Where control ends and obsession begins
I’ve been at the fountain for about an hour, letting the spill of water count the seconds I don’t want to spend in my room.
The sun warms my shoulders, and I soak it in.
No one is around in my mini sanctuary, leaving the few benches that line the black gate empty.
Trees and flowers cover most of the wrought iron encircling my seclusion.
A shadow appears, blocking my sunlight and dimming the page in my lap. Dark, unreadable eyes catch mine.
I didn’t even hear him approach, which is unnerving. Oliver nods at the space beside me. I slide my bag to the ground as he takes the spot. “Hiding or reading?”
“A little of both. I call it productive avoidance.” Oliver sits facing me, one leg bent casually, yet I feel nothing but tension.
His hair is a little more disheveled today, taking some of the edge off his usual polished appearance.
I could lie to myself all I want, but the bottom line is Oliver is sinfully good-looking.
“From what?”
I shrug. “I was feeling restless.”
“You’ve been on the same page for five minutes.”
“Maybe I like the sentence.” Then, as if what he said just hit me, I tilt my head. “You were watching me for five minutes?”
“Could have been six.” He shrugs, amusement dancing across his features. I open my mouth, then close it, shaking my head.
“Well, that’s not creepy at all.” I look away toward the chipmunk scrambling across a nearby branch, just a few yards from us. Even without looking, I can still feel Oliver’s attention. He’s magnetic: the energy, dominance, the whole persona—a tether I can’t shake.
“What are you reading?”
I hold up the book. “Romance. Guilty pleasure.”
Something shifts in his expression, but it vanishes before I can make sense of it. “The kind that leaves marks?” His smirk is confident. “Or the ones with love and grand gestures?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know.”
“I would, actually. You’ve read that copy more than once.”
I raise my eyebrows. “How—”
“The sides are worn, the edges of the pages wrinkled from your fingers.” Well…isn’t he observant?
I look down at one of my favorite books, a special edition and one heavily annotated. “Creepy…again.”
He leans back on one arm, unbothered. “Observant.” His shirt rides up just enough to reveal the black boxers beneath and a sliver of tanned skin.
I swallow. “I like a mix,” I say.
His mouth quirks. “Most people want love until it stops being gentle.”
Now I do face him, bracing a knee on the ledge, mirroring his position. “Why want ruin at all?”
“Creates the best kinds of stories.” There’s a weight to his response. If his face is what he shows the world, his eyes are what he keeps hidden.
“Sometimes. And sometimes the damage is too great to come back from,” I counter.
His finger taps against his thigh. My attention follows the movement before returning to his face. “You prefer love?”
“I think most everyone would,” I answer.
“I didn’t ask about most people; I asked about you.” The way he says it, each word enunciated and drawn out, makes me really think about it.
“There’s a fine line. A love so fierce could ruin you in the best way, so…it would depend.”
“It could also ruin you in the worst way.” His eyes move between mine, and I can’t take it anymore.
“Do you always look at people like they’re puzzles?”
“Does it bother you?” His voice turns sincere; a stark contrast to how he spoke just moments ago. He’s really asking as if my answer will solve all of his problems.
“Bother? No, unnerved slightly.”
He nods. “What else do you read?”
“I’m not picky.” I worry my bottom lip. “I read a lot after I got hurt.”
“Hurt?” he repeats slowly.
“I tore my ACL back in high school playing volleyball.” My finger skims across the faint silver scar on my right knee. “Gave me a lot of free time.”
His attention follows the movement. “I could imagine. Do you play anymore?”
A sad smile curves my lips, thinking back to that time. “No, I decided the risk of injury wasn’t worth the reward. I still love playing and working out, just not in a competitive setting.”
This would be a perfect time to slip in that I love to run.
Maybe it would steer us in the direction of my forest encounter, because the more I speak to Oliver, the more convinced I am that it was him.
Their tones are the same, the way they speak.
So cryptic and calculated, yet holding the slightest bit of humor.
Reaching out, Oliver skims that same spot ever so lightly. Finger running up and down, causing goose bumps to break out over my arms. I need to get a goddamn grip.
“It was hard to step away from, but…I've been happier for it. I was able to enjoy college more. Without the added pressure.” I eye him. “I like to run sometimes near the cliffs.” I watch his face carefully, waiting for a flicker or hint of acknowledgment.
“You should be careful; the drop off is deadly if you find yourself too close to the edge, especially at night,” he says. No change or reaction in his posture or voice.
I decide to change the subject completely. “Callan says you’re a genius.”
He sits up, the relaxed body language gone, replaced by something sharper. “What else did he say?”
I blink, stunned by the complete one-eighty. “Nothing really…” I say carefully.
He taps the spine of my book.
I debate keeping my mouth shut, but curiosity wins. “He did mention you don’t do relationships.”
“He isn’t wrong.”
Tap. Tap. Tap.
I cross my leg over my knee. “You’ve never had a relationship?”
More tapping. “No.”
I hum in response, catching his hand to still his movements. We both still. The touch lasts less than a second before I let go. “So curious about my relationships.”
“Well,” I mirror his smile, “according to you, you don’t have past relationships.”
His eyes drop to my mouth as he leans in a fraction, voice low. “I’m clear about what I want. Friendly, isn’t it?”
Heat crawls up my neck to my cheeks. “And what do you want right now?” I ask softly.
“To keep your attention.”
“You have it.”
That’s the damn problem.
His mouth lifts. “Then we can stop pretending it’s friendly.”
The space between us tightens. I need a safer topic to get us back to where we were.
I gesture at his nose ring. “Did it hurt?”
He reaches out, touching the hoop like he forgot it was there. “No.” His long fingers graze the slope of my nose. “You could get one,” he murmurs.
His touch lingers long after his fingers leave my skin. “Maybe.” I clear my suddenly dry throat. “I couldn’t help but notice the company you keep.”
“Watching me, Lyra?”
I shrug, feigning indifference. “Observant,” I throw his words back.
The chuckle that flows out of him is rich and warm. “Don’t worry.” His eyes darken, grin turning predatory. “I watch you too.”
I smirk, leaning into this word foreplay we have going on. “Should I be flattered or concerned?” I ask lightly.
“Both, but flattered first.”
A voice I still hear in my worst nights cuts in and stops any further conversation. “Oliver, what are you doing?” Jade rounds the corner into our hidden spot.
Our…our. Jesus, I really am losing it.
“Speak of the devil,” I mutter.
I gather my things when a hand closes around my wrist. My eyes drop to where his fingers press into my skin.
The warmth of his touch makes me pause, my steps stalling.
Oliver’s gaze follows, locking onto the contact instead of my eyes.
A faint crease pulls at his brow but disappears just as quickly.
His thumb shifts ever so slightly, brushing against the top of my hand.
A testing motion for me?
Him?
Hard to tell.
“We were in the middle of a conversation.” Oliver’s voice stays nonchalant, but the tone holds no warmth.
Jade eyes us both, assessing. “We came to get you for the party.”
Ahh, yes, the infamous forgotten party. I forgot that was tonight.
“Are you coming?” My eyes shoot to Oliver, realizing he’s directing the question to me.
“Lyra doesn't like to party,” Amelia, who I just realized was standing behind Jade unhelpfully adds, as if she knows anything about me. At least not anymore, she doesn't. At one point, I considered Amelia my friend, but that was before.
Oliver ignores them, staring directly at me. I didn’t put too much thought into going tonight. Honestly, I was so focused on being back that I forgot about it.
“Maybe.”
He releases my wrist, and I stand. To piss Jade off some more, I turn back to Oliver, who hasn’t moved from his seated position. “Maybe you can come with me to get it.” I graze my nose. “When I decide.”
His mouth curves like we’re hiding a secret. “Bye, Dollface.” As I walk away, I feel his stare long after I’m gone. It’s then that I take in what he said. He called me Dollface.
By the time my door clicks shut, I’m already hitting video call. I need the comfort of my mom after the conversation I had with Oliver.
Mom answers on the first ring, her smile blinding.
Her blonde hair is up in a messy bun, a bright pink workout set today’s outfit of choice.
“My Beam! Finally. I was telling your dad we should send a search party.” She says it jokingly, but I know she means it.
Having me at eighteen hard-wired them to be ultra-protective.
“Hi, Mom. Sorry. How are you guys?”
“We’re good. Your dad has taken up golf.” She grimaces. “He already took out a car window. Apparently, shattering glass is ‘part of the learning process.’”
“I heard that,” Dad calls from off-screen.
Mom swivels the phone so he can lean into the frame on the couch. “Hey, Beam. We miss you…The house feels empty.” Dad’s eyes, the same color as mine, warm.
I snort. “Empty? With the millions of animals. Oh, wait!” I smack my forehead dramatically. “I mean kids.”
My parents tried for years after me to have more kids. Three miscarriages later, they decided to adopt, and now there are five more of us. Some older, some younger—all mine, regardless of genetics.
“They’re everywhere,” Dad whispers. Mom swats his arm.
They wish they were everywhere. Right now, they only have half of their normal chaos living at home.
Charlie is finishing his senior year before heading off to whatever college has the best football program, because if my brother is anything, he's ridiculously talented. Teddy followed in my footsteps, playing volleyball, though these days she's out of the house more than in since getting her license. Then there’s Amanda, sweet little Amanda who’s six and still too young to realize her family is mildly insane.
“Beam, fill us in. I want to hear about your whole week!”
I went out for a run, then stumbled upon a guy in the forest who thought I was going to jump. Yeah, not telling them that.
I give them the highlights. Thirty minutes disappear in the blink of an eye. I miss them. Growing up, it was my parents and me against the world until my brother James came along when I was six. After that, the family kept growing, and so did the love.
“And how are you?” Mom asks, voice softening. We’re thick as thieves. She was one of the first I confided in after I was attacked, and she was there staying with me for months after, when I couldn’t even get out of bed. Downside: she clocks every micro-flinch and every change in emotion.
“I’m okay, I have this new motto—it’s called fuck them.” Dad chokes on a laugh, and Mom nods her approval.
“The nightmares?” Mom’s eyes soften once again.
I bite my lip. “Not as frequent. Only one this week.”
Her smile thins. “Same one?”
“Yeah. I wake up before I can find my way out.”
“Don’t push yourself,” Dad says.
Mom nods. “You just got back on campus and faced those…” She makes a choked sound. “Disgusting people.”
I glance away and sniff. “I know. If anything happens, I’ll call.”
“You’d better. I love you. And remember fuck them.”
“My god, Jess.” Dad’s eyes bug out, making me laugh.
Dad taps the screen. “Love you, Beam.”
“Love you too.”