Chapter 19
Oliver
I’m a terrible person. Not in the classic sense, not in the cartoon villain, kick-a-puppy kind of way. No, I’m a self-centered kind of awful, pressing my body into someone who has no idea how I feel.
I should’ve pulled away the instant Luke wrapped his arms around me, told him I was good, and swum for shore like a decent human with intact boundaries. But no, I sank into him, greedy for heat and the illusion of being wanted, like I had any right to. I didn’t. I know I didn’t.
Luke is Luke. He would hold anyone shaking in cold water without thinking twice. That’s who he is. I’m not special. Not to him, not in the way I ache to be. Still, I hung on and breathed him in and pretended that I belonged there. It was dishonest. It was selfish. It was bliss.
Over the course of our living together, my feelings for Luke had only grown, becoming inescapable.
Even after my pep talk with Talia, for weeks I questioned it, wondering if the feelings were real or just trauma, clinging to the first person who didn’t hurt me.
Group helped me identify those fears. Therapy gave me space to work on them.
Time gave me proof. The worry that my feelings were misplaced or wrong had faded, until it fell away altogether.
My feelings weren’t born from gratitude or the relief of being treated nicely.
The feelings I held for Luke were painfully genuine.
I liked him. Heart-thumpingly, tragically liked him.
For who he was, not how safe he made me feel.
Luke remained clueless in the way only sincere people can be. Never realizing that when he so much as brushed a hand against mine, it lit me up like a match struck against sandpaper. That every time he held me, he unknowingly dragged me deeper into something I had no way of climbing out of.
But I always followed.
Because some stupid, reckless part of me, buried beneath scar tissue and caution, wanted to believe there was a version of this story where every time Luke reached for me, he didn’t do it solely to comfort or because I needed it, but because he wanted to.
Because something in him recognized something in me, and chose it, chose me.
The fantasy was treacherous, stitched from threads of hope, scraps of longing, and the endless list of what-ifs. Delusional? Yes. Add it to my ever-growing list of quiet crimes—emotional trespassing, longing without license, and full-throttle romantic delusion.
Talia, as the self-appointed archivist of the Oliver Pining Chronicles would have a field day with today’s entry.
It had become standard for us to get smoothies after group every week and I’d been feeding her installments of the ongoing saga of my epic Luke crush.
When I couldn’t wait a whole week with the updates, I’d text her mid-week with fresh material, which had been happening more and more frequently.
In fact, as soon as we got in cell-service range, I’d be sharing this latest installment.
Luke stood beside me, the muscle on his sun-ripened chest, complete with a sprinkling of dark hair, on full display.
I shouldn’t have been looking, shouldn’t have been staring at the way his shoulders flexed as he stretched, but then, I’ve made a small empire of should-nots.
I’ve built a cathedral of forbidden glances and silent reverence.
This was just one more prayer added to the altar.
He pulled his shirt over his head. Then, turning to me, he held out my own discarded layers.
“Thanks,” I said, taking the offered clothes, our fingers brushing in the exchange.
Sparklers. Confetti. Fireworks.
The contact had been next to nothing, but it shot my pulse skyward.
It was high voltage in my bloodstream. I didn’t know how Luke didn’t feel it.
How he existed inside this moment and remain so composed.
Maybe the months away from Vincent had played tricks on my memory, but even at its most passionate, even in the sweetest moments with him, I had never been set alight by something so infinitesimal.
“So, now that we’re moderately dry and clothed, I have a confession.”
“A . . . a confession?”
He moved nearer, the heat radiating off his skin cutting through the chill the waterfall had left behind. Forget hypothermia, tachycardia was the greater risk here.
“Mmhmm.” Another step, another degree closer to ruin, my heart definitely racing. “You should know, Ez wouldn’t have been caught dead in that water.”
“Excuse me?” I said, feigning scandalized outrage. “Are you telling me I jumped into a glacial pool to prove I could stand in for Ezra and Ezra would’ve refused on sight?”
“That is in fact what I’m telling you.”
“Unbelievable,” I said throwing my hands in the air. “You let me freeze my entire circulatory system for nothing.”
“Not for nothing. For the memories. For the personal growth. For the bragging rights.”
“I’m filing a formal complaint.”
“With who?”
“The Outdoor Activities Ethics Board,” I declared, poking a finger into his chest, purely for emphasis and not because when one is presented with such sculpted, museum-grade pectorals it would be criminal not to.
“You cannot exploit a novice camper’s earnestness and competitive streak for your own amusement. ”
“You can if your intentions are good. Come on, admit it, you enjoyed yourself.”
I enjoyed the excuse to be close to you and steal some skin-on-skin contact.
“Fine. But I reserve the right to embellish my suffering in the official record.”
“I would never interfere with your dramatic liberties. You’re far too cute when you give me attitude,” he said, landing a playful boop on my nose. “Tell ya what, I’ll also sweeten the deal with hot cocoa when we get back to camp.”
“Hot cocoa?” I said, feigning contemplation, doing my level best at pretending my brain hadn’t latched onto the word cute having been directed at me by him. “I find this agreeable. Your transgressions are tentatively forgiven, pending the quality of said cocoa.”
“It’ll be top-tier. Never fear.”
After we’d hiked on for several minutes he said, “I really am proud of you. There are seasoned outdoorsy people who wouldn’t dare step into that water.
But if there’s one thing I’ve learned about you, Ollie, it’s that in uncharted waters, you always take the plunge.
You face the unknown head-on. That kind of willingness and courage is one of the most remarkable things about you.
I’m especially glad for it right now, because it means you’re here with me. ”
My mouth closed around everything I lacked the bravery to speak.
So many truths lived in me, aching to be freed, yet they stayed locked in my chest. There were many things I’d grown to offer Luke freely, but my unfortunate crush I kept barricaded in my heart.
Sometimes that secret ventured to my throat, even traveled as far as the tip of my tongue, settling behind my teeth, only an opening of my mouth away from spilling all over him.
Thankfully, today those secrets remained locked within me.
While I couldn’t give him the honesty of my feelings, I offered him a safer truth.
“I’m glad I came.”
His answering smile warmed me in a way no fire or hot chocolate ever could. In the way I’ve come to understand only Luke could.
By dusk we stepped into the clearing of our site. Luke knelt by the fire pit, arranging kindling and larger sticks in a careful teepee, but he had me strike the match. Shockingly, the flame caught on my first attempt, setting the wood ablaze.
“Alright,” he said, brushing soot from his palms. “Stage one complete. Fire is alive and crackling. Stage two, campfire chili followed by hot chocolate. I swear to you, both are at least thirty percent better in nature. It’s a scientifically proven wilderness enchantment.”
He turned his attention to the camp stove. After several minutes the chili bubbled in its pot. On the adjacent burner, the kettle heated for our beverages.
“So, what do you think?” Luke asked after I’d taken a bite.
“I agree with you. I’ve never had chili quite like this.”
With the cocoa poured into enamel mugs, Luke stretched his legs toward the fire with a satisfied sigh.
“Now,” he said. “Stage three. Campfire games while we eat s’mores.”
“You’re committed to the full camp curriculum, aren’t you?”
“S’mores are a camping staple, an absolute must for your initiation, no man left unindoctrinated. Besides, I know you can’t resist such deliciousness.”
I shrugged. He wasn’t wrong. If it was sugary and sweet I couldn’t resist. He was far more disciplined than me when it came to sweet consumption. “I make no apologies for my sweet tooth,” I said.
“Would never ask you to. And . . .” He reached into the bag of food supplies.
“I even brought the superior dark chocolate bars. Seventy percent. Because I’m well acquainted with your rants about milk chocolate, the unnatural shiny coating, how it tastes like sweetened wax, and how it is ‘an insult to the cocoa bean and humanity at large.’ And I, in my infinite generosity, would never subject you to such mediocrity. Not even in the wilderness.”
It still sometimes surprised me how Luke took me into account daily, how he remembered things I said and built them into what he did.
It also had the unfortunate side effect of making me fall even more hopelessly head over heels for him, an achievement, really, given that I had already tipped into a full somersault and had zero emotional balance left to lose.
Picking up a roasting stick and placing a marshmallow onto the tip, he passed it to me and I proceeded to stick it right into the middle of the flames.
“Whoa there, tiger,” Luke said. “We’re going for lightly roasted, not cremated. Keep it above the flame.”