Chapter 4 - Olivia
I sit cross-legged on the motel bed, staring at my phone as it buzzes for what must be the twentieth time in an hour. Devin's name flashes on the screen, along with the preview of his latest text:
*WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU? ANSWER ME YOU STUPID B*
The rest gets cut off, but I can imagine what follows. My hands shake as I scroll through the earlier messages, each one worse than the last.
*You better be home when I get there*
*Are you cheating on me? Is that it?*
*You ungrateful bitch after everything I've done for you*
*You're nothing without me remember that*
*When I find you you'll regret this*
The voicemails are worse. His voice slurring with anger and probably alcohol, promising consequences I don't want to think about. I should delete them all, block his number, but something stops me. Evidence, maybe. Or the last remnants of the hope that kept me with him for so long.
The bathroom door opens, and I quickly set the phone face-down on the bed. Tyler emerges in a cloud of steam, wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt that clings to his still-damp body. His hair is wet and spiky, and without the intimidating leather cut, he looks almost like the Tyler I remember.
Except for his eyes. They're different now: harder, more watchful. They miss nothing, including my poorly hidden phone and whatever expression is on my face.
"He's been texting," Tyler says. Not a question.
I nod, unable to lie to those eyes.
"How bad?"
"Bad enough." I pick up the phone, hesitate, then hand it to him. "See for yourself."
Tyler scrolls through the messages, his expression growing stonier with each one. When he gets to the voicemails, he plays the first one on speaker.
*"You think you can just disappear? You think you're better than me? I made you, Olivia. I MADE YOU! You were nothing when I found you, just a pathetic little girl crying over mommy and daddy. You'll come crawling back. You always do. And when you do—"*
Tyler ends the message, his jaw clenched so tight I can see a muscle twitching in his cheek.
"There are eleven more," I say quietly. "They get worse."
"You should block his number."
"I know. I will. I just thought... maybe we should keep them. As evidence. If I need it."
Tyler nods, approval flickering in his eyes. "Smart. We can take screenshots, save the voicemails." He hands the phone back. "But then you block him. You don't need this poison in your head."
"Okay." I take the phone and start the process of documenting everything. Tyler sits beside me, careful to keep a respectful distance, but close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from his shower-warm skin.
It's strange how safe I feel with him, despite the changes in him. Despite the gun I saw him cleaning earlier. Despite the violent promise in his eyes when he talks about Devin.
"Do you think he knows where I am?" I ask as I screenshot the last text.
"No. But he knows you're gone, and that's going to make him dangerous." Tyler's voice is matter-of-fact. "That's why I need to deal with this sooner rather than later."
I nod, finally blocking Devin's number. An unexpected wave of relief washes over me as I do, like cutting a tether that's been slowly strangling me.
"Try to get some sleep," Tyler says, standing up. "Tomorrow's going to be a long day."
He moves to his own bed, sitting on the edge to check his phone one last time. I slide under the covers of mine, suddenly aware of how strange this is. Sharing a room with Tyler after all these years. After everything that's changed.
"Tyler?"
He looks up. "Yeah?"
"Thank you. For coming back. For helping me."
Something softens in his face. "Always, Liv. I told you that years ago."
"I know. I just didn't really believe it until now."
He smiles slightly, and for a moment, I see the old Tyler: the one who used to climb through my window when we were teenagers, who would listen to me talk for hours about nothing at all, who knew all my secrets.
Almost all of them, anyway.
"Get some sleep," he says again, reaching to turn off the lamp between our beds.
Darkness falls, but I can still make out his silhouette as he settles into his bed, the covers rustling. Despite everything—Devin's threats, the uncertainty of what comes next, the strangeness of this situation—I feel safer than I have in months.
With that thought, I close my eyes and let exhaustion pull me under.
The Next Day
Sunlight streams through a gap in the motel curtains, landing directly across my eyes.
I sit up, looking toward the other bed, but it's empty, the covers neatly made.
For a moment, panic flares in my chest—did Tyler leave?
—but then I notice his leather cut still draped over the chair. He wouldn't leave that behind.
The door opens, and Tyler walks in carrying a cardboard tray with coffee cups and a paper bag that smells like heaven.
"You're awake," he says, setting the tray on the table. "I figured you'd need caffeine and sugar. Got those cinnamon rolls you used to like from the bakery."
"They're still open? I haven't been there in so long. I thought Mr. Miller retired. Devin didn't like cinnamon rolls, so I stopped going there."
"His daughter runs it now. Same recipes though." Tyler hands me a coffee cup. "Two creams, one sugar."
"You remember how I take my coffee?"
"I told you, Liv. I remember everything."
Something warm unfurls in my chest at his words, at the way his eyes hold mine for just a beat too long as I take my coffee.
"What time is it?" I ask, trying to reorient myself.
"Just after nine. You needed the rest." Tyler opens the bag, revealing enormous cinnamon rolls dripping with icing. "Breakfast?"
The cinnamon roll is exactly as good as I remember. Sweet and spicy and comforting. For a few minutes, we could be anywhere, just two old friends sharing breakfast, not hiding from an abusive ex in a motel room.
But reality can only be held at bay for so long.
"So, what's the plan?" I ask finally, wiping sticky fingers on a napkin. "For today. For Devin."
Tyler sets his coffee down, his expression shifting into something more focused, more calculating. "Brady's opens at eleven on Sundays. Devin will probably be there by noon for the first games. I'll head over around one, once he's settled in. Have our conversation."
"And if he doesn't listen to reason?"
Tyler's eyes harden. "Then we move to plan B."
"Which is?"
"A more physical demonstration of my seriousness."
I set my coffee down. "Tyler, I want to come with you."
His head snaps up. "Absolutely not."
"It's about me. My relationship. My choice to end it."
"It's too dangerous. You saw his texts. Heard his voicemails. He's volatile."
"Exactly," I press. "Which is why I need to be the one to tell him it's over. Not you. Not some stranger he's never met who shows up making threats."
Tyler shakes his head. "You're not going anywhere near him."
"If I don't face him, I'll always be running. Always looking over my shoulder." I meet his gaze steadily. "I need to do this, Tyler. I need to stand up to him. Show him he doesn't control me anymore."
"And what if he lashes out? Tries to hurt you? Are you ready for that?" Tyler's voice is tight with tension.
"That's why you'll be there," I say simply. "I trust you to keep me safe."
He studies me for a long moment, and I can almost see the battle playing out behind his eyes. The protective instinct warring with the recognition of what I'm asking for. What I need.
"If—and this is a big if—I let you come," he says finally, "you agree to my terms. All of them."
"Which are?"
"You stay behind me at all times. If I tell you to leave, you leave immediately. No questions, no arguments." His voice is deadly serious. "And you let me handle it if he gets aggressive. You don't try to calm him down or reason with him. You get to safety. Understood?"
I nod slowly. "I understand."
"I mean it, Olivia. One wrong move from him, and you're out of there."
"Agreed." I hold his gaze, letting him see my determination. "But I need to do this, Tyler. I need to tell him myself that it's over."
He sighs, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "Fine. But we do this my way. We take my bike. We arrive together, we leave together. And if things go south—"
"I follow your lead. I promise."
He doesn't look entirely convinced, but he nods. "We'll need to prepare."
"Prepare how?"
"I need to walk you through possible scenarios. Reactions. What to expect." He leans forward, elbows on knees. "And you need to be absolutely clear about what you're going to say to him. Short, direct, no room for misinterpretation."
"I can do that."
"And you need to be prepared for him to say things designed to hurt you. To manipulate you." Tyler's eyes are intense. "He'll try to make you feel guilty. Try to remind you of good times. Try to make promises. You need to be ready for that."
The thought makes my stomach clench. I know all too well how Devin operates, how he can switch from rage to remorse in an instant, how convincing his promises can be.
"I'll be ready," I say, more confidently than I feel.
Tyler seems to sense my uncertainty. "We don't have to do this, Liv. There are other ways to handle it."
"No. I need to face him. I need to say the words myself." I take a deep breath. "I need to stop being afraid."
Something like pride flickers in Tyler's eyes. "Okay. Then let's make sure you're prepared."
The next few hours are surreal. Tyler walks me through various scenarios, teaching me what to watch for in Devin's body language, where to position myself in relation to exits, how to create distance if needed. It's part self-defense lesson, part psychological preparation.
"If he stands up suddenly, you move back," Tyler instructs. "If he raises his voice, you stay calm. If he tries to touch you—"
"You intervene," I finish for him.
"Immediately," he confirms, a dangerous edge to his voice.
By the time noon rolls around, I'm mentally exhausted but strangely empowered. For the first time in over a year, I feel like I have some control over my situation. Like I'm taking action instead of just reacting to Devin's moods.
"It's time," Tyler says, checking his watch. "You still sure about this?"
I nod, standing up and smoothing down the simple jeans and sweater I've put on. "I'm sure."
"Then let's go." Tyler shrugs into his leather cut, the patches of the Outlaw Order MC prominently displayed. With it on, his whole demeanor changes—becoming harder, more imposing. The soldier merges with the biker, creating something formidable.
Something that makes me very glad he's on my side.
He hands me the spare helmet, and we head out to his motorcycle. The day is cold, and as I climb onto the bike behind Tyler, wrapping my arms around his waist, I try to focus on the feeling of safety his solid presence provides.
"Ready?" he asks over his shoulder.
I tighten my hold around him. "Ready."
The engine roars to life beneath us, and we pull out of the motel parking lot. As we ride toward Brady's Bar and my confrontation with Devin, I rest my cheek against Tyler's back and close my eyes briefly.
Whatever happens next, at least I'm no longer facing it alone.