Pulling back just enough to speak, I looked up into his eyes and replied with every fiber of my being: “I’m so in love with you, Brody Saco.”

My body tingled with the truth and rightness of those words, and I wanted to say them over and over again, but Brody’s mouth silenced anything else, and soon he was walking us back toward my bedroom.

“WHAT IS IT?” I asked Brody late the next afternoon after we’d finally left my room to eat something.

Brody turned and looked at me confused, his eyebrows pinching together as he set his mug down. “What is what?”

I took a few calming breaths and forced my hands apart when I started nervously playing with them. “About Olivia? What is it about her that’s kept you together all these years?” Brody’s confused expression turned pained, and I hurried to continue. “I know this will sound horrible coming from me, but I’ve always thought divorce was bad . . . but that’s only because the people around me who I saw getting divorced were doing it because they grew tired of who they were with.” Or the men wanted someone younger and the women wanted someone with more money. That’s just how it was in the racing world. “From what everyone has said, that’s not what’s going on between you and Olivia.”

Brody stayed silent, his body still as stone as he stared down at the granite countertop on the kitchen island.

“I know why you married her, and it’s honorable, Brody, but if you’re so miserable—and if she’s as evil as everyone says she is—why would you stay with her all these years?”

He didn’t answer for a long time, and he never moved. When he did finally speak, his eyes wouldn’t meet mine, and his body seemed to somehow tighten even more. “Because I ruined her,” he said on a breath, the words haunting, matching the torture in his eyes.

When he didn’t say anything else and minutes ticked by, I asked softly, “Ruined her how?” He didn’t respond, but I watched as the torture in his eyes washed over the rest of his features. “Does this have to do with you needing to make sure she’ll be okay?”

Another five minutes passed, and all Brody had done was nod. Knowing he wasn’t comfortable with this conversation, and knowing I wouldn’t get my questions answered, I slid off the stool and walked around the island toward him. Wrapping my arms loosely around his rigid frame, I placed a kiss on his chest and took a step away from him. My chest ached when he didn’t look away from the spot on the island he’d been staring at. Turning, I walked quickly from the kitchen and into the bathroom to clean up.

My movements were slow as I moved to the bedroom to put on some clothes, and while I was hurting for whatever pain Brody was in, I was terrified that I’d just pushed him away somehow. It had felt like he was a thousand miles away in the kitchen, and I couldn’t help but worry that feeling wouldn’t go away. I’d strained to hear the door closing, or the garage opening as he left, but there had been nothing. No sound, no indication that he’d even moved from his spot against the counter.

“I haven’t been in love with Olivia for a long time.”

I jumped at the sound of Brody’s voice and instinctively covered myself with the shirt in my hands as I turned to face him. “I know.” Sliding my arms into the sleeves, I pulled the shirt over my head and went to sit on the end of my bed. Brody wasn’t looking at me again, but if he was going to talk, I wasn’t going to rush him.

“But before meeting you, Kamryn, leaving her seemed like the cowardly thing to do. She’s not a good person. She’s always been manipulative, vindictive, and a person who will do anything to make sure she gets her way. And there’s still that side of her . . . but I—I absolutely destroyed her. And to destroy her that way, and then leave her?” He raked a hand through his hair and kept it there. “I just couldn’t do it. Since meeting you, whenever I see the scheming side of her, I don’t know why I bother trying anymore . . . until I see the broken side again, and I know that I still owe it to her to get her help. Because everything that happened to her was my fault.” Looking at me sadly, Brody shrugged helplessly. “She’s this fucked-up shell of the woman that she’d been before, and it’s all my fault,” he whispered.

I watched as his body settled back against the wall, like he couldn’t handle standing on his own for another second. I wanted to go to him, to comfort him . . . but I couldn’t force myself to move.

“When Liv gave birth to our son, I guess it went bad. There was a lot of bleeding, she had to go into surgery, and afterwards she was told that she’d never be able to have another baby. That alone was hard for her to deal with, and then . . .” He cut off, and a single tear ran down his cheek.

“Brody?” My voice was barely above a whisper, but I couldn’t manage anything more. I was terrified of what came after the “and then.” Brody had told me they didn’t have children . . . and with how this story started, and how tortured his face was, I knew it didn’t end well.

“My son was only six months old . . . I had to go to the store for Olivia, and she wanted time alone, so I took Tate with me. It was really icy that morning, and we were stopped at a red light. The guy who came in behind us couldn’t stop, and when he hit us my car slid into the intersection.”

Tears slid down my own face at the pure anguish in Brody’s voice. I’d never heard the kind of torment that I was hearing from him now, and my heart broke for him as I tried to prepare myself for what would come next.

“A car had been flying through and clipped the back of us, and I couldn’t stop the car from spinning no matter how hard I tried. And God, I tried so damn hard,” he cried. “We hit a median, but another car that had been trying to avoid us ended up swerving into us instead. I don’t remember anything after that until I woke up in an ambulance. I freaked and tried to get out, to get to Tate, but they kept me on the stretcher and shut the doors. They didn’t tell me until after I woke up again in the hospital that he was gone,” he choked out, and more tears fell down his face as he slid down the wall. “The car that had hit us up against the median rolled my car over it, and more cars coming up to the intersection slammed into us. He was dead before another driver could come and try to check on us.”

Moving from the bed, I went to where he was sitting on the floor and kneeled between his legs. Grabbing the hand that wasn’t in his hair in mine, I placed my other hand on his cheek and attempted to brush away the wetness there. His body was trembling, and the guilt that crossed his face had a sob tearing from my own chest as my heart seemed to break even more for him.

“Liv was never the same after that,” he said and finally opened his eyes to look at me. “I can’t say if she’s depressed or bipolar, because the way she acts is so unlike anything I’ve looked up. But she’s not well, and that’s my fault. And Tate . . . I killed him after only having him for a few months.”

“Brody, no. It’s not—you can’t put this on yourself. It was an accident, and what happened when she gave birth was something no one could have stopped from happening.”

“I did this to them, Kamryn! I did this to her,” he yelled as he let his head fall back to the wall. “I’ve taken everything from her.”

“No! None of this is your fault.” Cupping his face, I waited until he looked at me again. “You can’t do this . . . you can’t blame yourself for any of this. What happened—I can’t imagine how difficult it was to go through that, Brody, and I’m so sorry you’ve had to. But it’s not your fault. You have to see that,” I cried when I saw the look in his eyes. He didn’t believe me—the guilt that poured off him said it all. He’d been carrying around the knowledge for years that he’d ruined his wife and ended his son’s life. But he was so wrong—how could he not see that?