“You want to tell me about the meeting yet?” she asks.
Everything that’s happened to us snarls in my head. All Liv ever wanted was to live a happy, normal life. All she wanted to do was feel safe. I was so convinced I could give that to her. Instead I keep pulling her back into insecurity and fear. Exactly the way she lived for so long.
And she’s doubted both me and herself. Questioned our whole marriage. She found something in another man that I wasn’t giving her.
That one still crashes into me like a sledgehammer. What did that bastard give her? What did I miss?
“Dean, don’t.”
For a second, I think she read my thoughts.
“Don’t shut me out,” Liv says. “Please. Not again.”
“I’ve been suspended from the university.”
“What?”
“Not officially… at least, not yet.” I rub the back of my neck. “But I’m not allowed to teach or even be on campus because they’re starting an investigation. So Frances said I could either take a leave of absence or she’d have to request that I be suspended. I took the leave.”
“Oh, Dean.” She sinks onto the edge of a chair. “How can they do that to you?”
“They say it’s university policy. I say it’s because they’re up against the Hamiltons.”
“What about your students?”
“Frances is getting a sub for my classes. I’ll still advise my grad students via email.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“Time to work on my book, anyway. Get the conference finalized. Watch daytime talk shows.”
“How long will you have to stay away?”
“At least for the semester. Or however long the investigation takes. Supposed to take only a month or two, but with Edward Hamilton involved, it could drag on.” I shake my head. “Stafford is meeting with Maggie in a couple of weeks. She might tell him I made a move on her several times.”
“Oh, no.”
“I should’ve anticipated this, especially after what Maggie told you. Helen said she—”
I stop.
Liv stares at me. “Helen?”
Shit.
“When did you talk to Helen about this?” Liv asks.
“After I got Frances’s email.”
“And you told her? Before you told me?”
Jesus Christ. I am so fucking sick of hurting my wife.
“You were pregnant, Liv. I couldn’t tell you until I knew what was going on.”
“You couldn’t tell me because I was pregnant?” She looks at me in disbelief. “But you could tell your ex-wife? What the hell?”
“Helen’s an academic, Liv, she gets the university environment—”
“And I don’t. I’m the fragile little wife whom you had to protect from bad news.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“What did you mean, then?” she snaps. “You told me how bad things were with you and Helen, how you never wanted to see each other again after you got divorced. I know you buried the hatchet when we were in California, but even so… why would you go to her first instead of me?”
There’s no answer to that question, except that my fear will never go away.
“I’m sorry. I was trying—”
“To protect me,” she interrupts. “I get it. And how has that worked out for you?”
“I’ll never stop trying, Liv. I can’t.”
She takes a breath, her expression so… so sad that every part of me aches.
“Dean—”
“Liv, please. Please don’t. I’m so sorry. If you cry, I’ll lose my mind. Just… just come here. Please.”
For a heart-stopping minute, she doesn’t move. Then she sits beside me on the sofa in the same place she was before. She puts her hand over mine. I can feel the ridge of scar tissue still crossing her palm.
For a long time, we sit there, looking out the window at the lights of Avalon Street and the black expanse of the lake beyond.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Olivia
February 12
ean, it sounds to me like you are harboring a great deal of guilt and anger for things that have happened to Liv.” Dr. Gale studies Dean as she speaks. “Especially for circumstances beyond your control, like the miscarriage.”
Dean doesn’t respond. He’s wound so tight that even his jaw is clenched.
“And you’re angry about things that happened to Liv before you even met,” Dr. Gale continues, her voice gentle. “Like her relationship with her mother and the abuse. The way she was treated.”
Dean turns his head to stare out the window. His arms are folded across his chest, his fingers digging into his biceps.
I take a breath and exhale slowly, restraining myself from jumping in to fill the silence. This is our second meeting with Dr. Gale, the counselor whom my former therapist recommended. I like Dr. Gale—she’s on the granola side with curly hair, a flowing skirt, and an office filled with plants, low lighting, and comfortable furniture. A little rock garden fountain sits in a corner of the room.
The Zen-like atmosphere, however, has done nothing to put my husband at ease.
“Dean?” Dr. Gale prompts. “What do you think of that?”
“I think you’re right,” he says, his voice clipped.
“We need to look at how your anger and guilt are affecting your relationship with Liv now,” Dr. Gale says. She glances at me. “How do you feel about it, Liv?”