The Wife He Couldn't Forget

She stared down at her plate and pushed her breakfast around with her fork, her own appetite also dwindling as the enormity of what she’d done began to hit home. He wasn’t a man to be pushed or manipulated; she’d learned that years ago. She’d made decisions before that had angered him. Like the day she brought Bozo home from the pound without discussing it with him first. And the day she stopped taking her birth control.

A shadow hovered over her, blocking the light. Xander’s hand, warm and strong and achingly familiar, settled on her shoulder.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have reacted like that.”

She placed a hand on top of his. “It’s okay. I guess I am fussing. I’ll try to keep a lid on it. It’s just that I love you so much, Xander. Hearing about your accident terrified me. Thinking that I could have lost you...” Her voice choked up again.

“Oh, Livvy. What are we going to do?” he said wearily, wiping a stray tear from her cheek with his thumb.

She shook her head slightly. “I don’t know. Just take one day at a time, I guess.”

“Yeah.” He nodded. “I guess that’s all we can do.”

He sat back down at the table and finished his breakfast. Afterward, he looked weary, as if every muscle in his body was dragging. Olivia gestured to the hammock she’d only recently strung up beneath the covered rafters.

“You want to test-drive the hammock for me while I tidy up?”

“Still fussing, Livvy,” he said, but it came with a smile. “But yeah, that sounds like a good idea.”

She gave him a small smile in return and gathered up their things to load the tray he’d brought out earlier.

“Do you want another coffee?” she asked.

“Maybe later, okay?”

She nodded and went back inside. After she’d stacked the dishwasher she intended to tackle the hand washing, but all of a sudden she was overwhelmed with the enormity of the road ahead. She closed her eyes and gripped the front of the countertop until her fingers ached and turned white. For a moment there, outside, when he was staring at the garden, she’d been afraid he’d remember that fateful day when he’d been playing with Bozo and Parker in the yard. She still remembered his shout at Parker to stop. There’d been something in his voice that had made her drop her paintbrush, leaving it to splatter on the floor as she’d turned and run outside in time to hear the sickening screech of tires.

A shudder ran through her body, and she pushed the memory aside. She’d dealt with all of that. Dealt with it and put it away in a filing cabinet in her mind and locked the drawers as effectively as she’d taped the boxes of Parker’s things closed before hiding them in the darkest recess of the attic.

Olivia opened her eyes and applied herself to scrubbing her cast-iron pan clean and wiping the stove top and the benches down until they gleamed. She cast a glance outside to where Xander lay in the hammock, asleep. Maybe now would be a good time to bring his clothes down from the attic and filter them in among the items she’d brought from his apartment. And put the whole lot back in their bedroom where he believed they belonged.

And they did belong there, she affirmed silently. Just as he belonged here, with her.

Mindful that she might not have much time, Olivia moved quickly. This time she managed to avoid looking at the boxes of Parker’s things altogether, right up until she turned around with the storage box and headed back to the door. She had to pass the shadowy nook where she’d put her child’s entire history. If only it could be as easy to put away the pain that crept out whenever she least expected it and attacked her heart and soul with rabid teeth.

The all-too-familiar burn of tears stung at the back of her eyes, and Olivia forced herself to keep moving toward the stairs. She wouldn’t cry. Not now. Not now. Not now, she repeated down each step on the spiral staircase. In her bedroom—their bedroom, she corrected herself again—she shoved her things to her side of the wardrobe and, after grabbing a few extra hangers, she shook out and hung up the clothes that had been packed in the box. Then she went to the spare room and transferred all the things she’d put in there to the bedroom, clearing the bureau drawers that she’d taken over and putting his clothing away.

It didn’t look as though he had much. Certainly not as much as she’d left behind at the apartment. Would he notice? Probably. She was talking about Xander, after all. A man who was precise and who took planning to exceptional levels. Detail was his middle name. It was part of why he was so good at what he did and why he’d rocketed through the company ranks. She doubted she’d be able to sneak another visit to his apartment now he was home, not for a while anyway. And if she did that, it would only cause more problems when he discovered she’d added more clothing to his existing wardrobe. No, she’d just have to stick with what she’d already done.

And hope like crazy that it would be enough.

* * *

Xander woke abruptly. At first confused as to his surroundings, he let his body relax when he realized he was home, lying in the hammock in the garden. He let his gaze drift around him, taking in the familiar and cataloguing the changes that they’d obviously made over time. They’d done a good job, he had to admit—if only he could remember actually doing any of it, then maybe he’d feel less like a stranger in his own home and more as if he belonged here.

Carefully, he levered himself to a sitting position and lowered his legs to the ground. He wondered where Olivia had got to. He couldn’t see her through the kitchen window. He got up and shuffled a few steps forward. Then, as if his brain had taken a little longer to wake up and join the rest of him, he moved with more confidence.

“Livvy?” he called as he went back inside the house.

The creak of floorboards sounded overhead, followed by her rapid footsteps on the stairs.

“Xander? Are you okay?” she called before she reached the hallway where he stood.

He watched as she did a quick inventory of him and suppressed the surge of irritation that she’d immediately jump to the conclusion there was something wrong. It wasn’t fair of him to be annoyed with her, he told himself. This was all as new and as intimidating for her as it was for him.