13. OLIVIA
CHAPTER 13
OLIVIA
What am I even doing?
The question loops in my head as I drive, the early morning sun barely cutting through the haze in my mind. First Jax, now Marcus. I‘m supposed to like Ethan. Ethan, who’s kind and funny and everything I thought I wanted. Instead, I’ve gotten tangled up with his best friends. What would he even say if he found out? And what the hell kind of future could I have with him now?
I grip the steering wheel tighter, the road blurring slightly as I blink back the heat in my eyes. My car bumps over the familiar driveway of my childhood home, a quaint two-story with white shutters and a wraparound porch. It’s the kind of house that belongs in a small-town painting, complete with flower boxes under the windows and a creaky porch swing.
Coming back here always feels like stepping into a memory. The hydrangeas by the front walk are still wild and overgrown, a stubborn reminder of my dad, who planted them years ago and never pruned them once. Even in daylight, the porch light’s still on—my mom always forgets to turn it off.
I park and sit in the car for a moment, staring at the chipped front door painted robin’s-egg blue. The weight in my chest tightens. I came here for some clarity. But I feel like a bigger mess than I did when I left Austin with no money to myself despite my parents’ caution.
The door swings open before I even knock, and there she is—Mom. She’s wearing her usual floral apron, her gray-streaked hair pulled into a messy bun, and there’s flour smudged on her cheek. Her hands go to her hips as she gives me a look.
“Well, look who finally decided to show up and see her mother,” she says, her tone sharp but warm, the way it’s always been.
I don’t reply. I just step forward and wrap my arms around her, holding her tightly. For a moment, she stiffens, but then her arms come around me, just as strong.
“Hey, sweetheart,” she murmurs, her voice softer now. She smells like cinnamon and lavender, and I bury my face into her shoulder, letting myself breathe for what feels like the first time all morning.
“Hi, Mom,” I say, my voice muffled against her shoulder. I hold on a little longer than necessary, soaking in the quiet strength she’s always given me. If anyone can help me sort through the mess I’ve made, it’s her.
When I finally pull away, she studies me carefully. “You look tired,” she says, brushing a stray strand of hair from my face. “And... frazzled. What’s going on, Liv?”
“Can I come in first?” I ask, forcing a small smile. “I need coffee before we dive into my existential crisis.”
She steps aside, waving me in with a knowing smirk. “You always did have a flair for the dramatic.”
The house smells exactly as I remember it—freshly baked cookies, lavender, and a hint of pine cleaner. The living room is cozy, with its overstuffed sofa, faded area rug, and walls lined with family photos. I pause, my eyes landing on a picture of me as a kid, grinning proudly with a missing front tooth.
“Do you ever get rid of anything?” I tease, pointing to the photo as we move into the kitchen.
“Why would I? That’s one of my favorites,” she replies, filling the coffee pot. “You were always so creative, first with the art, and now with your company.”
“Crayoning did make me a better storyboard artist for the games,” I say, smiling a little, but eventually, that fades. We sit in silence. I watch the dust motes swirling in the air from the sun streaming in through the window.
“Liv,” Mom finally says, her voice gentle but probing, “you know you can talk to me, right?”
I nod, swirling the coffee in my mug without drinking it. “I know.”
“Then spill. What’s going on with you? And don’t try to feed me some vague ‘I’m fine’ nonsense.”
I sigh, my shoulders slumping. There’s no dodging her—not when she’s in full mom mode. “Do you remember Ethan?”
She tilts her head, a small smile playing on her lips. “Ethan... as in the Ethan? The one you were glued to every time he came over with his parents?”
Heat creeps into my cheeks. “That was years ago.”
“Doesn’t mean I don’t remember. You used to draw little hearts with his name in your notebooks.”
“Mom!” I groan, burying my face in my hands.
She chuckles softly, leaning forward. “So? What about Ethan?”
I let out a long breath, my fingers tapping anxiously on the table. “He’s in town, we’re actually living in the same apartment complex. He’s actually part of this whole... project I’m doing. But... there might be... someone else.”
Her eyebrows shoot up. “Someone else?”
I hesitate. “Maybe more than one.”
For a moment, she just stares at me, her expression a mix of surprise and amusement. Then she leans back in her chair, a grin tugging at the corners of her mouth. “So it’s like Mamma Mia! Are we going to have a Greek island wedding? Should I start practicing my Donna Sheridan impression?”
I can’t help but laugh, even though the weight of everything feels anything but musical. “No, Mom. My life is not a feel-good ABBA sing-along.”
She smirks. “Could’ve fooled me.”
My laughter fades as I shake my head. “It’s a mess, though. I don’t know what I’m doing. Ethan... he’s been this constant in my head for so long. But then there’s…”
I bite my tongue before I take Marcus’s name. My cheeks heat at the memory of his cock sliding in and out of me as my fingers brushed over the smatter of hair on his chest. Mom definitely wouldn’t like that.
She leans forward. “Okay, I need details. Who are these other guys stealing my Ethan-loving daughter’s heart?”
“It’s not like that,” I say quickly, though I’m not sure who I’m trying to convince. “They’re his best friends. And it’s... complicated.”
My mom sips her tea, studying me over the rim of her mug. “Well, it sounds like you’ve got quite the decision to make. But let me ask you this—what do you want? Not what they want. Not what you think you should want. What does Olivia Chase want?”
I open my mouth to answer but close it again when I realize I don’t know. “I... I’m not sure,” I admit. “That’s the problem.”
She leans forward, her gaze steady. “Then maybe it’s time to figure that out, sweetheart. Because no one else can do it for you.”
I sigh. I already knew that, but I guess I needed Mom to say it to me, put things in perspective.
“Okay.”
She watches me keenly, but doesn’t push.
She watches me for a moment longer before shifting gears. “And what about this Charlie Green business? I saw her little spectacle on the news. What’s going on with that?”
I wave a hand dismissively, not wanting to drag her into that mess. “It’s fine. We’ll handle it.”
She narrows her eyes at me. “Liv, don’t brush me off.”
“I’m not,” I insist, even though I am. “Really, it’s under control.”
She doesn’t look convinced, but she lets it go, reaching out to pat my hand. “Well, if it isn’t, you know where to find me.”
“I know,” I say, squeezing her hand.
“Wait a second though—the project you mentioned, does that have something to do with the nuisance that hag of a woman mentioned in her interview.”
I groan. “It’s not a nuisance, and kind of?”
I’m glad my mother hates the internet. I know she won’t like the concept of Love Lab, or the fact that Marcus is involved. I can’t even explain the whole concept of fake dating to her either because I’ve already slept with two of them. Ugh, this is a whole mess. But I need to pull up my big girl pants and figure this one for myself.
“Now, are you staying for dinner? Or are you sneaking back out to have another date with one of your three suitors?”
“Mom!” I groan, laughing despite myself.
“What?” she says, all innocence. “I just want to know which one to root for.”
I shake my head, smiling faintly as I look around the familiar kitchen. For the first time in a while, I feel like I can breathe. My mom might be teasing me relentlessly, but she’s also my anchor in this chaos. And maybe, just maybe, I can get through this mess out one step at a time.