Page 101 of When We Were Us


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“Don’t worry about him. He won’t do a thing,” Oliver said, his voice carrying a note of finality.

“I’m allowed to worry. You’re my husband, but I have to tell you, I’m glad you’re back at the helm of Fox. I don’t know how I would’ve handled this situation,” I admitted, my voice wavering slightly.

“I think you would’ve done fine. Don’t sell yourself short,” Oliver said, his hand cupping my cheek.

“I’m not you, Oliver. You have a lot more experience than I do,” I said, leaning into his touch.

“But in time, you’ll learn,” he assured me, his eyes steady on mine.

“I’m not sure I want to learn. I think I’d like to take some time off after the baby is born. Maybe go on some playdates with Sadie and Teagan,” I said, feeling a sense of relief wash over me at the thought.

“You can do whatever you like. I want you to be happy,” Oliver said, his voice full of love.

He kissed me on the top of my head, and I snuggled against his smooth chest, carefully avoiding the ugly scar that told of a time when his life could’ve ended. His arms wrapped around me, holding me close as if he could shield me from all the pain and fear that still lingered in the corners of my mind.

Oliver was gone from our bed when I woke up and next to my feet was Trouble. He was softly snoring. I looked out at the patio and saw that we had gotten a few inches of snow the night before. The white stuff blanketed the pavers and was dripping off the planters as the sun rose higher in the sky.

I stayed in bed, relishing the softness of the sheets and mattress. From the open door, I heard footsteps coming down the hall. Trouble raised his head then put it back down as Oliver walked into the bedroom, his gray shirt and sweatpants darkened with sweat.

“You worked out?” I asked, glancing up from my pillow.

“I’ve been wanting to start,” he replied, stretching his arms. “My physical therapist said there’s no reason why I shouldn’t. It’ll help me get back into shape. I have an appointment with Bronson during the week.”

“Just one?” I raised an eyebrow, intrigued.

“He wants to assess my ability first, and then we’ll move to a more regular schedule.”

“What did you do today?”

“The bike,” he said, a hint of frustration in his voice. “I was afraid to run. I’m not sure if my legs could take it.”

“You’re a marvel,” I said, shaking my head in admiration. “You almost died six months ago, and here you are, getting back into shape.”

“I want to be healthy for the baby and you,” he said, his voice softening. “I want our child to know me until I’m old and gray.”

“Your parents would still be living if not for the plane crash,” I said quietly, the weight of our shared losses hanging in the air.

“We both got a shit deal,” he said, his tone turning somber. “You lost your father, and I lost my parents to tragedy. Life isn’t fair, but you make the best of it.”

“I am making the best of it,” I said, reaching for his hand. “With you.”

“Why is the dog on the bed?” he asked, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he noticed Trouble sprawled out on the covers.

“Because you weren’t in bed,” I replied, grinning. “He’s your replacement when you leave me alone.”

“It’s not by choice. I want to be here with you,” he said, pulling me close.

“Yeah, yeah, Mr. Master of Industry,” I teased. “Do you have any trips planned?”

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “Haruto Ito thought I would be making my quarterly trip now that I’m better, but I told him I would be sending a representative.”

“And who might that be?” I asked, curious.

“Henri,” he said, a satisfied look on his face. “I’ve promoted him to Tim’s position. He more than deserves it for being my eyes and ears during my recuperation. And because he watched out for you.”

"But Tim was sneaking around on my watch," I mumbled into my pillow, my voice muffled by the fabric. The weight of failure pressed down on me, heavier than the quilt draped over my body.

I rolled onto my back, staring at the ceiling with unseeing eyes. "Not only was he talking shit about me, but he was stealing from the company right under my nose." My fists clenched, bunching up the sheets. "It grates on me like salt in a wound. I feel so stupid and blind."

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