening? My stomach drops, I feel nauseous. I’ve never seen him like this.
“Ethan, you’re scaring me. What’s happening? Did something happen to the girls? Is Hannah okay?” He looks at me, and I can see the pain behind his eyes.
“Hannah’s pregnant.”
“Pregnant?” I repeat —maybe the word will change if I say it slower. “Who’s the—” I stop myself. I don’t need the rest of that sentence. I’m going to be sick. I see it all over his face.
“You,” I whisper. “You’re the father.” He doesn’t say a damn word, and that’s the confirmation I needed. There’s just silence. I stand too fast, so the whole place spins. I feel dizzy, but I brace myself against the table.
“When?” I ask. It comes out too soft. I ask again, louder this time. “When did this happen?” He scrubs a hand over his face. He doesn’t look at me; he can’t face me. “The last night she was here. We—”
“Stop,” I can’t hear this from him. He was with me before she got here; he was in my bed.
He told me he couldn’t stay away from me, that he wanted me.
He made me feel like I was the goddamn center of the universe.
And meanwhile, just after a few beers, he goes straight to her.
I feel like such an idiot. How could I fall for it?
For him again? I knew better. I always did.
“Liv—”
“No.” My voice breaks. “You don’t get to say my name anymore.” He finally looks at me, and it just hurts. His eyes are glassy. His face is wrecked. He looks like the one who got broken. Too bad I already beat him to it.
“I was never going to ask you to choose,” I say, quiet now. “Not between me and her. Not your kids. I knew what I was signing up for.” I swallow hard. “But I never thought you’d do this to me. We were supposed to figure things out, together.”
“It wasn’t... I didn’t plan it. It just happened,” he says, like that changes anything.
“Oh, great. That helps. You just happened to get your wife pregnant while having an affair with your ex-girlfriend.”
“Don’t call it that, Liv. And I know it makes it worse.
” I nod, because he’s right. It does. Tears sting my eyes, but I refuse to cry in front of him.
“You had a choice,” I say. “That night, you chose to do it, you chose her.” He opens his mouth, maybe to explain, maybe to beg, but I’m already done.
“My fucking heart was in your hands, Ethan, and you dropped it. Again.” He moves closer to me. “Liv, please—”
“You know what? Don’t.” I cut in, sharp. “Your free trial’s over.”
I don’t look back as I walk out of the restaurant. I can’t. Because if I do, I’ll fall apart right there, and he doesn’t get that version of me, not anymore.
My legs move, but my mind’s spinning. Hannah’s pregnant, with his baby. She is his wife, and they are growing their family. God, I’m a fucking idiot.
I can still feel him on my skin from last night, I can still taste him on my lips. But he’s not mine anymore.
He never was.