Astor Hill

Chapter 21

21

Ben

The sun is sitting low as I walk out of the practice gym tonight. Tuesdays are usually spent in the weight room, but Coach had us running laps to “release the goddamned tension between you sons of bitches.” His exact words. Turns out pretending the douchebag dating the woman you can’t stop thinking about, who happens to be your brother, isn’t possible when he’s two teammates down from you, jabbering about said woman. My only relief is the black eye he’s not so proudly sporting. When Scott brought up the scene between him and Olivia, Will was all too pleased to relive the details of their night together. Grinding my teeth did nothing to staunch the disgust I felt as he replayed what I hoped hadn't happened after they left last night. When I came back into the room after abruptly dropping my weights and taking a quick lap as a distraction, Coach was in the middle of a rant, chastising the use of vulgar language about sex acts while in the locker room.

I’m glad I left, because even though I have no standing with Olivia, no right to be upset if she did leave the gala and consummate their supposed reunion, I know I wouldn’t have been able to stop from making Will’s eyes match.

By the time I get to my apartment, it’s half past six. I told Olivia I’d be at hers by seven to work on this project, but that was last week, before the gala. The most I’d spoken to her since was a brief text from her this morning.

Olivia

See you at 7?

Yeah. See you then.

I was half hoping she’d have some explanation for the other night. Now, as I jump out of the shower and into my team hoodie and sweats, I realize I’d better stop hoping. Will basically confirmed what I’d been wondering for days.

I ruminate over her and Will and me, and this whole fucking mess, the entire way over to her apartment. I go to knock on her door but my hand is met with air, the door quickly pulled open to reveal a fresh faced Olivia, smiling softly on the other side.

“You’re late,” she says, and I can tell she’s relieved. The frustration that was simmering inside me on my walk over begins to burn on the surface.

“ I’m here,” I reply, the tight smile on my face unable to reach my eyes. When I look into hers, I can tell she’s wounded. She rolls her eyes, waving me inside. We’re standing in her kitchen, silent as she fills a kettle with water, places it on a burner, and grabs two mugs.

“How are you?” she finally breaks the minutes long silence, turning around to face me, her hands behind her on the counter.

“Uh…” I stutter, shocked by how easily she can act like nothing's wrong. “Fine,” I tell her, shoving my hands in my pocket. The words ‘what’s going on with you and Will?’ bubble at the top of my throat but I push them down. “How are you?” The conversation feels stale, so different from the way it usually feels.

She searches my eyes for a moment before giving a noncommittal shrug and nods. “Yeah, I’m… okay.” Pressing her lips together, she spins around to the mugs, dropping a tea bag in each seemingly out of nowhere. I watch the hot steam rise and diffuse into the air, the space around us quickly smelling of clove and warm spices.

“Sorry, did you want tea?” she asks over her shoulder. She sounds annoyed and exhausted. Before I can answer, she’s extending the steaming cup of autumn to me.

“Thanks, Liv.” I accept the mug, taking note of the way her mouth curves into a gentler version of her usual smile when I say her name. I jump on the shred of courage her smile gives me, deciding to satisfy my morbid curiosity now or never. “So. You and Will are back together then?”

As soon as the words are out my mouth, I regret them. She spins around, confusion and irritation swirling on her face.

“What did you just ask me?” Her tone is one of disbelief, and as incensed as I am that she’s offended by my curiosity, I know she’s right.

“No, you’re right, I— it’s none of my business.” My lips press together as if to keep my actual feeling under wraps.

“It’s none of your business?” Her eyes are pools of hurt and fury and I feel my pushed down frustration rise to the top. “You ignore me for days and then show up here like we didn’t?—”

My brows furrow in disbelief as I feel myself erupt. “Ignoring you, Olivia? I didn’t realize you were expecting a follow up conversation after you left with Will . Because that is what you're referring to, right? That I’ve been ignoring you since the gala?” She flinches at the mention, but I feel vindicated by the opportunity to show how I’ve been feeling.

“Yes Ben, I was,” her chin raising slightly in defiance. “I expected… something after we…” She blushes, turning away.

“What were you expecting, Olivia?” I ask, the anger I feel turning into a palpable heat. “You left with him.” My heart sinks at my own words, reminded of the way she walked out those doors with him. I watch her think carefully, her eyes searching my face before she answers.

“I just,” she pauses, considering her next words. “I thought we were friends,” she tells me, sounding painfully unsure, and my heart sinks even more.

“We’ve never been friends, Olivia,” I tell her, and her eyes shutter. And I know what she thinks I mean in that moment, but it isn’t what I mean at all . “And I know about what happened after you left — pretty sure the entire team knows now.” I shake my head and turn toward her door, expecting her dismissal anyway. If I stay any longer, I’ll only handle her decision to get back together with Will with more immaturity than I already have.

“What the fuck does that mean?” she all but shouts at me, inviting me and my heart back to be ripped to shreds in the middle of her kitchen. And I do it because when will I have the right to feel anything for her again?

“I know you’re with him, Olivia! For god knows what reason. It means I know you went home with him, that you slept with him after he?—”

“That I slept with him after he fucked the coat check girl?” she interrupts me, crossing her arms. She tilts her head, her hair falling to one side, as she eyes me with derision. “I guess we never were friends if you believe I could be that pathetic.” She dismisses me with a quick glance at the door, turning to collect a mixing bowl off her counter.

Guilt crashes into me as I watch her listlessly clean up a nonexistent mess in her kitchen. I wallow in my anger at this situation for all of ten seconds before I walk up behind her, stilling her hands. I came here hoping for some resolution, or some closure, for me; I didn’t come here to upset her.

“Olivia,” I say, willing her to turn around and face me. When she does, my eyes immediately land on her mouth before taking her in. Rich, brown waves frame her face, the remnants of summer freckles dust the bridge of her nose, trailing off into the slight blush of her cheeks, and her long, delicate lashes frame amber speckled eyes that glisten with wetness. The slow pace of her chest rising and falling makes this moment feel like it’s happening in slow motion. And it’s the slowness of this moment that reminds me that I still can’t kiss this girl.

So I say, instead, “We were never just friends. You’ve always been more. Since the moment I saw you at the party, you have consumed my thoughts,” I admit, feeling more vulnerable than I’ve felt in years. “I didn’t text you, because I can’t tell if this… thing I’m feeling with you is all in my head or if it’s real. If I imagined our night together or if you felt it, too.” I pause, feeling like I’m revealing too much but deciding that I have nothing left to loose. “You are always on my mind, even and especially when you shouldn’t be.”

She tilts her head up at me in silent defiance, and I can tell she’s biting the inside of her cheek. Her gaze lingers on my mouth before sliding up to mine, telling me that she feels this too.

“And I know I shouldn’t be telling you any of this if you’re still with him, if you’re still—” I stop, knowing I have to give this up if she is. I swallow, feeling the question I want to ask like a lump in my throat, knowing her answer has the power to decimate me. “Are you still with him?”

My stomach sinks when I see her bite her lip, something like embarrassment flashing momentarily. She looks down at the ground in contemplation and she might as well rip out my anatomical heart because this is tortuous and I think I should’ve left when I had the chance.

I think all of this in the five seconds that it happens and then she looks up at me earnestly through those thick lashes.

“No,” she says, clear and quiet. “I’m not with him.”