Chapter 18
Darius
“It’s blue triangle, yellow star, green square, red circle, green square,” Darcey says, leaning over Lachlan's shoulder.
“That’s not working,” he says, pulling the lever on the box we’re trying to open. It’s three days before Christmas and we’re having our annual night out to celebrate the season. This year, it was Lachlan who organised – booking us into an escape room in London followed by dinner and drinks.
“Fifty seconds,” Finch yells, standing next to the door as the red numbers on the counter tick down.
Oliver leans over Lachlan's other shoulder, reading the sequence out loud before he says, “Swap the triangle and the circle around.” Lachlan makes the changes, and this time when he pulls the lever, a secret compartment pops out of the box, revealing a gold key.
I take the key from Lachlan, hastily fitting it into the lock. When I turn it, the door slides open, and a loud siren and flashing lights fill the room before a staff member appears in front of us.
“Congrats! You have successfully escaped Casper’s Vault of Doom.”
There’s loud cheers all around before we pile out of the room to collect our plastic medals, then spend a few minutes messing around in the photo booth with the selection of props available.
When we leave, filtering out onto a busy London street, Oliver slips his hand into mine, and I lean into him.
Except for Friday nights, when I go to Birmingham for family dinner, we’ve spent every night together since the night of the quiz.
I cannot get enough of him, or this feeling of contentment that is there every time I wake up and feel his hard body wrapped around me.
It’s as close to perfect as it can be. There’s still the matter of my father to be dealt with – I know he won’t approve of this relationship and I want to shelter both of us from his response.
Thankfully, he’s been too preoccupied with a big merger to have paid me much mind lately, but I know the time will come when I have to tell him about Ollie because, as far as I’m concerned, Oliver is it for me.
I love him.
Darcey, Finch and Lachlan have welcomed him into the group with as much gusto as I knew they would, and though we haven’t seen Caiden again together, I have met up with my other best friend a few times over the past few weeks.
He’s living in domestic bliss with Jamie and too wrapped up in this new stage of his life to be meddling in mine.
We don’t talk about Oliver and I’m okay with that.
While I know they have history, I don’t love the reminder.
It never used to bother me, but now that Ollie is mine, I never want to think about the people who came before me.
My phone rings and I let go of Ollie’s hand to answer.
“Hey, Dad. Everything okay?” I say as we cross the road at the pedestrian crossing. My dad is quiet on the other end of the line for a few seconds before answering.
“Yeah. Fine. Are you busy?”
“Out with friends in London,” I reply. “Did you want to talk about something?”
“No. Um…just wanted to check if you’ll be here for Christmas.”
I frown as I consider his question. He already knows I will be. I’ve never not spent Christmas with him and we’ve already discussed this year’s plans.
“Ah…yes. Nothing’s changed on my side.” He’s quiet again, the sound of papers shuffling in the background. “Are you sure everything is okay?” A pinch of unease settles in my chest.
“Yes. Yes. I’ll see you then.” He hangs up and I’m left wondering what the point of the call was.
“Okay?” Oliver asks, taking my hand again.
“I think so. Just my dad reconfirming my attendance at Christmas.” I shrug, pushing the strange conversation from my mind as we continue our evening.
The five of us walk for fifteen minutes before we’re standing outside a small Italian restaurant with fires burning on an enclosed patio. The table we’re shown to is at the back of the crowded restaurant, and we all take our seats, falling into easy conversation over drinks.
“Are you excited about your party?” Darcey asks, sipping at her glass of wine.
“Sure,” I say. “No doubt my father will go over the top and invite loads of people I don’t know, like he usually does. But you’ll all be there, so it should be fun.”
My birthday is on the thirty-first of December, and for as long as I can recall, my dad has thrown these elaborate parties at our family home in Chelsea which he passes off as for me, but usually uses as another networking opportunity, or chance to show off how successful he is.
We chat about it a little longer, mostly about what we plan to wear, and then when the time comes to order food, Oliver excuses himself from the table and heads to the bathroom.
I know why he’s left when he has – it’s still the one elephant in the room we never address.
I order a pizza, then leave the table and track him down.
He’s standing outside on the far end of the patio, with his back to me, leaning on a picnic-style table.
The light from an overhead street light illuminates the area, and while there’s no one else around, noise from the restaurant floats on the air.
“Do you want to order something to eat?” I ask, placing a hand on his lower back.
Oliver tenses, standing up straighter. “No, I’m fine. I ate before we left.”
“You had a protein bar. How about something small?”
He turns then, and his eyes are dark, his jaw tight. “Don’t make it a big deal, D.”
I don’t know what possesses me to do this now. Standing outside a restaurant in a heaving city days before Christmas, but I do it anyway.
“It is a big deal, Ollie. You barely eat.”
His eyes dart around, checking who can hear us, but thankfully, it’s too cold for anyone to be sitting outside, even where the outdoor heaters are burning.
“I eat,” he mutters.
“Protein bars and shakes. Energy drinks. The odd piece of toast or fruit. Maybe a tiny bowl of pasta. That’s not eating, Oliver. That’s putting enough in you to survive.” Oliver fists his hands at his side, and I reach for one, but he shakes me off. “You need to eat, Ollie.”
I’m not prepared for the reaction that bursts out of him, so I can’t help that I flinch at the anger in his voice. “Just fucking leave it, Darius! It’s not as simple as you’re making it out to be.”
I lift a hand up. “Okay. I’m sorry.” Frigid December air wraps around me, and I shiver, wrapping an arm around myself. “Come back inside, please.”
Oliver rubs the back of his neck, shaking his head. “I need it to stop.” He taps the side of his temple with his fist, and I reach for his hand and pull it away before he hurts himself.
“What do you need to stop?” Closing the space between us, I take his other hand in mine.
“His voice in my head. The memories. He ruined so much for me as a kid and he’s still fucking doing it.
” I don’t have to hear Alister's name to know that’s who Oliver’s talking about.
“You don’t understand how badly I want to go inside and eat an entire pizza with you.
How much I want to sit in front of the TV and feast on a tub of ice cream. But I can’t.”
My stomach sinks, and as much as I could stop this conversation right here, take his hand in mine and lead him back inside, this is something we need to talk about. He needs help, and I wouldn’t be a good friend or boyfriend – because that’s what we are – if I kept overlooking it.
“Why not, baby?” I ask, dropping my voice.
He looks at his feet and then at me, and the pain and defeat in his deep brown eyes twist at my heart.
I think he’s going to answer, but he shakes his head, lets go of my hands and turns away from me.
He takes three steps towards the street, putting a huge space between us, and I’m afraid this is the moment he shuts me out.
With all he’s shared with me about his past, I don’t know why this is the thing he feels he can’t tell me, but then trauma is unique and he’s handling it his way.
I respect that, but it doesn’t make me want to help him any less.
“Oliver,” I say his name, a plea for him to stop and not walk away. “Oliver, please.”
He spins around, his fists clenched again.
“What do you want from me, Darius? The truth? The truth is, I can’t eat a fucking bar of chocolate with you because that fucker took that from me.
Every time he’d do shit to me and then sit me at a table while my body was in pain and my eyes were burning and he’d say I was his good boy and I deserved a treat and then he’d put food in front of me and make me eat it.
Every last bite until I was sick or until he decided it was time for me to earn another treat.
Now, my body recoils at the mere thought of eating.
But guess what? I have to eat, so I do my fucking best, okay?
” He laughs, but it’s dry and with no hint of amusement.
“The first time I had sex with someone that I wanted to be with, I waited for the panic to hit, but it never came. And I realised I could enjoy it as long as I remained in control. Of the act. Of my feelings. But a fucking cupcake?” Oliver drops his head to look down at where his hands are wringing together, his fingers of one hand digging into the palm of his other.
My stomach rolls with the image that flashes in front of me of a young Oliver, tears in his eyes, a plate of food in front of him and that monster hovering at his side. I have never wished harm on anyone before, but I want that man to suffer. I only wish I knew how to make it happen.
“Now you know. Now you know I’m broken. Probably too broken to make this relationship work.”
I close the space between us in a few hasty steps, reaching up to cup his cheeks.
“I get you’re going to try to push me away now.
That’s what you do when it all gets too much for you.
But I’m not letting you go, Ollie.” I tilt his face and press my lips to his.
He doesn’t kiss me back, and while it stings, I know it’s because he’s trying to protect himself.
“I’m sorry I pushed you; I just hate seeing you hurting.
You’re so brave, Ollie. You survived and did that all on your own.
But you’re not alone anymore, and I want to help you, if you’ll let me.
” I drop my voice to a whisper, pressing onto my toes so our foreheads meet.
My hands are on his arms, and though they’re tense, he’s already reaching for my sides. “Please, let me help you, my love.”
He blows out a breath, and then he’s using his grip on my ribs to pull me closer.
“Yes. Okay,” he says. We stay locked in an embrace until the restaurant door opens and a group of people walk by, bringing with them laughter and the garlicky scent of pizza. The conversation is over for now, but I know he’s too vulnerable and raw to go back inside.
“Let’s get out of here,” I suggest, releasing him from my hold and turning to head back inside for our coats.
“No. You haven’t eaten yet. And what about your friends?.”
“I’d rather leave with you,” I reply honestly. “Wait here; I’ll get our things.”
Oliver doesn’t say anything as I walk back inside. I tell Darcey I’m not feeling well and that I’ll transfer her some money later to cover my share of the bill. She hugs me and pats me on the shoulder.
“Take care of our boy,” she whispers, and tears press at the back of my eyes.
She’s always been perceptive, so I don’t doubt she knows we’re not leaving because I’m ill.
But that’s not what has emotion welling up inside of me.
It’s that she’s so easily accepted him as her friend.
As part of this little family. And that’s something he needs.
I also have no doubt she’d hunt the fucker down who hurt him as readily as I would.
“Love you, Dars.” I kiss her cheek and then leave, linking my arm through Oliver’s as we turn onto the street.
We don’t talk about where we’re going, but we both know as our feet carry us along streets alive with people celebrating the festive season until we’re standing outside my father’s office building.