Chapter 21 #2
I glance at Scottie, whose eyes soften as she listens to Jake talking to the server. There’s no hint of chemistry between them, but it’s clear she cares like family.
And she’s annoyed like a sister would be when he works the room—signing autographs, tossing out winks like confetti, and charming wives, girlfriends, and single women with equal ease. Nobody calls him on it. He’s Jake Rodgers.
In the middle of dinner, a gorgeous woman comes over smelling of alcohol and bad decisions. “You’re Jake Rodgers,” she says, playing with her hair and leaning close. “And I’m single.”
He doesn’t bother looking, not at her face and not at her plunging neckline. Instead, he slings an arm around Scottie.
“I’m not,” he says. “Me and the old lady are staying in tonight. Big plans, right, hon?”
Scottie rolls her eyes but plays along. “Sure, hot stuff.”
The woman doesn’t take the hint. Until Jake drains his non-alcoholic beer and kisses Scottie right on the mouth.
It’s … bad. Painfully bad. Like cousins forced to kiss to win a bet, or something equally unpleasant.
The woman stands stark upright, gives the back of Jake’s head a withering glare, and then saunters off.
“Should we tell them she’s gone?” Oliver says under his breath to me.
“Definitely,” I say. Then louder: “She’s gone,” I say.
Jake instantly lets go of Scottie, and they both wipe their mouths, her with a napkin, him with the back of his fitted waffle shirt.
“Ugh, you kiss like a jellyfish,” Scottie says. She takes a long drink of her Coke and swishes it around in her mouth.
“You should be so lucky,” Jake says, eyes back on the screen. “You haven’t had braces in years. Why do you taste like metal?”
Scottie whimpers and looks straight at Oliver. “Please don’t let the Firebirds send him down.”
“That’s not my call,” Oliver says, stone-faced, but his fingers graze mine under the table. An anchor touch. Then his eyebrow twitches with something like mischief. “But hey, maybe if someone posts this, you’ll finally convince Lucas Fischer you’re off the table. Win-win.”
Scottie freezes. Her laugh is too high, too thin. “Yeah. Win-win.”
I don’t know who Lucas Fischer is, but when Scottie blinks too hard and leans back just an inch, I’m positive she doesn’t like the idea of him backing off.
“There’s more to that story,” I say in Oliver’s ear when Scottie and Jake are both watching a game.
“What story?”
“Scottie and Lucas Fischer,” I whisper. “She has a crush on him.”
He chuckles and his lips brush against my ear, making me forget what being cold even feels like. “You sure?”
“Pretty sure,” I say softly.
He takes a long drink. “Poor Lucas.”
There’s a hockey game on TV, which Scottie’s watching as intently as Jake.
When the other team scores, they both groan, and she leans forward, like she’s in pain.
And an echo of that pain bounces across the table and straight into my chest. Oliver is being so sweet, acting so clearly interested.
But I would have sworn Arrow was interested, too.
Just thinking of him makes me feel like my heart is being pinched and twisted. “I wonder if she’s been burnt by a guy before. Maybe she’s tired of hoping and can’t take the disappointment of one more guy not being who she thought he was.”
Oliver squeezes my hand beneath the table. But he doesn’t say anything.
I’m not sure if his silence means he understands. Knows the feeling, even.
Or if he’s one more guy who won’t be who I thought he was.
After dinner, the four of us pile back into Jake’s SUV. The snow is falling thicker now, muffling the world in white. Scottie scrolls through her phone, muttering about how her brothers will never let her live down that fake kiss if they find out. Jake hums tunelessly along with the radio.
Oliver pulls my right leg up onto this lap and holds my calf, like he has every time we’ve been in the car. His shoulder presses into mine in the backseat, warm through layers of winter gear.
“How’s your foot holding up?” he asks.
I give it a wiggle. “Sore, but surprisingly okay.”
“Clara came through, huh?”
I smile, thinking of the selfless woman and her husband. It’s strange to think they made such a huge impact on us, but I’ll likely never see them again. “Yeah. She did.”
I rest my head on the seat and angle my face towards his. “How’s your family? Are they pretty upset?”
“I don’t know,” he says. “I just keep deleting the messages as they come in.” Then he pauses, and his blue eyes bore in on mine. “How’s your family? Is everyone ready for the party tomorrow?”
“Happy release day,” I say, trying to smile.
The words feel sticky coming out of my throat.
Jake and Scottie are talking in the front seat, so I’m not worried about them overhearing.
But this isn’t a topic I want to get into with anyone.
Ever. “Yeah, I set everything in motion weeks ago, so my uncle and great aunt are putting the finishing touches on things. They’re fine.
My family, I mean. My dad’s family doesn’t do much together, but it’s always nice to see them. ”
“I bet your dad’s excited to see you.”
I nod, dropping my gaze, wishing my heart didn’t ache the way it does thinking about him. “Thanks for saying that.”
By the time we reach the hotel near the train station, it’s late. Snowflakes whirl in the glow of the street lamps, sticking to Jake’s windshield until the wipers brush it aside. He pulls up to the front doors and throws it into park.
“All right, lovebirds,” he says. “This is you.”
Oliver hops out, grabs my crutches, and helps me down before grabbing our bags. Then Scottie gets out and comes around to my side of the SUV. She gives me a quick hug. “Nice meeting you, Poppy Grace,” she says. “You’re good for him.”
I’m blushing and flustered when she lets go. “Thanks, Scottie Grace.”
“I’ll see you soon,” she says with a strange confidence. Why is she so sure we’ll see each other again?
Oliver holds our bags and nods to Jake. “Thanks. And stay out of trouble, man.”
“Why do you say that?” Jake asks through his open window, clutching his chest like Oliver’s words have wounded him. “You don’t want me getting sent down to the Mudcraps next season?”
Scottie punches Jake’s shoulder for us. “Travel safely tomorrow!” she says.
We wave as Jake rolls up his window. The SUV pulls away, tail lights glowing red before disappearing into the night.
And then it’s just us. The hotel doors slide open with a soft hiss, heat spilling out into the cold. Oliver glances at me, his jaw tight, his eyes unreadable.
“Ready?” he asks, gesturing toward the lobby.
I feel like I’ve been edging near a precipice all day, and this is it. The moment I have to decide: keep waiting for Arrow to be ready, or step forward with Oliver.
Arrow told me he was happy with what we had. When I pressed him, he said he needed time to think. It was such a gentle way to say no, and I think it’s proof that he knows what I’ve just discovered: our connection was powerful, but it was only ever fixed in the present.
We promised each other we’d never push, that we’d never ask for more than the other could give. And we both kept that promise. Maybe too well, because we kept the hard and scary parts locked away.
But Oliver hasn’t let me lock anything away. He’s watched me fall apart and stayed, seen me hurt and helped. He’s held all my broken pieces without flinching and has helped me see the beauty in every one.
For so long, Arrow has been my safe space, but I don’t want safe anymore. I want someone who won’t let me hide.
Standing here with Oliver—with someone who looks at me like I’m worth the risk, worth choosing—I realize what I want.
I want someone who sees me in real life. In the mess of snowball fights and bacon cheeseburgers and black ice. Someone who tapes my ankle while I sleep. Someone who holds my hand like he’s afraid to let go.
I’ll tell Arrow when I get home. But right now, I’m moving forward with someone who sees me … and likes what he sees.
“I’m ready,” I say, and I mean it.
Oliver’s shoulders drop slightly, like he was holding his breath. He smiles at me, and I smile back, my heart hammering.
I don’t know what will happen when we get to Rochester. I don’t know if we’ll work, or if I’m making a huge mistake (and I really hope I’m not). But for the first time in a long time, I’m not hiding from what I want, and I’m not asking for permission to take it.
I thread my fingers through his. And we step into the lobby together.