Astor Hill

Chapter 29

29

Olivia

I walk into the somewhat organized chaos that is now the newspaper office. Papers are in neat stacks spread all over the office with a few rogue coffee cups perched on them. A crazed Ian sits on the Senior Editor desk, his baggie Sonic Youth hoodie chic in a grunge sort of way, but rather casual for Ian. It’s clear he hasn’t left this office much, and I’m curious what has him in such a state. Coming by here isn’t really a requirement, as long as I’m getting my pieces in with enough time for edits before we go to print, and all I’ve really had going is my style column. And the Ben story , I remind myself.

Setting my iced americano on my no longer pristine desk, I duck my head trying to catch Ian’s attention.

“Don’t you have your own, much messier, desk to go all ‘beautiful mind’ in?” The amount of sticky notes stuck to his journal and the desk calendar he’s migrated to my desk should be criminal; the notes app exists for a reason.

He looks up at me from his laptop, a sour smirk on his face. “I only ended up here because you’ve been ignoring my texts about your assignment. I figured your desk might give me the answers you couldn’t.”

My teeth worry my bottom lip as I step closer to his screen, my stomach doing a nervous flip as I realize he’s mad about the story.

“Ian,” I start with a sigh. “I wasn’t ignoring you, there just isn’t anything to report. He left for personal reasons and I promise there’s nothing sexy or scandalous about it.” I tilt my head in exasperation, suddenly finding myself irritated at the way he just won’t let this go. His obsession with peering into the lives of wealthy socialites and their children used to not get to me, even though I am distantly one of them, but his attention on Ben grates against me. What is he so fascinated by? His eyes narrow at me like he can read my mind.

“Nothing ‘sexy or scandalous’? Oh, Olivia,” he grins with disdain, shaking his head. “You really haven’t been doing your job. You’ve been too busy hopping between brothers’ beds from what I’ve heard.” His words feel like a slap across the face, and I open my mouth to dispel the rumor, but he juts up from the desk, standing with me face to face, and my mouth falls shut. “I thought you’d at least be doing it with an ulterior motive in mind, but I guess you really are as stupid as I thought you were.”

I swallow hard, unsure what to tackle first: the notion that I’m sleeping with both Will and Ben, or that I’m an incompetent idiot who isn’t capable of reporting a story.

“My instincts are sound, Ian. There is nothing here,” I reiterate, feeling the hard set of my jaw as my teeth grind against each other. “And if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were just jealous I was able to bag two ball players— from what I’ve heard .” My smile is just as sour as the one he gave me when I walked in, deciding I don’t actually care what he thinks, and I take immense pleasure in the look of embarrassment that flashes across his face at my jab. While not a wide spread rumor, the story of Ian with a certain closeted power forward is certainly one that made its way to my ears. I would never repeat gossip like that, completely aware of how devastating it could be for all parties involved, but that won’t stop me from deploying it in this moment just to watch him squirm. I’ve always been able to spin his fixation on the ultra wealthy as an ethical one; if anyone deserves a spotlight on the shit we get up to, it’s us. But now that I know Ben, I know this story is a dead end. But Ian’s committed to finding some dirt on this family like a runaway train.

“You’re wrong,” he all but seethes at me. He steps back, taking a breath before fixing his attention squarely on me. “Did you spend any time pondering the lead I gave you?” He raises his eyebrows, emphasizing how obvious he thinks the answer is. My lips purse as I shrug. “You really are just blind to this, aren’t you?”

“Quit with the evasive bullshit and cut to the point, Ian.” I feel adrenaline rush through me, dread pooling in my stomach at his expression. He looks like he’s sitting on a landmine, like he’s about to jump off and let it obliterate me.

“The story is Lily,” he says, his voice quiet. My stomach feels like it does when you drop one hundred feet on a roller coaster before it levels out, my rational brain quelling all the unease I’d felt just moments earlier, and I laugh. I laugh so hard, my eyes start to water, and from behind my amused tears I see Ian’s annoyed expression. “I’m serious, Liv. And I have two separate accounts of seeing Lily with them the summer before?—”

“Ian.” I catch my breath, pressing my lips together. “I am sorry about what I said, that was a low blow, no pun intended.” I stifle another laugh. “But you have to know how insane that sounds, right? But let’s say you’re right, and Lily somehow knew the Chapmans. What then?” My smile starts to fade as I notice his earnest expression. He fully believes this tale. He believes there’s some link there.

“Well that would’ve been your job to find out, now wouldn’t it?” His arms cross, and I know this conversation has damaged something between us— on my end and on his.

“I’m not pursuing this, Ian. If you want to make yourself look like a fool, you can do that.”

“Don’t worry, Liv. I wouldn’t dream of asking you to get your hands dirty,” he sneers at me, and I’m taken aback. Shaking my head, I gather my bag and turn to leave.

I turn around just before I reach the door. “Don’t make your weird vendetta about my journalism skills. And just know, if this story doesn’t pan out the way you want it to, you’ll be pissing off the very people whose asses you kissed to crawl your way in here.”

It’s only once I’m outside the door that I take a deep breath, truly processing what Ian dropped on me. My instincts are what guide me in my journalism, and they’re never wrong. So why do I now have a pit in my stomach?

Why does it feel like there is a shoe, and it is going to drop?

I shake the thought away, silently cursing Ian for getting in my head. Because the fact remains, what he told me is crazy. He is the crazy one.

It’s my first time at a game since my breakup with Will. My first time back watching a game since I started seeing Ben. And while I hear the low hush of my name while I walk through the stands, none of that is what’s making my heart beat a second too fast. Instead, what Ian said to me replays in my mind over and over, spliced with scenes of that boardwalk bracelet I found in Ben’s closet and the receipt I found in Lily’s things.

They’re just coincidences , I think to myself. I’ve spent so much time in the Hamptons over the years, I’ve probably been to that restaurant and don’t remember. It’s completely nonsensical that it would mean she knew Ben. Except that someone said they saw them, that unwelcome thought echoes in my mind.

I take a steadying breath as I find a spot to sit in, willing myself to appear normal, and calm, and excited. Ben practically lit up when I told him I would come to his game tonight. So despite the detour my afternoon took I’m here, proudly wearing his letterman over my sweater, glaring a silent “fuck off” to anyone with anything to say about it.

I am happy. Happy .

If I’m being honest, happiness has been fleeting since I got to Astor. The last time I can remember feeling so hopeful was the night of that kegger, and everything went to shit after that. Yes, I’d been happy with Will for a time, but that period is so marred with the fog of grief that I can barely remember any specific moments when I was. Breaking up with him felt like the closing of an incredibly heavy chapter in my life, and I know we’re both better for it. Whatever demons Will was fighting or wasn’t fighting when we were together, he has the chance to now.

We may have pushed each other toward outward facing goals and ideals, but we never pushed each other to actually be better people. To cope with our shit, to foster whatever brought us joy— I don’t even think we knew what that was beyond the things we were told should matter to us. Like status. Like achieving that status at all costs.

I watch the players file out, making little eye contact with the opposing team as they do, and immediately spot Ben, his towering build and sharp jaw a beacon to me. He must feel my stare because he glances up at me, that core tightening smirk gracing his face, and I feel myself relax into my seat. A head of pushed back blonde waves attempts to jog past him, and I’d know that head of hair anywhere. It’s the same one I spent years running my fingers through. My eyes trail his neck, down to his shoulders, down to his jersey, and I suddenly wonder if I shouldn’t be here, if this isn’t beyond insensitive, until I see him give an easy smile to his captain as Ben pats him on the shoulder. He heads to the center of the court for the jump ball, Ben retreating to his position, and the game begins.

That small exchange feels monumental, and as happy as I am that Will and Ben are on good terms, I wonder when this reconciliation happened. I wonder why he hasn’t told me about it.

I try to shake it off, because fuck Ian for making me so on edge, but I can’t. The game mesmerizes me, the players running up and down the court in a deftly choreographed dance of jumps and passes, twirls and shots.

And as I track the game, my mind plays tricks on me.

I see Lily on the court side, jumping up and down, that damn bracelet on her wrist. When they call a timeout, I swear I watch Ben throw an easy smile her way. I imagine Will waving, the three of them all in on a joke that, up here in the stands, I’m not privy to. My heartbeat quickens and I feel my breathing become irregular as my mind imagines them walking on a beach. I try to remind myself that this makes no sense, that my best friend did not know these men, didn’t know those boys, but the more I think about it the more I feel like the crazy one.

I come to, my chest heaving as I hear the game buzzer, and my attention is dragged to Ben’s athletic build, sweat dripping from his brow as he dribbles, jumps, and scores the seventy third, winning point of the game with just enough time to spare.

“AND THIRTY-TWO SCORES THE GAME POINT!” the announcer shouts over the intercom.

For all its prior clamoring, my heart simply stops. Ben’s joy is palpable as he gets a sweaty bear hug from Grant, Andy, and eventually the rest of the team. I watch Grant say something discreetly to him, right before Ben’s gaze finds mine. My eyes lock with Ben’s, his sheer excitement doing nothing to thaw how frozen I feel, and my legs make the decision to leave before my mind has time to think. I rapidly make my way down the bleachers and toward the door leading out of the gym.

Thirty-two. Thirty-two. Thirty-two. Thirty-two.

Ian was right about me because until now, I connected zero dots between the appliqué “thirty-two” patch in my Lily box, or the fact that it was part of the doodles she left on some of the notes I kept, and Ben’s number.

Thirty-two . I think I’m going to be sick.

When I reach the double glass doors, I realize it’s raining, water pouring from the sky.

“Olivia!” I hear Ben call from down the corridor.

I throw open the doors, running toward the parking lot as I try not to slip on the concrete.

I can’t do this. Not now. Maybe not ever.

I hear my name again, his voice piercing me through what feels like my heart, because I love him. I love him so much that I was blind to the truth: that he was connected to Lily. That he left shortly after Lily died because they were something to each other and the family crisis he kept mentioning was about her.

I finally reach my car, regretful tears pouring down my face, phantom-like pain lancing through my body. Just as I move to get in my car, his hand closes on my shoulder, and I melt into his touch despite myself.

I feel fragile, and now I’m drenched, cold seeping into my bones as I turn around and take him in. Water droplets fall from the tips of his eyelashes as he blinks in his best effort to clear his vision. He’s out of breath, not surprisingly tired after the game he just played and chasing me through a rainstorm. Those eyes I once let myself get lost in contort in confusion.

It hurts. He hurts, standing there like the beautiful liar he is, looking at me like he cares about me. But he can’t, can he? At the thought, my face crumbles.

“Liv, please talk to me,” he says, my nickname the most endearing it’s ever sounded. Like I’m a child who should know better. His hand slides down my arm to meet mine, and I feel a tingle that turns into a flutter when it reaches my stomach. I shiver, partially from the cold, partially from his touch, and I shake him off, my lips pressing together until they feel numb. I wish I felt numb.

“What’s going on?” His eyes search mine for a response, his voice tinged with slight panic, and I know it’s because it’s true.

I try to blink away my tears, swallowing hard as I finally wade into reality.

“How did you know Lily?”

Shock briefly flickers over his face and I begin to hope I’m wrong, but his eyes shudder, and I know I’m not. I see his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows, and whatever hope I had that this was all an odd coincidence flits away.

“I was going to tell you ever?—”

“Please, stop,” I whisper, squeezing my eyes shut. “Why did you leave, Ben?”

“It’s complicated, Liv,” he pleads, moving towards me, but I take a step back. “Will said?—”

“Will? This is about you , Ben— you and Lily.” The nausea from before climbs up my throat when I say their names together. “I have to go.”

“Olivia, please. If you just give it some time, I promise I’ll tell you everything. I just can’t—“ his hand caresses my shoulder as a turn away.

“Don’t,” I clip, my eyes once again welling with tears. “Don’t speak to me, ever again.”

I can see the twinge of pain in his eyes as I say it, but it’s nothing compared to the agony I feel at this moment. Distantly, Will calls my name as I get in my car, letting the door fall shut.

I don’t pause. I don’t glance up. I don’t look back. I drive home, wondering why the people I love never actually love me in return.