Chapter 17
Luke
Lazy evenings with Oliver and me lounging on the couch after dinner had become the norm over the last four months. Tonight, he lay against one of the arms of the couch, slim legs outstretched and draped over my lap. One of my hands rested on his shin.
“I have tomorrow and Sunday off,” I said. “I’m not even on call. It’s rare I get a full weekend off. I thought maybe I’d drive up to one of the forests in the area for some camping, get away for a bit. Breathe something other than city air. Would you want to come with me?”
“To the forest? Like an actual tent and sleeping on the ground kind of camping?”
“Authentic tent. Real life dirt. A site in the mountains and surrounded by trees. The whole crunchy granola experience. Though rest assured, we can make it as rugged or as softcore as you like. I’ve got solid gear, including a high-end sleeping pad that practically qualifies as memory foam, and I solemnly swear not to drag you on any twenty-mile soul quests unless you request them. ”
“Yeah, I think we can save the twenty-mile ambition for a future version of me.”
“Does that mean you’ll come?”
“You realize I don’t have any hiking attire.”
“Ah, I see what’s happening right now. You’re doing the whole bit where you pretend to dig in your heels while we both know you’re gonna agree.”
Oliver gasped. “I would never. Not having the appropriate clothing is a totally valid excuse.”
“Valid, sure, but also kinda weak, seeing as there’s an outdoor store down the road that’s open for another four hours.
And never fear, we’ll find you something solid.
Practical and stylish. Think Project Runway, but wilderness edition.
Function meets flair. We’ll get you something that will make you the best dressed guy in the backwoods by sunset. ”
“An enticing offer, but I need to prepare you for something. I’ve never been camping.
Like, ever. Not even a backyard tent. If you’re okay with dragging along a clueless first-timer who knows nothing about starting a campfire, will probably trip over a pinecone, and will freak out over any suspicious rustling outside the tent, then sure, I’ll tag along. ”
The idea of teaching him everything, of being the person he trusted to show him something new, made me all warm. How could I be anything less than all in?
Pressing my hand to my heart, I said, “Be still my rugged, flannel-clad heart. You’re letting me be your first?”
He groaned, grabbing a throw pillow and yeeting it at me. “Do you have to phrase it like that?”
“I’m trying to honor the moment!” I said, catching the pillow.
“You only lose your camp virginity once, and I’m thrilled you’re giving it to me.
I’m going to give you an experience so exciting you’ll want to do it again and again.
I’ll make it so memorable, so magical, I’ll ruin you for camping with anyone who isn’t me. ”
“Do you ever listen to the things that come out of your mouth?” Oliver muttered, face in his hands.
“What!? This is going to be glorious!” I gave a playful bounce of my knee, jostling his leg.
“And don’t worry, I’ll teach you all the things, protect you from any creatures that dare approach our tent, and catch you before any rogue pinecones or other trail hazards take you down.
I’ll be the best camp counselor you never had. ”
“Fine, I’m convinced. But if you start singing “Kumbaya” and initiating trust falls, I’m out.”
“Okay, that’s fair.” I rose from the couch, holding out my hand. “C’mon. We’ve got gear to grab and boots to break in.”
At the outdoor supply outlet, we perused the clothing aisles. I scanned a nearby clearance rack, picking up a pale-blue, lightweight windbreaker. “Here, try this one. It’ll make your eyes look even more unfairly beautiful.”
“You think my eyes are beautiful?” he asked, disbelief and surprise coloring his tone.
“I mean, yeah, how could you not? They’re the most brilliant shade of blue I’ve ever seen.”
“I’ll go try it on,” he murmured, before disappearing into the fitting room with the windbreaker and the rest of our selections.
“Well?” he asked when he stepped back out wearing the jacket coupled with a pair of pants and a cotton-blend shirt.
“Hmm. As much as I admire the artistry of the static pose, I’m afraid I can’t reach a verdict without seeing the full effect. I need angles. I need movement. I want a strut. And I require your finest smize.”
“I can’t believe you know what that is,” he said.
“Carrie religiously watched America’s Next Top Model.
I absorbed the references through relentless secondhand exposure.
That, and I may have been contracted as a judge in our elite two-person panel and contributed valuable assessments as we conducted our own thorough deliberation at the end of each episode.
A man develops an eye for these things after such rigorous training.
Though we were far nicer in our critique.
Never wanted to see anyone go home or get talked down to. ”
“You and Carrie had such a special relationship.”
“She made it easy,” I said with a melancholy fondness. “Now, stop stalling. Chop chop, let me see your walk so I can give you my expert opinion.”
“Ugh, fine, but I’m only doing this once, and you better appreciate it.”
“I’m your biggest fan and supporter, you better believe I’ll appreciate it. Show that runway who’s boss.”
With a sigh he took a step back, then with his chin lifted and hand cocked jauntily on his hip, he launched into a dramatic sashay down the narrow aisle, hips swinging with over-the-top flourish.
“Yes! Ow! Work it, Ollie!” I whooped, hands cupped around my mouth, forgetting where we were and the other shoppers, my attention on him alone.
He gave a half turn at the end of the aisle, struck a pose, and flung a sassy look over his shoulder. As our eyes connected my heart stumbled over its next beat. Confident Oliver had that effect, it was hard not to be drawn to that kinda energy.
“So,” he said, strutting back toward me, hips still in runway mode. “What’s the judges’ deliberation? Am I getting a photo this week keeping me in the competition, or am I packing up my belongings and headed home in tears?”
“You are for sure getting a photo. That was alpine high fashion at its finest. The critters of the mountain forest won’t know what hit ’em.”
“I suppose I have to get it now,” Oliver said.
“You do. It’s law. If it looks better on you than on the rack, you are obligated to get it. And it’ll go well with—”
“Oliver?”
Both of us turned to see a man approaching.
He looked to be in his mid-thirties, polished in a moneyed way, wearing a designer polo and reflective sunglasses perched on top of his perfectly styled hair.
His nose pointed upward, scrunching, as if he’d braved stepping out of his elite country club to slum it among us commoners.
A sharp inhale left Oliver as he edged into my side, confirming my suspicions of how he knew this snobbish jerk.
The instinct to protect him hit me, immediate and absolute.
My job prepared me for these very scenarios, allowed me to assess and step between threat and victim with composure.
But nothing about my job accounted for the way my heart pounded at the sight of Oliver’s fear, or how his nearness settled me.
Finding Oliver’s hand at my side, I took it into mine, giving a light squeeze.
The man’s lip curled into a sneer. “So this is what you’ve been up to since Vincent?
Found yourself a new mark to bleed dry?” The man’s gaze shifted to me.
“Let me guess, you’re older, protective?
You look like the type. Strong. Dependable.
Good at fixing broken things. Here’s your cautionary tale: he’ll chew through your kindness, and the second someone shinier glances his way he’ll vanish.
I know. He did the same thing to my friend.
One day, poof. Gone. After everything Vincent gave him. ”
Oliver trembled against me, his grip on my hand tightening so hard his nails created crescent indents in my skin. His breathing had adjusted to a speed so rapid I worried he might pass out from lack of oxygen.
“I warned Vincent about you,” the man continued, turning his derision back to Oliver. “But he was blind. Obsessed. He would’ve done anything for you, and this is how you repay him? You left him in pieces. You’re the same worthless, manipulative little gold-digging slut I always knew you were.”
I’d heard enough of this nonsense. Placing myself between the man and Oliver, I squared my shoulders. The man had a fit, athletic build, but he didn’t match my height or breadth, and I let that difference crowd him.
“That’s enough. I will not tolerate you talking about Oliver that way. Have the decency to keep such foul language to yourself,” I said through gritted teeth, exhaling through my nose like some sort of angry bull about to charge the gate, ready to launch some poor rodeo jock into orbit.
“Wow, you’ve got it bad, don’t you? That little—”
My hand balled into a fist at my side. Violence wasn’t my thing unless someone needed protecting, but hearing this asshole tear into Oliver turned me into something ugly and wired. Every stupid, animal part of me itched to land a punch.
“I wouldn’t finish that sentence,” I warned, my voice as calm as the eye of a hurricane but with all the destruction behind it. “It’s obvious to me you don’t know Oliver at all, and you sure as hell don’t know me. I’ll take my chances, thanks.”
“Suit yourself,” the man said with a flippant scoff. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” He turned on his heel and walked off.
I turned back to Oliver. The radiant man from moments ago had left the building, the brilliance sucked from his eyes, left flat with shock.
The sight had anger searing through me once more, making me wish I’d decked the guy.
Shifting closer, I untangled our hands, placing my arm around his back.
“Come on,” I whispered, guiding him out of the aisle and toward a quiet corner of the store behind a display of socks.
It wasn’t much, but it offered a little cover from potential prying eyes.
“Don’t believe a single thing he said,” I murmured, running my hand up and down his spine. “None of that is you. None of it.”
“I . . .” He shook his head, throat working like he’d tried to swallow broken glass. “I didn’t expect . . . I didn’t . . . I wasn’t ready.”
“I know. You shouldn’t have to be ready for something like that.”
“God, Luke. He called me a—”
“I heard,” I said, voice low, anger still festering that the man had had the balls to call Ollie that, and in public no less. Prick. “And he’s wrong. Dead wrong, Oliver.”
“Why does it still feel like I have to defend myself? Why do I still feel guilty?”
“Because people like Vincent love twisting the story so they remain in control. But listen to me, you don’t owe anyone—not Vincent, not his so-called friend, no one—your pain, your story, and definitely not your peace.”
“I thought I’d buried all this. That I’d started over. That I’d become someone new.”
“You are someone new. You might not see it, but I do. You’ve grown so much in the past months, but that doesn’t mean your past disappears. It means it doesn’t define you anymore.”
He buried his face into me, the humidity of his breath warming the fabric of my shirt.
There it was again, that pull in my chest that didn’t fit anywhere I knew to put it.
I comforted people after moments like this in my job on a regular basis, but never like this.
Never with this ache that made me want to keep holding on when protocol would tell me to let go.
“I don’t know what I would’ve done if I’d been alone when he showed up. I think I would’ve shattered,” Oliver said, his voice muffled into my shirt.
“You’d have held your own. Your therapy and group sessions woulda kicked in, and you’d have remembered you don’t gotta take shit from nobody, and given him a piece of the new you. Still, I’m glad I was here. It helps to have a friend nearby when things get real.”
“You sure did show him. I’ve never seen him so intimidated before.”
“And I’d do it again, to anyone who dares make you think you’re less than you are. No one, I mean no one, gets to talk to you like that in front of me.”
“My hero,” he said, pulling back to look into my eyes.
The look and the sentiment had my insides gushing.
It wasn’t the first time I’d been called that, but it was the first time I liked the idea of the title.
Being Oliver’s hero was some kind of badge of honor.
“You okay?” I asked. “Do you want to call it? We can put everything back, head home, reschedule the trip for some other time.”
“No. No, I still want to go camping. I need to go. I’m not going to let Vincent or anyone tied to him keep me from living my life. I’m actually looking forward to this. I’m not handing over one more thing to that past. I won’t let him take from me anymore.”
“See?” I said. “Strong. Brave. Resilient.”
“Or annoyingly stubborn.”
“Maybe a little of that too. But it’s a charming and admirable flavor of stubborn, so I’ll allow it.
Now come on. We’ve got a few more essentials to grab.
I’m going to get you some thermal base layers and an insulated hoodie.
I know you’re gonna get cold once the sun goes down.
I’ve seen how you cocoon yourself in the entire linen closet at home. ”
“That’s because you keep the temperature at cryogenic storage levels.”
“Sixty-seven degrees is a perfectly acceptable temperature.”
“It’s an ice box. I’m one draft away from getting frostbite in the shower.”
“Look, you can always add more blankets or layers of clothing. I, however, can only remove so much clothing before it becomes inappropriate.”
“So, I’m supposed to look like I’m on an expedition on Rainier every single day because you’re a self-regulating furnace? I tolerated it in the summer, but as we move into the colder months I’m going to have to object.”
“Alright, maybe we can negotiate a compromise for seventy degrees.”
“Seventy-two degrees and a heated blanket.”
“Done,” I said, reaching out to shake his hand. “I’ll have this notarized and submitted to the official housemate agreement immediately.”