Chapter 12 #2
Amelia, Ollie’s niece, is wedged between them, feet swinging, eyes wide as she takes in everything. “This is your plane?” she asks, voice full of awe.
I glance at Ollie. He’s watching her with a softness that catches me off guard.
“It’s not really mine,” I say. “It’s borrowed.”
She considers that seriously. “You borrow planes?”
“Only when I’m in trouble,” I reply.
Her eyes light up. “Cool.”
Ollie laughs under his breath, and something in my chest loosens.
We’re in the air not long after. The city falls away beneath us, Los Angeles shrinking into a grid of light and concrete. I don’t feel relief exactly, but the tension eases, just a notch, like loosening a grip you didn’t realize was strangling you.
The cabin settles into a quiet rhythm. Amelia gets bored within ten minutes and crawls halfway onto Ollie’s lap, demanding to see pictures on his phone. “Uncle Ollie,” she says, like it’s an accusation. “Why is your house so ugly?”
He chokes on a laugh. “It’s not ugly. It’s… unfinished.”
She squints at the screen. “It looks like a box.”
“That’s because it’s a loft,” he says patiently.
“It still looks like a box.”
Phil snorts. Lindy shakes her head. “She’s not wrong.”
Ollie scrolls to the newer photos—the ones taken a few weeks ago apparently. Walls framed. Light pouring in through floor-to-ceiling windows.
Amelia’s verdict changes immediately. “Oh. That one’s better.”
Ollie beams like he’s just been knighted.
I watch him, something in my gut shifting again. When he told me he chose San Francisco partly because of me, it had sent a ripple of unease through me—too close, too fast, too much weight placed on my life without my consent.
But this? This is different. This is him being excited, and yeah, nervous and proud too.
Human.
Lindy’s phone rings halfway through the flight. She glances at the screen and winces before answering. “Hey, Mom,” she says, voice instantly guarded.
I look away, giving her privacy, but it’s impossible not to feel the shift in Ollie beside me. His shoulders tense. His gaze flicks to her, then away, mouth set in a firm line.
I lean in just enough that only he can hear me. “Have you talked to them at all?”
He exhales slowly. “Not really.”
“When was the last time you saw them?”
“Lindy’s wedding,” he says. “They were… civil.”
That tells me everything.
Lindy lowers her voice, murmuring something about travel plans and schedules, deflecting questions with the practiced ease of someone used to managing other people’s expectations. When she hangs up, she exhales and rubs her forehead.
Ollie doesn’t say anything. Instead, he nudges my knee lightly. “Tell me about your place.”
It’s an intentional pivot. I recognize it for what it is—a lifeline, thrown outward instead of inward. “My place?”
“In San Francisco,” he says. “The place you call home.”
I hesitate, then pull my phone out and open the gallery. Before photos first. Clean lines. White walls. Big windows. Stark in a way that made sense when I bought it—something neutral, something that wouldn’t demand feeling.
Then the recent ones. Warm wood and textured stone. A kitchen that looks like someone cooks in it. A living space that feels less like a retreat and more like a home.
Ollie’s eyes light up. “You kept the windows.”
“Nonnegotiable,” I say.
“And the view?”
“Also nonnegotiable.”
He grins, that wide, unguarded grin I remember too well. “It’s beautiful. Marco’s wife’s handling the interior of my new place,” he adds quickly, like he can’t help himself. “Today’s supposed to be the last walkthrough before she really gets into it.”
The excitement in his voice is genuine and infectious. Something in my chest settles.
Vinny leans in from the seat behind us. “Just got word from Seth.”
I straighten. “What now?”
“Word’s out that you’re headed to SF,” he says. “Private terminal, but fans are already gathering. Paparazzi too.”
Ollie’s jaw clenches again.
“And the hotel?” Vinny continues. “I’m not thrilled about it. Too many moving parts. Too much visibility.”
I don’t hesitate, especially when Ollie looks at his niece with concern.
“Stay with me,” I say. The words are out before I can overthink them.
Ollie blinks. Lindy looks up. Phil freezes mid-snack.
“With you?” Ollie asks carefully.
“Yes,” I say. “My place is secure. Gated. Private. You’ll be safer there.”
“And the rumors?” Lindy asks gently.
I shrug. “They’re already here.”
Silence stretches as Ollie studies my face, searching. “You’re sure?”
I am. Terrified—but sure.
“If you’re all in,” I say quietly, “then at some point I have to give you the space to prove it.”
His breath catches. “Okay,” he says. “We’ll stay. Thank you.”
The plane begins its descent, the familiar curve of the Bay coming into view beneath us. My heart starts to race—not with fear exactly, more like with possibility. That and with the terrifying knowledge that I’m choosing this.
Again.
The word lands heavy and quiet in my chest as the wheels kiss the runway and the plane hums into deceleration. I’ve chosen this. Not just letting it happen, not getting dragged—choosing.
That feels new.
San Francisco rolls up around us, the Bay flashing silver between buildings. The private terminal is as controlled as promised. Two SUVs wait near the hangar, engines running. Security moves like choreography—quiet, efficient, already creating a bubble.
Vinny does a quick scan, nods once. “Let’s move.”
We load fast. Ollie sits beside me in the back of the first car. Lindy, Phil, and Amelia are in the second with another security driver. No one talks much. The city slides by, familiar streets, familiar turns. The closer we get to my place, the more something in me unwinds.
Home.
The gate slides open, and we pull into the drive.
The house looks exactly how I left it—glass, wood, the line of the Bay in the distance like a backdrop someone paid extra for.
Privacy layered into landscaping and angles.
It was important when I bought it—the privacy, and, if I’m honest, the space.
When I signed the papers, fresh out of rehab, head still buzzing with new sobriety and old heartbreak, I told myself it was practical.
Three spare bedrooms in case family visited.
A music room because I couldn’t imagine a life without that.
But I’d also thought about a future where Ollie might walk through this door.
I unlock it and step inside, the air cooler here, the house holding its own quiet. Ollie follows slowly, taking it in. His eyes track the windows first, then the living space, then the line of sight straight through to the water.
“It’s… wow,” he says softly.
“Yeah,” I murmur, suddenly self-conscious.
Lindy whistles low behind us. “Okay, this is ridiculous.”
Phil just nods appreciatively, already clocking structural details like the contractor he is.
I show them the guest rooms, the bathrooms, the kitchen. Amelia claims a window seat immediately, face pressed to the glass.
Phil claps his hands once. “We cooking?”
“You don’t have to—” I start.
He waves me off. “I want to. We’ll grab groceries.”
Lindy nods. “We’ll take Amelia. Give you two a minute.”
Ollie’s shoulders tighten just slightly at that, but he nods. They’re gone within ten minutes, the door closing behind them, house settling into a quieter kind of stillness. Just me and Ollie.
He exhales slowly. “I’ve got to make the call.”
“I know.”
I move into the kitchen and start boiling water. It’s something to do. Something grounding. I make two mugs of tea, bring them into the living room where the couches face the windows. Ollie sits on the edge of one, phone in his hands like it’s a live grenade.
“I can give you space,” I offer.
His head snaps up. “No.” The word is immediate. Honest. “Stay?” he adds, softer.
I see it then—the fear. Not of being outed. Not of headlines. Of doing this alone.
I sit beside him, close enough that our knees touch. His leg is bouncing, fast. I place a hand on his thigh without thinking, a steady weight. He exhales like he’s been holding his breath for days.
The phone rings, and he answers on speaker, voice tense. “Hi. It’s Ollie.”
A calm, professional voice answers. “Hey, Ollie. It’s Pat from PR. We’ve also got Sam from HR on, and your agent looped in as well. You good?”
“I’m—yeah. I’m good.”
“You don’t sound good.”
He huffs. “Rough night.”
“We’ve seen the coverage,” Pat gently. “We’re glad you’re safe.”
“Thanks.”
A pause follows before she continues, “Do you want to make a statement?”
“No,” Ollie says immediately. “I don’t want to do interviews either.”
“That’s fine,” she says. “You don’t have to.”
Relief floods his face.
“Have you spoken to the team?” Pat asks.
He shakes his head even though she can’t see him. “Not yet. I will. I don’t want anyone feeling blindsided.”
“You won’t be letting anyone down,” she says firmly.
Ollie swallows. “I also understand if you want to remove the captaincy.”
My jaw tightens. I squeeze his thigh once.
“That’s not necessary,” she replies immediately. “You’re still our captain.”
Ollie blinks hard.
“I’ve discussed your retirement plan with the GM and HR,” Eric adds. “We’ll table that conversation for a couple of weeks. One thing at a time.”
“Okay,” Ollie whispers.
The call winds down. It’s supportive, measured, and professional. When he hangs up, his hand drops to his lap, phone still clutched. He’s shaking.
“You did it,” I say quietly.
He laughs weakly. “Feels like I jumped off a building.”
“You didn’t hit the ground.”
He looks at me, eyes bright. “Thanks for staying.”
“Of course.”
We sit there for a moment, breathing.
“So,” I say gently. “Retirement is really happening.”
He nods slowly. “I’m done chasing stats. I want to build something.”
“The charity.”
“Yeah. Admin. Advocacy. A week a month in person.”
My chest warms. “You’re really serious, huh?”
He meets my eyes. “Completely.”
“Good,” I murmur.
He hesitates, then adds, “And… thank you. For the donation. I never said it properly.”
I look away, uncomfortable with the weight of it. “It mattered.”
“So do you,” he says.
My heart stutters.
The door opens then—Lindy’s voice carrying, Amelia’s laughter, bags rustling. The tension breaks like a spell.
Ollie’s shoulder brushes mine as he stands, a fleeting, electric contact. For a second, the memory of the kiss flashes—heat, urgency, the way he’d felt against me. Possibility hangs in the air.
And this time, it doesn’t feel impossible.