BEFORE MY HUSBAND BECAME my husband, and only weeks after that New Year’s Eve where I’d fallen in love with him, a story broke in the media that Matthew had an affair with a bartender from Bozeman.
He told me that he didn’t want to drag me into a scandal, and suggested that we cool things off. “I’m not dragging you into a mess, and no one knows that we are dating aside from close friends. Let me take care of this and then I hope that you’ll come back to me.”
I respected him for that and during that time, he’d kept me in the loop of everything that happened. The bartender was a young college student. Her father lost his job, and her mother was ill. At twenty-one, her college dreams were shattering. Desperate, she saw an opportunity when Matthew walked into the bar and she shamelessly flirted with him all evening.
Knowing that Matthew was a “motor head,” she had her friend take the keys to her car, with the keys in the ignition for hours the battery eventually drained. When she was helplessly stranded in the parking lot, knowing Matthew would try to help, that is when her friend snapped photos. She sold her story to the tabloids, but the truth was revealed fairly quickly.
I trusted Matthew then and I was right to do so. Why couldn’t I see past this issue with Georgina? My husband had never given me a reason not to trust him.
With a mug of coffee in hand, I stared at his text messages. My heart filled up at his words, warmth spreading through my ribs.
I love you.
I’m coming home.
I’d met Georgina once. She had starred in an independent film, based on a book I’d loved. When I found out that she’d been cast alongside Matthew, I had to meet her. I told her, “I’m thrilled you’ll be working with my husband. I loved your work on Bad Girls.”
Foreshadowing? Perhaps. Perhaps not.
Aside from that, our problems ran deeper than Georgina Dupree. I’d done this. I needed to fight. I wanted to fight. I needed my husband. He loved me and I loved him. I found strength in those words and love is always a good place to start.
I tapped at my phone’s screen staring at the story about me having an axe collection. I had a good laugh session that turned into a crying meltdown in the shower. Labeling me as crazy, and suggesting that I could hurt Matthew—that was crazy.
My eyes darted around the space covered in a neutral color palette of whites and ivories. Not an axe in sight. Throw pillows, yes. If the media wanted a real juicy story, throw pillows were my weakness. I had cabinets full of them.
And here I stood, in the shadow of the flames, frozen to my spot as the sound of snow crunching under tires came to a halt. The engine silenced and my heart stuttered. What would I say to him? What would he say to me?
The door opened, the wheels of his luggage rolled against the wood in the mudroom. The familiar sound of Matthew rustling about, taking off his shoes and his coat, that sound was a comfort of relief to my heart. Sweat formed along my hairline, and my palms.
Matthew stood in the doorway, his hair mussed and his hazel eyes wild. “You’re up.” He looked ruggedly handsome wearing a blue and white flannel over a grey t-shirt and dark denim. His hazel eyes held that same captivating smolder that I’d seen many times. How could I have lived all these weeks without seeing his beautiful face?
My husband was home, here with me after what felt like an eternity without him. I swallowed my emotions, swallowed my hurt, and all my fears.
I nodded, glancing at the time on my phone. “I am. Would you like a cup of coffee?”
“Yeah, I’ll get it,” he said, striding towards me. I pivoted before he reached me and walked into the kitchen.
“I take it you read the garbage printed online,” he prompted.
That elicited a snort from me. “Yeah, that’s why I’m up so early—sharpening my axes.”
He raked a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry this has turned into a damn circus. I’m sorry this is hurting you.”
“I hurt every day, Matthew, it never goes away.”
He ran his hands down his face, pressing his palm to his eyes. “What can I do? I want to take this pain away.”
I took a deep breath. “I have so much to tell you,” I said, looking into his eyes.
“Tell me everything, let me in, Tinley.”
My fingers trembled as I covered my lips. “I feel empty all the time. I’m scared, I’ve been scared since the day I fell in love with you. Every day I feared that you’d leave me and I don’t know why I am so weak.” All the words came rushing out—my truth spilling out from the darkest corner and into the light.
Matthew walked around the island to wrap his arms around me. “You are not weak. That is the last label I would ever place on you.”
Emotion welled in my chest at the contrariety of it all. “I’m a good liar, Matthew. I’m an actress after all.”
His eyes were sad when they met mine. “Talk to me.”
I swallowed past the lump in my throat. “About a month after Ella was kidnapped, I went to her store. I had break-down—crying, wailing—ugly tears, not pretty girl tears. That was the same day that you were texting me and asking me to visit you. I was going to be in Beverly Hills.”
“I remember,” he replied, motioning for me to take a seat at the island.
“When Ella was kidnapped it brought back a flood of memories. It reminded me of my mother, and her stalker, and her murder, and my father growing distant—it triggered a fear inside me.” Tears stung my eyes, and I blinked them back steeling myself. “For the first time in a long time, those memories resurfaced and being with you and in your home, things were going so well . . . too well for me.”
His brows pinched together and he shook his head. “What are you saying?”
The dam broke and the tears slid down my cheeks. “I tried to push you away, because I didn’t want to lose you. I am such a coward, Matthew.” I drew my knee up to my cheek. I closed myself off using my hair as a shield. Shame and embarrassment flooded my veins.
“Oh, Tinley, sweetheart,” his voice was low. “Look at me please.”
I took a deep breath, and swiped the tears away. “After my mother died, and I’d left the show—that fall as you know, I attended boarding school in Switzerland. My roommate, Livia, well she never returned the following January . . .” My voice shook, as I raised my head. “She didn’t return because she had been killed.”
His eyes closed, and his chin dropped to his chest. “I am so sorry.”
I placed my hand on his heart. “That day in Ella’s boutique, I decided to take the biggest leap of my life and be with you. I wasn’t going to let fear take up space in my heart any longer. Grabbing fear by the balls and all, boy, wasn’t I strong?”
Matthew’s hand covered mine. “You are strong. Look at all you’ve been through and you are still standing.”
“Every day I picked up the phone to call you, and then when I did you had gone back to Texas . . . and your grandmother died. It was like my poison seeped into your life.” My words were choppy, and my thoughts scattered. I couldn’t think straight, all the pain and the weight of my admission flooded my brain.
“You are not poison.”
My breath hitched and I shook my head. “I lost our baby, Matthew. Everyone I love leaves me.” I crumbled, sobbing into my husband’s chest, tears dripped onto his shirt. Matthew’s arms banded around me, holding me tight, until all I could feel was hard muscle and heat.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
As I swallowed, my eyes flicked to his. “That New Year’s Eve when we played trivia and you helped me secure the venue at Hart Hotels, I realized how much you meant to me and all the fear melted away or maybe I pushed it down ignoring it. Things just fell into place for us, and then you proposed and then we got married and we were so happy. I was so happy.”
“We can be that happy again. I really want to try.”
“I had so much pain, that I was trying to not hurt, but, in reality, I hurt you. I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you sooner. I know that hurt you,” I breathed. “I’m so sorry, Matthew.”