Chapter 44 Olivia
Chapter forty-four
Olivia
Two Months Later
Iwake before the sun, the house still quiet except for the pipes knocking as someone turns on the shower down the hall.
It’s cold, really cold; the kind of cold that seeps through the windows and settles in your bones.
My chest feels heavy, the way it always does when I’ve cried myself to sleep, tight, bruised, hollow.
I pull on jeans and a soft, thick sweater, twist my hair up, and sink back onto the edge of the bed with my phone in my hand.
No word from War. Not a call. Not a message. Nothing.
The silence hurts worse than the gossip articles I can’t stop torturing myself with. His picture with her, glossy and perfect, splashed across the internet. I scroll past them again, just to feel the sting, a self torment. Maybe it’s punishment. Maybe it’s proof that I was always a fool.
I thought he’d call on Christmas.
When the house was strung with lights and the scent of cinnamon rolls filled the kitchen, I kept looking at my phone. My heart wishing he was here. Imagining his chuckle filling the hallway as my brothers tried to size him up, my mother sneakily adding extra glaze to his plate, like he belonged.
He would’ve hated the caroling; loved teasing me for knowing every word, but he would’ve kissed me anyway, twirling me under the mistletoe like it wasn’t the first real Christmas I’d ever let myself enjoy.
But he wasn’t here.
And not on Thanksgiving either, when I sat at the table, smiling so wide it hurt, pretending I didn’t feel his absence in every toast. I kept thinking about how he eats—or doesn’t, watching me after every bite I take like it’s instinct, and wondering if he’d like my mama’s peanut butter cookies better than mine.
And New Year’s? God.
Midnight came with paper hats and cheap champagne, and my family’s cheers rattled the windows, but all I heard was silence. I stood outside under the snow and stars alone, wondering if he was thinking of me. If he kissed her when the clock struck twelve.
My thumb hovers over his name. I don’t even know what I’d say if he picked up. Confess everything? Tell him about Ronnie, about my family being tangled up with the mob? Ask him point-blank who that woman is? All of it comes out in a jumble when I rehearse it in my head, tangled and messy.
Still, I hit call.
Straight to voicemail.
My heart drops. I try again.
Voicemail.
Again, like maybe my need alone could force him to answer.
Still voicemail. The tears are already stinging hot when my phone lights up with an incoming call.
Not him. Ella.
I swipe it up fast, wiping my cheek with the back of my hand. “Hey, El.”
“Guess what?” her voice is bright, bubbling with excitement. “I’m in town!”
I shoot up to my feet, pulse racing. “You’re here?”
Ella chuckles, a familiar warmth threading through the static. “I’m downstairs. Please save me from Chase.”
There’s a muffled sound and then Chase’s low chuckle filters through in the background.
I don’t even bother with socks. I jam my feet into boots and shrug into my coat, the lining still warm from the radiator. “I’m coming,” I breathe, hope sparking where heartbreak had been.
I jog down the hall and take the stairs two at a time.
At the bottom, Ella stands in the doorway, wrapped in a long camel coat, her suitcase parked beside her, tiny snowflakes clinging to the wool. Chase is next to her, leaning against the wall with that smug smirk that makes everyone in a ten-mile radius want to roll their eyes.
Logan stands off by the couch, jaw tight, arms crossed, a storm brewing in his expression as his gaze cuts toward Chase. Dean catches it, mutters something under his breath, and elbows Logan in the ribs before he can open his mouth. Logan scowls deeper but bites it back.
And then Ella spots me. “Liv!”
I don’t even hesitate. I run straight into her arms, squeezing her like she’s air after drowning. Relief floods me, sudden and overwhelming, and I cling tighter than I probably should.
“You’re here,” I whisper against her shoulder, the tears threatening again but softer this time; less ache and more release.
“Of course I am.” She pulls back, smiling like sunshine. “And you look like you need pancakes. Let’s get something to eat? Murphy’s?”
The mention of our favorite diner hits me right in the chest. Cracked red booths, menus always sticky with syrup, the smell of coffee so strong it seeps into your clothes. Comfort I didn’t know I was starving for. I nod fast, almost desperate. “Yes. God, yes.”
Ella loops her arm through mine, already tugging me toward the door.
“Grab my bags and check me into the Inn?” Ella says to Chase. “Since you want to stay there and stare at me.”
“I’ll do it,” Logan interrupts before Chase has a chance.
Ella’s brows lift, surprise flickering before she schools her expression.
He grabs her bag and brushes past us, out the door into the snow.
I slip on my gloves and zip my coat. We follow behind him, breath puffing out in clouds. “Sorry about them,” I mutter.
Ella chuckles. “Please. I’ve known them as long as I’ve known you. They’ve been weird since I hit puberty—I’m used to it.”
I laugh with her, and for the first time in months, it doesn’t hurt so much to breathe.
***
Sue is still here. Of course she is. She’s been working Murphy’s as long as I can remember, hair pinned up in that messy gray bun, cheeks ruddy from the cold as she moves with the same practiced sway between booths.
She doesn’t even bother handing us menus, just slides two coffees onto the table and sets down our pancakes with an extra plate of bacon and a wink.
Some things never change, and for a moment it feels like I can finally exhale.
Ella leans back in the booth, cradling her mug between both hands. “So,” she says, eyes on me, “any thoughts on War and what you’re going to do?”
My stomach knots. I hesitate, but this is Ella. I never lie to her. “I tried calling him this morning.” My voice comes out thin, breaking around the edges. “Straight to voicemail. Every time. So maybe… maybe I’m blocked.” Even saying it hurts, a lump rising sharp in my throat.
Ella sips her coffee slowly, gaze unreadable. “Or he’s indisposed.”
I frown, really looking at her for the first time. Her red hair isn’t polished and sleek like usual, it’s tied in a messy bun, stray strands framing her face. Barely any makeup. Faint dark circles under her eyes.
“Did you have a breakup too?” I ask gently.
Her brows knit. “No, I’m just not sleeping well. Don’t deflect, Liv. What would you have done if War answered?”
I grab a piece of bacon, more for the excuse to stall than the taste, but I chew and force myself to be honest. “I’d tell him everything. About Ronnie, about the Amatos, about how I freaked and ran away. All of it.”
Ella nods, encouraging.
“And,” I add, pushing the words out, “I’d ask him to stop doing things for me without at least a heads up. I hate surprises. You know that.”
Ella flinches. Barely, but I catch it.
“What is it?” I press.
“What?” she says, too fast, lifting her mug again.
“You’re lying, or hiding something. I don’t know what it is, but all your tells are showing.”
Ella sighs, sets her cup down, and folds her hands on the table. Hazel eyes flick up to meet mine, guilt swimming there. “War called me.”
My whole body goes still. War called Ella? He knows about Ella?
“What did he say?” My voice is a whisper. “Why?”
She bites her lip, then finally admits, “He asked me to come here. To bring you out.”
A shiver rolls through me, sharp and electric. “El… why?”
She straightens in the booth, fingers lacing tight together. “Because his flight lands today. And he wants to talk to your parents alone.”
“Ella!” My palm slaps the table before I can stop myself, the sharp crack drawing stares from nearby patrons. Heat rushes up my neck and I shrink back, mortified. “Sorry,” I mutter.
Ella winces but gives me a sheepish look. “Is it worse if I say he paid for my first-class flight here?”
My chest tightens, the swirl of relief and betrayal and dread all crashing at once. He called Ella. He brought her here. He’s in town.
My town.
I grip my mug, fingers white-knuckled. “Wait.” The word comes out sharper than I intend. “So Warren Beaumont is in my house right now? At our crooked kitchen table, drinking from chipped mugs, with baby photos of me everywhere?”
Ella deflates, lifting her mug, guilt written all over her face. “Yes. And more than likely with your brothers around. I… may have warned them.”
“Ella!” My stomach lurches, nausea rushing through me, and I press a hand to my middle, breathing deep to hold it back. Then another thought hits me like a punch. The cookies. The stupid peanut butter cookies sitting in the kitchen. War is going to see them, and he’s going to know. He’ll be so—
No. I cut the thought off viciously. He was with another woman. He doesn’t get to be sad.
Ella studies me over the rim of her mug. “Oh, you look angry.” Her voice is quiet. “At me?”
I shake my head hard. “No. I’m over here worried about what War will think when he was out with some other woman.”
Ella lowers her cup, lips pressing together. “He says he can explain that.”
I freeze. My pulse stutters. “How long did you talk to him?”
Ella’s mouth twists, like she’s weighing how much to admit. “I may have gone into Dr. Marsh mode and… dug through his psyche for a moment.”
I gape at her, both horrified and desperate.
She softens, leaning in, her hazel eyes steady on mine. “If it’s worth anything, Liv, I’d say hear him out. Be honest. And let it happen.”
Ella reaches across the table, her fingers curling around mine, warm and steady. “You’ve got this,” she whispers.
I don’t feel like I do. My pulse is too loud, my breath uneven, but I nod anyway. Because what else is there?
We pay the bill in silence. Not tense, just full. Ella doesn’t push. She knows the storm inside me is loud enough.
The walk back is quiet too. Snow crunches under our boots, the air sharp in my lungs. A dog barks in the distance, someone shovels a driveway. Life goes on, even when yours feels like it’s teetering.
I keep my eyes forward, but my heart trips with every step. He’s at my house—War. No more photos. No more what-ifs. Just him.
And I don’t know if I want to scream, sob, or run.
By the time we round the corner, my chest is tight, my breath uneven.
The late-morning sun glints off snow-covered rooftops, too bright for how shaky I feel inside. Ella pulls me into a hug, fierce and grounding, then tips her head toward the inn across the street. “I’ll be right there if you need me.”
I cling to her for a heartbeat longer before letting go. She starts across the road, her hair catching the light, and I watch until she’s gone.
Then it’s just me.
Me, staring at my family’s porch steps like they’re a gallows.
I force one breath. Then another. My legs move even though every part of me screams to run, and the creak of the first step echoes up my spine.
War is inside.
Waiting.
With my brothers.
And my dad.
I take a deep breath.
I don’t know if I’m walking into forgiveness or ruin.