Round Thirteen
OLLIE
It’s late. It’s a weeknight. It’s Valentine’s Day, right around the time couples are packing away the dishes—or paying a restaurant bill—taking their lover’s hand, and heading toward the bedroom.
But am I considerate enough to leave my friends alone?
Absolutely fucking not.
I slide into my truck and unlock my phone, and moving across to a video call app, I hit dial.
Tommy, Alana, Chris, Fox, and Eliza.
The first four will have to deal, and the last one better not be heading toward anyone’s bedroom besides her own.
Alone.
“I know your ass is butt-dialing me, Oliver.” Tommy is the first to answer, even as Alana’s little screen is rejected—she refuses my call!
—but sneaks into Tommy’s screen anyway. Tommy scans my end of the call, then glances across when Chris answers, filling another section of the screen, and right after that, Eliza joins us with a green goopy face and her hair bundled high in a towel.
Sighing, Tommy brings dark, dangerous eyes back to me.
“Not a butt-dial, then. You get off on this kinda shit, Ollie, or is it just a coincidence that you know I’m about to get laid, so that’s the precise moment you call? ”
“Oh, this is fun!” Fox squeezes in on Chris’s left with bright, troublemaking eyes and a wide smile. “If I knew late-night group chats were a thing, I would’ve initiated them months ago.” She gasps. “Alana! I’m gonna call you tomorrow night, okay? This is our thing now.”
Unimpressed, Chris claps his hand over Fox’s mouth and grunts. “What’s up, Ollie?”
“I need you all to talk me out of something.”
“Why are you still at the hospital?” Eliza’s eyes narrow as she studies the space around me. She’s been here so many times over the years, she knows where I am simply by the streetlight over my left shoulder. “Your shift ended hours ago.”
“What thing do you want to be talked out of?” Alana asks. “And why?”
“Rose.” I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Jane.”
Tommy’s eyes widen. “She remembered her name?”
“When?” Eliza gasps. “That’s huge!”
“She… tonight. She didn’t remember, exactly. But she thinks it feels right, and she likes it better than Jane. So we’re rolling with it.”
“Rose.” Eliza murmurs the name, softly rolling each sound over her tongue. “It’s a pretty name. Elegant and classic.”
“Schumaker’s tossing her on her ass tomorrow, and I feel sick to my stomach about it. Janine found this place in Barlespy. It’s like a hostel, halfway-home joint that takes care of women with nowhere else to go.”
“And…?” Fox questions. “You don’t think the place is right for her?”
“I think, objectively, it’s probably the exact thing she needs.
It’s safe and comfortable. It’s stable. They function in a non-profit capacity and receive state funding in addition to whatever funds they raise throughout the year, which means Rose doesn’t need insurance or a paycheck to qualify.
She’ll have a room and twenty-four-hour supervision.
She’ll have medical care and mental health professionals on-site to catch her if she’s struggling.
Which, we know she will. She’s terrified of literally everyone, so this place, these people, they’re gonna scare her at first. Having a doctor on site will be good for her. ”
“I fail to see what we’re supposed to talk you out of,” Fox counters. She rests her cheek on Chris’ bare chest, her left hand visible as she traces his ink. A shiny diamond, glittering shamelessly on her ring finger. “The alternative is, what? Homelessness? You’d be crazy to pass this up.”
“That’s the problem,” Eliza sighs, picking up her phone and walking through her living room and into the kitchen. “You’re crazy. You don’t want her to go.” She props the device on the counter and crosses to her fridge. “You’re kamikaze-ing a good opportunity for her, Oliver.”
“Wait.” Alana’s breath hitches. “What?”
“I’m scared to let her go.” I drop my head back and groan.
“I’m scared of sending her away, and that’s just…
that’s it. She’s gone. I have no right to request updates from the team at that facility, and asking her to update me is akin to manipulation.
She’ll do it because she’ll feel obligated.
We’ve had dozens of completely non-credible calls and tips in response to her interview, further proof society is just plain fucked, because two-thirds of those calls asked if there was a reward for information, and then they hung up when they were told no.
The remaining few calls were completely off-the-wall bullshit.
One claims they saw her at a hotel in Kansas…
but she was blonde and had three kids with her.
Another claims she was in Mass, walking along the freeway with nothing but a backpack and a black cap on her head. ”
“Well… that one could be true,” Fox murmurs. “Why do you doubt it?”
“Because the caller asked for Rose’s exact shoe size, pictures of her feet, and then for the reward.
There’s no fucking reward! That interview made her a celebrity, so now the hospital is getting hundreds of calls about her a day.
Some are asking her for money, because they figure if she was on TV, she’s loaded.
Which is ridiculous, since she doesn’t even have two quarters to rub together.
What the hell is gonna happen when she’s on her own after tomorrow?
Who will watch her back and shield her from the crazies? ”
“That would become the responsibility of the facility director, no?” Again, Fox comes in with annoying logic. “I’m sure this is not the first time they’ve housed a woman who comes with a bit of baggage.”
“I don’t want to send her! But she can’t stay at the hospital either. There’s a part of my brain screaming I should take her to my place—”
“Woah! Wait up.” Eliza slams the fridge and runs back to her phone, picking it up and fumbling so her face blurs. “Absolutely not. You can’t bring her to your house, Ollie!”
“That’s why I’m calling! I know it’s inappropriate.
I know it’s wrong. Fuck, Lize, professional repercussions aside, I know she should be in a facility with doctors and shrinks and other women to socialize with.
Sending her to Barlespy is the right thing to do, but I told her tonight.
I told her about the place and talked about all the exciting things she could do there.
And she just…” I draw a deep breath. ”She—”
“She what?” Chris demands.
“She cried,” I groan. “She was fucking devastated.”
“She’s asking to come to yours?” Alana’s eyes narrow to suspicious slits. “Is she trying to convince you to—”
“No. She never mentioned my house. I never mentioned my house. No one did. But while I sat there, forcing myself to tell her all the fun things she would experience at the group home, she cried. It wasn’t the big, sobbing, weeping manipulation some use to get their own way.
It was soft and sweet and so fucking sad, I wanted to tear my heart out of my chest and toss it in front of a train.
She didn’t say no. She didn’t try to negotiate longer at the hospital.
She asked questions, and I answered them as best I could.
She asked what I thought was right, and I answered, objectively, that The Wallflower was where she needed to be. ”
“So what’s the friggin’ problem?” Eliza snaps. “She’s refusing to go?”
“No! She’s accepted this. Because I said she should.” I drag my hand up and into my hair, tugging the locks until I feel something other than the ache in my soul. “She trusts me, Lize. Whatever I say goes. But goddamn it, she’ll do it with a broken heart.”
“And now you feel bad,” Tommy concludes, rolling his lip between his teeth and reading me as easily as one reads a book.
“For your own reasons, you don’t want to send her away.
And she doesn’t want to go, but will, because you told her to.
Ultimately, you want us to talk you out of doing something monumentally insane—”
“Like inviting her into your home,” Fox finishes. “Professionally, it would be wrong. Personally, it would be wrong.”
“Don’t do it, Ol.” Eliza drops into a crouch in front of the kitchen cabinet, her elbows on the counter and her hands clasped together.
“Don’t put yourself in this position. It’s career suicide, and that doesn’t even take into account the damage it would do to your heart.
She’s a patient, a pretty patient, and you’re the world’s nicest guy, but this isn’t your responsibility. ”
“This has nothing to do with her being pretty, Eliza. It’s not—”
“But you admit you think she’s pretty?” She firms her lips, uncharacteristically glum. “What’s the long game here, Ollie? Rehabilitate her and send her on her way?”
“Well, no, I—”
“Care for her for a month? Six months? A year?”
“No, it’s—”
“You delay the inevitable,” Alana inserts. “Whether she goes tomorrow or next year, she has a life she needs to get on with. If the conclusion is forgone, then it makes no sense to stall longer than necessary.”
“Trading tomorrow’s tears for a smile, only to hand her those same tears in a month, or a year, or whenever, isn’t mercy,” Fox presses. “It’s cruel.”
“This is good.” I tilt my head forward, closing my eyes in the dark. Laying my arm across the steering wheel, I rest my forehead on top and exhale. “These are the things I needed to hear.”
“There’s nothing wrong with sending her to this place and following up with her medical team,” Tommy explains. “Professionally, you could totally justify asking for updates. And if someone comes to claim her, you know Billy will still keep you in the loop.”
“And when she eventually remembers who she is, you’ll both be glad you kept this strictly professional,” Chris rumbles.
“She could be married, Ollie. She could be a mom. Maybe her husband is out there searching for her, tearing cities apart, trying to figure out where the hell she went. It would be way too easy to forget this isn’t the real her.
This beautiful, scared woman, whose name might be Rose, isn’t necessarily who she really is.
And maybe you like Rose, and she likes you, because you’re safe and kind and comforting, but when it all shakes out and she remembers her past, having this messy Plainview stuff with you will make moving on so much harder. ”
“You’re assuming this is romance.” I push off my arm and glare at the lot of them.
“No one is mentioning beautiful except you guys. Or pretty,” I look to Eliza.
“That’s on you. I’m talking about a scared woman who needs a friend, now more than ever.
I’m saying I can’t bear to make her deal with all this on her own, and you’re talking about her husband and kids and romance and—”
“So it’s not romantic?” Fox questions. “Not at all?”
“No! It’s—”
“Not even a little bit?” Alana insists. “If she leaves tomorrow, guaranteed to have all her professional needs met, would you be able to walk away? No looking back, no checking in, no need, since she’s completely covered.”
“Well, I—”
“It’s a yes or no, Ollie!” Eliza snaps. “You let that kid with the busted leg go home. I bet you haven’t given him a second thought.
Last month, that couple slid off the road and totaled their car.
Female vic even ended up with a concussion and a shiny goose egg on her forehead.
Bet you haven’t thought about her since. ”
“Eliza…”
“This isn’t entirely medical! It’s more, and your inability to own it is exactly why she should go. This is already messy.”
“I’m allowed to care, Eliza! I’m allowed to think she’s kinda funny and smart, and when she’s wearing jeans, I’m allowed to think, hey, they look kinda good on her.
I’m allowed to feel something when she’s looking into my eyes, begging me to keep her safe.
” I swing my eyes to Alana. “I worried about Bitsy, even when she wasn’t in my hospital. I thought about her when—”
“You worried about her because of me. Because even if you hated my guts, you knew I deserved to know she was dying.”
“You think that was a solid argument,” Tommy rumbles. “Lumping Rose and Lana into the same basket, but all you did was prove this is not purely professional. You know it’s not. We know it’s not.”
“I called you, remember?” I tip my head back, the muffled thump of my skull hitting the headrest vibrating throughout the cab of my truck.
“I’m aware lines are being crossed. I know there’s a gray area where there should be none.
But don’t act like you’ve caught me in a lie or like I’ve been sneaking around.
I’m owning who I am, and trying, so fucking hard, to do the right thing by Rose. ”
“The right thing is to let her go,” Eliza groans. “Check on her in a professional capacity to assuage your guilt and curiosity. She’ll cry tomorrow, because she’s scared and she has a right to express her emotions, but you need to cut the cord now and let this fall how it’s meant to.”
“And we can check on her, too,” Alana adds helpfully, a reassuring smile pushing her dimples into play. “As her friends, we can swing by the home in a day or two. Give her a minute to settle in, then we’ll bring her some more stuff and help her unpack.”
I draw a long, heaving breath, filling my lungs and expanding my chest, then I exhale again. I didn’t realize how fucking cold it is out here till my breath comes out as a white fog. “You’re right. All of you. Thank you.”
“It’s not that we don’t like her,” Eliza murmurs.
“It’s not even like she wouldn’t be the cutest, sweetest addition to the family…
in another life. But she isn’t from here.
Whoever she is, whatever career she had, and the family she surrounded herself with, they’re somewhere else.
Her life is somewhere else. Wrapping her in a burlap sack and hoping her memory loss is permanent, all because she’s witty and funny and looks good in a pair of jeans, isn’t the right thing to do. It’s not what’s best for her, Ollie.”
“I’m glad you called,” Tommy rumbles. “I’m glad we could be here for you when shit got heavy.”
“I’m gonna let her go.” Nodding, I close my eyes and lick my lips. “Let her find her new normal.”
“Even if she’s cute,” Eliza snickers, the sound watery and weak. “You’re doing the right thing.”