Chapter 28
TWENTY-EIGHT
Amelia finally emerges from her bedroom, dressed in leggings and an oversized gray sweater. I’ve been waiting, watching the door with a growing sense of concern.
What the fuck happened while they were out?
When she appears, I can’t help but study her every movement, searching for any sign that she’s okay. She moves with a certain heaviness as if the weight of the world is pressing down on her.
In the kitchen, she grabs a huge bottle of Coke and fills a glass, chugging it down like she’s trying to drown something inside. She refills the glass and downs it just as quickly, and I can’t help but feel a tightening in my chest.
She’s hurt.
But what hurt her?
With the bottle in hand, she walks slowly to the couch and sinks into the cushions.
She takes a swig directly from the bottle, her eyes distant, like she’s somewhere else entirely.
She places the bottle on the coffee table, then curls up on her side, drawing her knees to her chest and lying there motionless.
She looks so small, so fragile, like she’s retreating into herself. It reminds me too much of when she broke down after her mother called, the way she curled up and shut the world out.
It hurts me to see her like this, and I want to send her a piano piece again, something to comfort her, but she had given Jamie—or rather, me—the ultimate command.
If I did anything now, she’d know it wasn’t the AI.
The door opens, and Misha and Oliver finally enter the apartment. My heart pounds with frustration and worry as I look up at them. Oliver has an arm around Misha, supporting him as he guides him to the couch and helps him sit down.
“What took you so long?” I demand as I walk up to them, my voice sharper than I intended.
Misha winces slightly as he adjusts his position on the couch, his face twisted in discomfort. “I’m okay, thanks for asking,” he mutters, his tone laced with sarcasm, but there’s a vulnerability there, too, that makes me pause.
“What the fuck happened?” I ask, ignoring his jab, my arms crossing over my chest as I focus on Oliver, who sinks onto the couch next to Misha.
His usual calm demeanor is gone. Instead, he buries his face in his hands, rubbing them over his face before grabbing his hair and pulling at it in frustration.
I watch him, concern creeping up even more, before I turn my gaze to Misha, who looks… guilty?
No, more than guilty. He looks utterly defeated.
“Amelia tried to kiss me,” Misha admits, his voice barely above a whisper.
My heart sinks so deeply that I swear it just fell through the floor. “What?” The word comes out harsher than I mean it to, but I can’t help it—the shock is too much.
Misha nods, gnawing on his lips as if trying to hold back his own emotions. “And I stopped her, telling her I couldn’t do it. She was mortified, and I think… I think I hurt her a lot with it.”
He looks like he hurt himself with it too. Fuck.
I glance at Oliver again, breathing deeply, trying to steady himself, before I ask Misha, “What did she say?”
“Not much,” he admits, his voice filled with guilt. “Just that she’s sorry and that I should forget about it. Then she fled. But her eyes said enough. I hurt her, Grey. I didn’t mean to, but I did. I’m a fucking asshole.”
“No… you may feel that way, but you aren’t,” I assure, even as I silently wonder if I could have kept my head in the same situation.
Misha looks at Oliver, his expression pleading. “Maybe you should go talk to her, Ollie. I couldn’t tell her that I didn’t do it because you’re in love with her. It’s just not my place. But maybe if you tell her, she’ll understand—”
“Understand what?” Oliver cuts him off, his voice filled with anguish. “That I’m standing between her and her happiness? What kind of friend am I if I don’t let you guys be happy?”
“Honestly, I think she’s in love with you too. I think she’s confused and maybe just needs someone to take her hand and show her what she wants or what the possibilities are like she does in other aspects of her life. Take her hand, Ollie.”
Oliver shakes his head, tears brimming in his eyes. “I can’t. I’ll only make it worse. She wants you. Not me.”
This is a complete fuckup, but right now, Oliver has two people supporting him while Amelia is once again left alone, probably drowning in her own pain and confusion.
“You take him,” I say to Misha. “I’ll go take care of her.”
Without waiting for a response, I head to the home office and open Jamie’s interface, unlocking Amelia’s door through the smart home system. I know she wouldn’t open for me right now. Drastic times call for drastic measures.
I take the elevator down to her apartment, my heart pounding with each step. When I get there, I walk right in, startling her as she sits curled up on the couch.
“Grey, what? How?”
“You should lock your door if you don’t want people to come in without knocking,” I say, standing in front of her, trying to keep my tone light even though I’m anything but calm inside.
I notice the half-empty bottle of Coke on the coffee table and pick it up, looking at it, then back at her.
“You never drink soda. What are you doing? That stuff is not good for you.”
“Trying to drown the butterflies,” she mumbles, her voice small and defeated.
“In Coke? Try vodka next time,” I retort, carrying the bottle to the sink to pour it out.
“Hey!” she protests, a spark of life in her voice, but I’m already retrieving her shoes and kneeling to put them on for her. She swats me away, probably more out of reflex than actual resistance.
“What are you even doing here?” she demands, her voice trembling with frustration and something else—something more vulnerable.
“We’re going for a walk.”
“What? No, I don’t want to. I was just on a hike!”
“Tough luck,” I reply, my tone more gentle as I pull her to a stand, making her face me.
“Grey. Leave. Please.”
A single tear escapes from the corner of her eye, trailing down her cheek. The sight of it breaks something inside me, and I gently remove her glasses and wipe the tear away with my thumb. Without thinking, I bring my thumb to my mouth and lick it away, my eyes never leaving hers.
Her eyes widen in shock, and I notice her gaze flicker to my lips, lingering there.
For a moment, time seems to freeze, and I savor the connection, feeling an unexpected thrill as her eyes remain locked on my mouth.
But I know this isn’t the time for that, so I clean her glasses on my shirt and carefully put them back on her, noticing how heavy they feel.
The button on the side is almost invisible.
Fuck, this is huge.
But it’s not the right time to think about that either.
“Be a good girl and do what I say,” I instruct, reaching down to take her hand in mine, trying to convey through touch what I can’t express in words.
“I don’t want to talk,” she whispers, her voice trembling with the weight of everything she’s holding inside.
“Fine,” I reply. “I said we’re going for a walk, not a talk. Come on.”
I gently but firmly guide her out of the apartment, my hand lingering on the small of her back as we step into the hallway.
The silence between us is heavy, almost suffocating, but I know she needs it, needs the quiet to process whatever is going on inside her head.
I can feel the tension radiating from her, a storm brewing just beneath the surface.
I wish I could say something, anything, but I don’t want to push her. Not yet.
At Grandpa’s house, she waits outside, her arms wrapped around herself as if she’s trying to hold herself together. She still hasn’t said a word, and it’s starting to worry me.
I hurry inside, grabbing Peanut’s leash, and when I return with him, I hand it to her, hoping Peanut might bring her some comfort. She takes the leash without looking at me or properly saying hello to him, her movements automatic, like she’s on autopilot.
We continue our walk to the park, the silence between us only broken by the occasional bark from Peanut or the sounds of the city.
I keep glancing at her, trying to gauge her mood, but her expression remains distant, her eyes fixed on the ground.
She’s here, but not really here, and it tears me up inside.
I want to reach out, to pull her back from wherever she’s gone, but I don’t know how.
When we pass a small supermarket, I hesitate for a moment before making a quick decision.
“Wait here,” I tell her and Peanut, pointing to a spot by the door.
She nods absently, barely acknowledging me.
I duck into the store and grab two cones of ice cream—strawberry for her, coffee for me.
It’s a small gesture, but I’m hoping it might bring a spark of life back into her eyes.
Finding a bench in the park, we sit down, Peanut quietly resting beside us as we eat our ice creams. I watch her out of the corner of my eye, hoping for some sign, any sign, that she’s coming back to me.
She eats slowly, methodically, as if she’s just going through the motions.
It’s so unlike her that it makes my chest ache.
The Amelia I know would be teasing me about my coffee-flavored choice, but right now, she’s a million miles away.
When we’re done, I can’t ignore the defeated look in her eyes anymore. So, I stand up, taking the leash from her hand, our fingers brushing for a brief second.
“Come on,” I say, steering her toward a patch of grass shaded by a cluster of trees.
We pause under the shade of a large tree with the branches above us swaying gently in the breeze.
Amelia leans back against the tree trunk, her posture heavy when she lets out a deep sigh.
I tilt my head, studying her face, but I stay silent, waiting for her to come to me, offering her the same courtesy she always gives everyone else.
Finally, she opens her pretty mouth to talk to me. “It seems like I’m never good enough,” she whispers, watching Peanut sniff the ground.
What?