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When the silence continues to stretch between us, I fill it. “He loved you so much, Holt. He never made a move on me that was inappropriate while you were here. I was always true to you.”

“Until I left.”

I shake my head. “Until I decided to stay. Until I decided that my life path was different from yours.”

He rubs his lips together. I think it’s more to keep words he doesn’t want to say from slipping free.

I wish he’d just let them loose. Even though I’m terrified of how much they’ll hurt, how deep they’ll cut, I think at this point it would be better to free them. To put them there between us so maybe they can finally find peace. Finally rest.

Tate is gone, and it hurts so much. But just like the words Holt won’t say, Tate is there between us. I think he’ll always be there between us—just as Holt was always there between me and Tate.

“Tate was a great father.” A laugh escapes my chest, riding the wave of a sharp sob. I sip my wine. “When Owen was born, we were both so young. I felt so fragile. Emotionally, physically.” My eyes are cast onto the street, but Holts are on me. Like always when he watches me, I can feel it. “I changed a lot during my pregnancy.”

There’s a pause, and then, “I hear that’s when you started loving olives.”

I snort a laugh, surprised by the weightlessness of his comment during such a heavy share. “Yeah. That was a weird craving.”

“I’d say.” He tips his head back, his eyes drifting to the street with mine. “You always hated olives.”

“And you always loved them.”

“Weird, eh?”

“What?”

“That Owen would be born loving something both his parents hate so much.” His words steal my breath.

For a moment, I can say nothing at all. “Tate started liking them during my pregnancy as well. At first, it was torture, but…”

“Course he did.” Holt laughs a bitter, sad sound. He leans forward to plant his elbows on his knees. The glass of wine dangles from the fingertips of one large hand and he peers forward, but I’m not sure he’s seeing anything at all.

“He fell for you that first day, you know?”

“What?”

“I saw it happen, but it happened for me, too. I was an asshole for it, but I made sure you spoke to me first. I made sure that you fell for me first.” He bows his head, shakes it. “Maybe it was always me between you and not the other way around.”

The knots around my heart cinch tighter. “It wasn’t.”

He looks at me now, looks into me. I lose my breath.

“It wasn’t?”

I shake my head soft and slow.

“I loved you, Holt.” I shrug a helpless shrug, begging him to understand something I’m not even sure I understand. “And I loved him.”

“Yeah.” He nods. “And we fucking lived and breathed you.”

“I’m sorry.” Emotion rattles in my voice. It threatens to spill over into the space between us. “I’ve never said that, but I am. I’m sorry for hurting you.” I take a sip to help clear my throat. It burns. “But I’m not sorry for loving him. For building a life with him. He was a wonderful husband, Holt, and a beautiful father.” My voice cracks. “He loved them so much.”

“I know, Faye.” There’s a soft acceptance that I can’t begin to understand when he admits, “I’m still upset, but I forgive you. And Tate, too.” Holt places his wine glass on the table between us and stands. Pulling the keys from his pocket, he fixes those hard, dark eyes on me and says, “Gonna head out. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Okay…”

“Say bye to the kids for me, yeah?”

I nod, watching, my heart aching, as he climbs into his truck and backs out of my drive.