Chapter 35
IF IT’S ALWAYS WRONG, MAYBE IT’S ACTUALLY RIGHT
Oliver
It started fine.
Good, even.
Finally embracing the journey, apologizing to Daphne, even the antique store and the lemonade stand were good.
But the road construction?
It’s putting us behind schedule, and I’m tightening up again.
Once we finally make it to the other side, after well over an hour of Daphne challenging me to an alphabet game, then a sing-off, all while switching the temperature in the car to mess with me—or more likely distract me—we can’t keep flying down the road because now we need gas.
Miles2Go is the only option.
Fantastic.
“Their Lava Cheese Puffs are better than the Flaming Finger Lickies,” Daphne tells me as she pulls up to the pump. “And you haven’t lived until you’ve had a cherry Landslide.”
She’s been grabbing at her neck half the morning, and she does it once again as she unbuckles.
Because she’s been sleeping on floors and couches, dumbass, a little voice in the back of my brain says loud enough for me to hear over my irritation at how far behind schedule we are now.
“I’ll pump,” I tell her as we both climb out of the car.
“Cool. I’ll go pay. You want a Landslide? I’d offer you a corn dog, but they’re seriously awful. Plus, Bea made corn dogs last week, and there’s zero chance I’m ruining the memory of her corn dog by eating one of M2G’s monstrosities.”
Bea. That’s who she was talking to Monday night. I remember her saying the name.
“She makes good corn dogs?” I ask.
She grins at me over the car. “Almost as good as today’s donuts.”
Not thinking about the donut. Not thinking about the donut. Or how she ate it. The way her eyes slid shut. The length of her neck when she tilted her head back. The—stop thinking about the donut.
“Do you need money?”
“Nope. Still have about seven hundred from what I snuck out of your suitcase the other day.”
I’m too twitchy already to care.
I stretch, breathe, turn in a slow circle, and—there.
There it is again.
One of my butterfly gardens at the side of the parking lot, the wildflowers healthy and bright with their multicolored blooms over dark green stalks.
A slice of paradise at a gas station that has my shoulders relaxing a little more on their own.
Good job, I tell myself.
Fuck knows my father wouldn’t.
You don’t get credit for doing what’s expected.
And if the board’s recommendation for the new CEO doesn’t go my way in two weeks—and I don’t mean my way as in still being CEO, I mean my way as in the board supporting my executive assistant for the role because she’s earned it—if they give my father another shot at running the company, he’ll probably end the program.
Probably do something stupid like start charging for the electric charging stations too.
Every store in the nation—every last one—saw a rise in profits from products inside the convenience stores.
Because people spend money while they’re waiting for their electric vehicles to charge, and none of our competitors saw an advantage to offering the service for free so we currently have a large advantage with electric car owners.
But dear ol’ dad would probably change that too. Assume they’ll stick with us when he makes them pay.
That has my hands clenching inside my pockets.
“All good to fill her up,” Daphne calls to me from the door.
And just like that, I start breathing again.
Because Daphne took care of paying cash to get the pump started, and hearing her voice reminds me where I am.
Namely, in a place where it doesn’t matter anymore what happens to Miles2Go.
I did my part, and I can’t control the rest.
Not if I want to live my life for me instead of for my family’s legacy.
I fill the car, lock it, and head inside for the restroom and snacks.
Daphne’s balancing two quart-size cups with rounded plastic lids and a canvas tote bag that she’s filling with more or less every item from the chip aisle.
“Save some for everyone else,” I say as I join her.
“They have a truck around back right now getting more.” She tilts her head toward the counter, winces, rolls her shoulder, and then looks back at me. “Driver was stuck in the same traffic we were.”
She finishes grabbing the last of the Lava Cheese Puffs, then circles the aisle and heads toward the checkout counter, pausing briefly to stare at the display of stuffed Cupholders.
The hermit crab.
Miles2Go’s mascot.
“Don’t even think about it,” I mutter to her.
“I miss my lobster.” She shrugs, then winces again. “She’s soft.”
It takes a second, but then— “You have an emotional support stuffed lobster?”
“Better to sleep with than a brass polar bear.”
She heads to the counter.
I hesitate, then grab one of the stupid stuffed crabs, even though I know it’ll give me nightmares. As I’m heading to the counter too, I spot a display next to the door full of products I recognize all too well.
Wasn’t often my executive assistant outright ordered me around—normally she’d bring me a problem, I’d ask her opinion, she’d give it to me, and I’d do what she suggested—but a few months ago, she marched into my office and informed me that every M2G location on the planet needed to sell these.
I grab two and trail after Daphne.
She’s emptying the cloth tote on the counter next to the two Landslides.
Chips, nut bars, pistachios, meat sticks, gum, and more random items tumble out of the tote.
The clerk eyes her, then me, then gets busy scanning it all.
I wait until most of Daphne’s selections are back in the bag before adding my purchases.
Daphne glances at the crab, then me, then the crab again.
My ears get hot.
I’m not bribing her with an emotional support crustacean.
I’m—hell.
I don’t know what I’m doing.
Giving her another peace offering?
I don’t think she needs one, but I’m strung so tight after the road construction that I might.
I fork over two hundred-dollar bills. “Take it all out to the car,” I tell Daphne. “I’ll drive.”
She stares at me for one more long minute, her brown eyes studying me like she wants to know the catch, like she doesn’t know who I am, like I’ve passed some kind of test that I didn’t know I was taking.
The scrutiny makes my heart beat erratically.
Four days ago, I’d forgotten Daphne even existed.
Today, she eats donuts and shrieks in glee over polar bears and watches me with all of the intelligence she’s hidden—or that I’ve never noticed—and I break out in a sweat over how innately attractive it is to watch someone enjoy the little things in life.
I expect she would’ve been happy simply knowing that brass polar bear existed. That it would’ve made her happy even if I hadn’t bought it for her.
She breaks eye contact, swinging the tote over her shoulder. She tucks the crab into the top of her shirt, grabs the two Landslide drinks, and turns away to head to the car.
I retrieve one of the buckwheat pouches though. “Out in a minute.”
Fuck me.
My voice is hoarse.
My voice is hoarse because my body is having another unwelcome reaction to this woman.
I shake my head, pushing the thoughts away.
There are more important things to think about.
Like that the store has a microwave.
I use it to heat the pouch, and I’m back in control of myself by the time I carry it to the car.
Daphne makes a face at me as I open her door. “You said you’d drive.”
I shove the buckwheat pouch at her. “Put it on your neck.”
She blinks at me slowly like she doesn’t understand, but she takes the pouch and does as she’s told.
I shut her door, cross around the front of the car, and climb into the driver’s seat without remembering to push it back first.
Daphne’s staring at me again, the heating pad laid across her shoulder and neck, the crab sticking up out of the neck of her T-shirt.
She doesn’t say anything.
Again.
And I don’t know if that makes it better or worse.
I hit the button to start the car, grip the steering wheel, realize I’m already gripping it too tightly, and let my hands drop back into my lap. “I’m disappearing.”
“Oh my god, Oliver! No! I can still see you! You’re not disappearing! Don’t go! Don’t go into the ether!”
My lips get into a battle between wanting to huff at her outlandishness, growl and scowl at her, and freaking smile at the same time.
And the smile is winning. Dammit, she’s funny.
“Not literally, you pain in the ass.”
“Oh. You meant like…” She waves her hand vaguely as if that means something. “From your old life.”
“Yes.”
“I suppose that makes more logical sense.”
I shift to look at her again.
Her eyes crinkle in the corners as she smiles at me, and I swear the fairies tattooed on her arms are smiling at me too. “Yeah, I guessed as much. Wanna tell me why though?”
My fingers curl into fists again, and once more, I force them to relax. “Because I hate my life, and I don’t owe anyone anything anymore. By all outward appearances, I saved the goddamn company. I did my part. It’s my turn to do something for me.”
A shadow drifts over the car.
Or possibly that’s me picking up on whatever Daphne’s feeling about my plans.
It’s so silent in here that I can hear her swallow.
“You did an amazing job.” Her voice is oddly thick. “You deserve to find what’ll make you happy.”
That’s not what she wants to say.
That’s not at all what she wants to say.
I slide another look at her.
She squeezes her eyes shut and looks away.
“What?” I say, and then I understand.
I understand all too well.
Fuck me.
Fuck. Me.
I scrub a hand over my face. “You want me to go back for Margot. This—this has all been some kind of reverse psychology game.”
“No.”
“Of course. This tracks.”
“Fuck off, Oliver. You don’t deserve Margot.
You two were so damn boring together. Perfect little heirs to your perfect little family empires doing perfect little things like going boating and picnicking and golfing for dates in your perfect little clothes with your perfect little entourages and your perfect little hair with absolutely no personalities, no real convictions, absolutely no thinking for yourself, and zero soul to any of it. ”
I rear back. “Tell me how you really feel.”
She huffs. “You know what else? Margot didn’t deserve you either.
You held each other back. You were safe for each other.
You never fought. Ever. You agreed on everything from your favorite color to your preferred brand of towels to your boring taste in artwork.
You both said you wanted the exact same things and you would’ve had two or three perfectly boring children who would’ve needed me in their life to teach them how to scrape their knees and play hide-and-seek and eat ice cream until they puked at least once.
Don’t you want to live, Oliver? Don’t you want to have to fight for something or someone?
Don’t you want to know that the person you’ve chosen for all eternity looked at your flaws and your talents and your fears and your desires and chose you on purpose and wants to be by your side through the ups and downs because they love you beyond all reason? ”
My jaw is clenched so tight I want to hit something.
But my heart—my heart is hammering like I’m either three beats from a heart attack or a massive breakthrough.
And I don’t like either option. “Why the ever-loving hell do you think I’m running away?”
She turns in her seat and stares out the window at the store, then sucks in a breath like she hurt her neck again, which she more or less confirms for me when she grabs the hot pack and holds it steady. “Never mind. Ignore me.”
I want to throttle her and rub the ache out of her neck at the same time, and that confounding contradiction has me cranky as hell. “You’re mad at me because I don’t want your sister anymore when you didn’t want me to want your sister?”
“Sure. Let’s go with that.”
I growl.
She sucks in an unsteady breath.
I throw the car into gear and make myself carefully look all around us before putting my foot to the accelerator and pulling out of the gas station with far more restraint than I think I have in me.
And then I take the turn onto the highway too fast, and the damn brass polar bear falls right into the bags of chips.
Daphne sighs, turns the volume up on the radio, and goes back to staring out the window.
I remind myself every ten seconds to not grip the steering wheel so hard.
I order myself to not be angry.
To not care what Daphne thinks of me.
To not wonder what Daphne would say my flaws and fears and hopes and dreams and purpose are.
To not daydream about smothering her in her sleep.
I don’t want to smother her in her sleep.
And that’s the biggest problem.
I want—I want what she has.
I want freedom and joy and thrills and purpose.
I want to live.
She didn’t fit into my old life.
I don’t fit into my old life.
So there’s a slice of this life where we’re the same.
Where we fit together.
And that—that thought, more than the unexpectedness of her being here, more than the annoyance when she pushes my buttons, more than the inconvenience of realizing that she does know things I need to know—that thought more than anything is what has my teeth on edge and my pulse racing erratically and my dick doing what dicks do.
This road trip? Being here with Daphne?
This is a disaster.
And an hour down the road, everything goes even more to hell.
Again.