Chapter 45
CHAPTER 45
BETH
T here’s a saying I’ve heard a few times in my life.
You need a little bit of insanity to do great things.
I’ve never thought of it before, but I’m pretty sure Oliver is the personification of that sentiment. He is batshit crazy, and I’ve known that since I met him. There isn’t a normal bone in his body, but greatness exists. For one, the way he jumped up to do what was right for Aimee says exactly how far he is willing to go to get the required results. He won’t stop until she never has to worry about her stepfather ever again.
The question is, why? I have my reasons for being here, but what are his?
Oliver rams his foot on the gas, booking it as soon as the car is on the highway. My hand shoots for the oh-shit handle, and my stomach leaps into my throat. Every muscle in my body tenses, and for a moment, I regret getting in this car with him.
Oliver is a terrible driver. I guess going so long without being in a car with him as the driver will make one forget that truth.
“Aimee is Nigel’s sister,” I start, my voice squeaking at first. Though he doesn’t acknowledge me, he does slow down, and I sense he’s listening to what I’m saying. “He told me a lot about her. He loves her, and she seems to be the only one in his family he cares about.”
He grinds his teeth while he grits out, “Is there a purpose to your babbling?”
“You asked me why I care. I care because she’s Nigel’s family. Plus…” I trail off as I take a deep breath to calm myself down so I don’t burst out crying. Lord knows I did enough of that with Nigel earlier in the night. “If the roles were reversed and I was the one someone did that to, I’d like to hope there would be at least one person who would make sure the one who hurt me got the fate they deserved.”
The car falls silent outside of the rumbling engine for a few minutes until Oliver speaks.
“You have more than one,” he whispers into the air.
I nod, knowing it’s true. Nigel would kill for me. I get the sense that Oliver would, too. I can’t say Martin would necessarily kill for me, but I know within my heart of hearts that he would lay down his life to protect me. That’s in the same ballpark.
If someone raped and tortured me like what was done to Aimee, I have people that would burn down Grove Hill and the rest of the continent for me.
Oliver’s jaw tenses and I have to wonder what about that seems to get under his skin.
“If you have something you wish to say to me then just say it. If I shouldn’t expect you to read minds, don’t expect it out of me. Why are you acting like you’re pissed off?” I ask, feeling self-conscious about this conversation.
“Because I fucking am. I’m allowed to be pissed, alright?” That’s better than the cold shoulder he’s been giving me lately.
“Why though?”
He slams his fist into the steering wheel before groaning. “Because of this thing with you and Nigel.”
“What thing?” How is that supposed to tell me anything?
His eyes narrow and his jaw ticks again. “You know what I mean.”
“What? That we’re together?”
“Yeah, that. I have plenty of reasons to be pissed about that. Did you forget what he did to you?”
Now, he’s just being ridiculous.
“Um, no. I didn’t fucking forget. How could you ask me that?” My eyes widen.
“Because you’re not fucking acting like you remember. You’re back to being his little bitch,” he mutters, running a stressed hand through his hair.
“Hey!” Like, what the fuck is wrong with him?
He shrugs. “It’s true. You’re hanging all over him and always with him like he didn’t kidnap you in the dead of night and throw you in his trunk. I don’t fucking get it.”
Is that really the part that bothers him? I know their relationship has been strained, but I thought he was fine with things.
“Pull over,” I demand and he looks at me like I’ve lost my mind.
“What?”
“Pull the fucking car over, now!”
He growls, but doesn’t go against my demand. He pulls off the highway and into a dimly lit gas station right outside of Grove Hill. He drives into a parking spot hidden by the dumpster and I climb out of the car, cursing under my breath that we have to do this right now, but if we don’t, he’s going to be insufferable the entire time. I won’t be able to think clearly and that’s not a good way to go into this.
He gets out of the car and I shove at his chest, but he quickly grabs my wrists, nearly growling in my face. “Don’t fucking push me,” he warns, but I’m not having that.
“Fuck. You.” I hiss right back in his face. “Do you seriously think this is how I want shit to be? I don’t. I’m making the best of a crappy situation and if you didn’t like something about it, you could’ve fucking talked to me like an adult instead of throwing a fit.”
He presses my back against the side of the car, wrapping his fingers around my throat, like he’s ready to end my life right now.
“I fucking know it’s a crappy situation, but I didn’t think for a second you would jump back into his bed. I thought when you said you were going to stay, you would stay in the room we put you in, but no–”
“Do you really believe he would’ve let me? You’re smarter than that, Oliver. Nigel is fucking crazy. If I had my pick of beds to sleep in, you should know it would be yours I’d be in,” I admit, a moan on the tip of my tongue. His fingers tighten, a look of rage across his face.
“Damn right, it would be,” he rasps before slamming his mouth down on mine. My entire body purrs from the first contact I’ve had with him in months. God, his kiss is everything.
I fucking missed this, the danger of his touch and his kisses are addicting.
As he pulls away, I ask, “Feel better now?” Sass drips from my tone and a small smirk pulls at his lips.
“I’d feel even better with you riding my cock, screaming for me, but this isn’t the time or the place for that.”
He’s right, so even though I’d like to make him feel even better, we get back in the car and on the road. This time, instead of scowling at me like I’m the thing he loathes most, he takes my hand in his and holds it as we reenter the highway.
* * *
Another five minutes pass before Oliver speaks.
“Why did you tell me the reason you care?” he asks, his voice unnervingly soft.
“I hoped you might open up on your reason, but I guess that was wishful thinking. You’re as impenetrable as bulletproof glass, Oliver Doyle,” I quip with a smirk on my face.
“The reason why I care?”
“Yup. That’s what I was looking for, Einstein.”
An additional moment of silence passes before he whispers into the silent car. “Because…she’s Aimee.”
My heart hammers against my ribs as I stare at the open road, the sun’s orange teasing the edge of the horizon.
It all makes sense now. She’s special to him. That’s why he looked remorseful when he realized who she was.
She matters to him and very few people do that.
It’s no secret that Oliver doesn’t give a shit about anyone, but my dad once told me about a study he read on psychopaths. The study found that the majority of psychopaths have a singular person they use as an anchor, their connection to their humanity. They’d do anything to protect or keep their person close to them.
For Oliver, I thought I was that person, but maybe it’s her.
“You’re in love with her,” I ask, but he doesn’t say a single word.
He doesn’t have to. I know the truth, and he won’t deny it. He is in love with her, but that raises the question: Where does that leave me? If she decides she wants him back, does that mean he’ll just forget I exist and live happily ever after with the girl that got away?
I don’t think I’ve ever felt true jealousy or envy until this moment.
* * *
I hold the flashlight in my hand as I pull down the Ghostface mask Oliver handed me, and we rush for the front door of the fucking police station.
This is so stupid, but if there is one thing Oliver doesn’t do, it’s explain any more than he thinks he should.
Based on the sign next to the front door, the police station is closed and won’t be open for two hours. Years ago, the police station was open all night and all day, but with the town’s population getting increasingly smaller, so did the funding. The need for cops at night is slim to none in this area.
Nothing bad happens in a small town, or so I used to think.
“We have five minutes until the cops check on the break-in. Come on,” Oliver mutters as he slips his tools into the lock on the front door. It only takes him ten seconds before the door opens, and we’re inside.
“I’ve been here before,” I say as I point the flashlight around us, following behind him as he looks around the space, trying to find…something. Why are we even here?
Seems he’s now in the mood for conversation. That’s a welcome change.
“So did you know Aimee and her mom? You lived in the same town.” He really likes to fill in the blanks before he has half the words in the sentence.
“No. I mean, she looked familiar. Just because I lived in a small town doesn’t mean I knew everyone who lived here. I must’ve recognized her from the diner or one of the stores in town, maybe even the church,” I assess, but he steps forward.
“Yeah, right. Aimee wouldn’t go to church, and neither would her mother.”
“Then explain why the address of my mom’s church was on Aimee’s driver’s license,” I sass him, and he stalls, staring at me like he can’t believe what I just said.
“What?”
“Her driver’s license. The address,” I talk slowly so he can grasp my words before rolling my eyes.
The brilliance of what Aimee did is quite stunning. While still living with her mother and piece of shit stepfather, she did a change of address and probably included the post office with the change.
Since moving to Grove Hill, I’ve had to drive out to Hempstead a few times because our change of address with the post office didn’t affect everything, so some of our mail from Grove Hill has been redirected to Hempstead occasionally. The change of address to the church is pure genius. There’s no possibility of her mail from Grove Hill–when she gets settled, of course–going back to the house of horrors.
“Her family is living at a church?” He cocks a brow in disbelief.
“Of course not. We don’t have time for this. You said we have five minutes, right? Why are we here?”
He nods before looking around. “I need the files to find where the house is,” he admits, and I nod.
“I volunteered here when I was fourteen. I know where to find them.”