Chapter 30 #2
“It’s okay. We’ll work it all out. Now come here, please.” The command in his voice makes me shiver, anticipation flooding my body, making my pulse soar. But it’s not only a command, it’s a plea. It’s him asking me to pick him tonight.
I don’t know what happens tomorrow or the days after, but right now, the decision is easy. Blowing out a breath, I close the distance, stopping right in front of Oliver, looking up into his deep brown eyes.
He reaches for my hand, and with our eyes locked, he slides the wedding band off my left hand. After that time I forgot it, I don’t take it off out of fear. Oliver places a hand on my hip, then turns to place the ring into an upside down oyster shell on the side cabinet.
“I’m pausing time,” he says. “Nothing outside of here exists. Just us two.” Oliver leans down and captures my lips with his and I melt into him, one hand landing on his hip and the other coming up to rest on the side of his neck.
The solid feel of him grounding me as I’m hit with a whirlwind of emotions.
“I don’t care whose ring is on your finger, you –” he kisses me again. “Are.” Another kiss. “Mine.”
A warmth akin to joy fills me. I am his; I have been since the day we met. When I open my mouth to ask him if he understands why I did what I did, Oliver silences me with a finger on my lips. “We’ll talk about it later, okay?”
“Okay.” I can live with that. I can live with never talking about it all, with living in this little bubble for the rest of our lives.
Oliver slides his hand into mine, twining our fingers together.
“Let’s grab some dinner and take a walk,” he suggests.
“I’d like that.”
We both put on our shoes and coats, then head outside into the cold night.
Oliver takes my hand again and we make our way up the cobbled alley to the high street, following the road as it rounds the corner towards the harbour.
The smell of seafood hangs in the air, mixing with a tangy aroma of vinegar that makes my stomach grumble.
There’s a line of people waiting to order fish and chips from an old wooden hut, and another outside a food stall serving fresh oysters.
Oliver joins the queue for fish and chips, his hand still locked in mine.
“This okay with you?”
“Perfect,” I reply, and it’s no lie. If all I ever did again was eat fish and chips while holding his hand, I would be happy.
We don’t talk while we wait our turn, content to be together in the same space at the same time. Touching. Connected.
When we have our orders in hand, we find a bench overlooking the harbour and sit down.
There’s a streetlamp behind us, bathing us in its warm yellow glow.
Oliver hesitates when he unwraps his fish and I watch as he picks up a chip.
He closes his eyes, opens them again and then pops the chip in his mouth.
He looks at me as he chews, and I smile before tucking into my own.
The batter is crisp, and the fish melts in my mouth.
I must be really hungry because I clear my helping in record time, licking the salt off my fingers when I’m done.
When I look up, it’s to find Ollie watching me and the look on his face takes me back to the first time I caught him doing the same.
“You’re doing it again,” I joke.
“You know I’ll never stop.”
He casts a glance at the food on his lap, his features turning serious as he looks at me. I note that he’s eaten a third of his fish and almost all his chips.
“It’s progress,” he starts. “Savoury foods are easier than sweet. My therapist said it’ll take time. Some days I slide back into complete avoidance, but mostly I’m doing okay. I’m finding enjoyment in food again, slowly.”
My eyes sting, a lump forming in my throat. I’m so fucking proud of him and so disappointed in myself.
“I’m sorry I let you down. That I wasn’t there to support you like I said I would.”
Oliver bumps my shoulder with his.
“After you left, I had a moment where I thought of saying fuck it and cancelling. It felt easier to exist the way I had been for so long.” Oliver turns to face me fully.
“You were my reason for making that first call, for asking for help, but I was the reason for following through. I had to do it for me. Not for you or for anyone else. Not to show Alister he couldn’t win or to prove anything to anyone.
I did it for me, because I wanted to. I won’t lie and say I didn’t think of calling you after every session, but I’m not giving up. Broken heart or not.”
I flinch at the reminder of how I hurt him, not only by breaking his heart, but by making it seem like I didn’t want him.
I will always want him and love him. I hope he knows that it’s not as simple as choosing my father over him, because it isn’t clear cut or black and white.
The choice I was given lives somewhere in the grey, where doing one thing or the other ultimately hurts someone I care about.
Leaning into him, his scent mixing with the night air, I press my lips to his. “You’re so fucking incredible. I’m proud of you.”
Oliver smiles into the kiss, then pulls back and reaches for the empty container on my lap.
“Let’s take the long way back.” He pulls me to my feet and we stop at a bin, then walk alongside the harbour wall before turning left and passing a row of beach huts and a cafe that is closed for the day.
To our right, the sea washes onto the shore, the sounds of the waves crashing, pebbles shifting, and the crunch of our feet on gravel is all that can be heard in the otherwise still night.
It takes us fifteen minutes to reach Darcey’s holiday house and by the time we do, my nose is cold and my splintered wrist is throbbing. Oliver opens the front door and I welcome the warmth that greets us, stopping to warm my hands on the radiator.
“Cold?” he asks, kissing my temple.
“Better now.”
Oliver moves through the place like he’s been here before, gathering up blankets and cushions which he throws onto the sofa before sitting down, the remote in his hand.
He pats the spot next to him and I toe off my shoes and join him, my body sinking into the soft cushions.
He adjusts a blanket over the two of us before kicking his feet up onto the coffee table.
Remote in hand, Oliver scrolls through the streaming services, before settling on a newly released true crime show.
“Have you seen this one yet?” he asks.
“No. I…uh…” There’s a space between us, and Oliver shifts into it, his arm coming around my shoulder and squeezing me closer as I struggle to articulate just how sad I was after we broke up.
How even the things that used to bring me joy stopped making me feel anything.
“I haven’t watched since…I couldn’t because I wanted… ”
Oliver nuzzles his nose against my ear, breathing me in. The air caressing my skin is warm, causing goosebumps to break out over my body.
“You’ll like this one.”
I pull back, looking at him with wide eyes. “You watched it?” He nods. “Why?”
“Because I missed you. I missed you so damn much that I tortured myself with shitty crime shows.” He smiles and I can’t help but return it.
“I missed you too. So fucking much.” I kiss him – something I plan to do plenty of this weekend because who knows when or if I’ll get the chance again. Turning my body, so I’m leaning into him, I let my hand wander up his thigh. He moans into my mouth when I palm his erection through his jeans.
When we finally break apart to catch our breaths, my chest is heaving and my cock is pressing thickly against my underwear. Oliver’s eyes are dark, his lips spit-slicked and he’s breathing just as heavily.
“Ollie,” I whisper, not knowing what I’m asking for. I want everything. I want him to kiss me and to fuck me. And I want to watch tv and cuddle and talk. And I want to walk on the beach and laugh and then drag him home and sink to my knees and –
“Stop thinking so hard, baby,” Oliver says with a kiss to my forehead before he gently pushes me against the sofa.
“We’re going to watch this show and then go to bed.
Together. I need to hold you all night.” He adjusts me so my head is on his chest, his hand carding through my hair.
Then he presses play and the show starts.
These have always been our moments. The quiet ones where gentle touches speak more than words and the knowledge that we’re not alone – that we have each other – wraps us in protective armour.
“Do you think we’ll ever get this back for good?” I ask into the quiet of the room.
Oliver hums, kissing the top of my head.
“I hope so.”