Chapter 34
Olivia
NEED ME - SIENNA SPIRO
The morning air bites a little sharper than usual.
I tug my jacket tighter around my ribs and step out onto the dirt path, boots crunching over loose gravel as I make my way to the shed.
The familiar clang of metal, the low hum of the radio spilling from inside, it’s all comfortingly predictable.
But it still doesn’t quite reach the ache sitting heavy behind my sternum.
“Look who’s up early,” Xavier calls from where he’s crouched near the fence post, a drill in one hand and a rusted bolt in the other. “No drop-off today?”
I pause, then force a smile that barely makes it to my eyes.
“No. Sebastian’s off now. Annual leave kicked in.
” I try to sound casual, convincing, but my voice betrays me.
Xavier’s eyes flick up from the bolt. He studies me, really studies me, and for a second, I think he might push.
Ask something. Say something. But he just nods, dragging the back of his glove across his brow.
“Right. Well, the southern trough’s blocked again. Probably some gum leaves caught in the filter. And the hay needs moving before the rain tomorrow.”
“I’ll get to them.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah.” I glance toward the distant paddock, the sun still low on the horizon. “There’s something I need to do first.” He watches me a beat longer, then dips his chin in a silent okay, already turning back to the fence. I’ve been putting this off for almost a week now, but it’s time.
The house looks like a bloody Christmas catalogue.
Fairy lights trim the roofline, a blow-up Santa waves cheerfully, and a wreath hangs proudly on the door, full of bells and fake snow.
Through the front window, I can see the soft outline of the tree, even in the early morning light, its shape haloed by tinsel and a star.
It’s warm. It’s joyful. It’s everything a kid like Teddy deserves.
I swallow the lump that’s been living in my throat since I left home, fingers clutching the stack of old cheques in my bag.
Weeks’ worth of babysitting money. I can’t keep them.
Not when the job’s over. Not when I’ve already overstayed my welcome in ways I never meant to.
I reach the front with heavy steps, dreading this more than I thought I would.
The door opens before I can knock.
Teddy appears, front and centre, wearing mismatched pyjamas; blue penguin pants with a reindeer shirt. His whole face lights up the second he sees me.
“Liv!” he shouts, practically bouncing. “You’re here!”
I crouch down immediately, one hand sliding gently over his hair to straighten the rogue strands. “Hey, champ.” My voice cracks, and I hope he doesn’t notice. “I can’t stay long.”
“Oh.” His smile fades. “Why not?”
I force a breath through my nose. He needs clarity. Certainty. Not the storm still brewing in my chest. “I’ve got a lot of jobs coming up on the farm, kiddo. I’ll be very busy over the next few weeks.”
His brows pull together, lips tugging downward. “So, no more pancakes? Storytime?”
I shake my head, even as it shatters something in me. “Not for a while, no. But hey”—I reach for his hand, curling my fingers gently around his—“I’m still around, okay? If you ever need me. For anything. You just tell your dad. I’ll be here.”
It’s not goodbye just yet. I won’t do that to him.
Not after how hard he’s worked to trust again.
To settle. Teddy throws his arms around my neck before I can even stand, and I hold him tighter than I probably should.
I rise slowly, gaze fixed on him and not the man standing quietly in the shadows behind him.
“I, uh…” I clear my throat, reaching into my bag with hands that don’t quite want to cooperate. “I wanted to return these.”
Sebastian takes the envelopes, our fingers brushing for the briefest second, and I hate how my pulse jumps over something so small. His forehead creases when he realises what they are. “You didn’t need to,” he says. “They’re yours.”
“I do,” I say without meeting his eyes. “It doesn’t feel right to take them.”
I try not to look up, but of course I do.
And the moment I do, I regret it. Sebastian looks like hell—beautiful, devastating hell.
Tired eyes lined with shadows. His stubble’s thicker than usual, crawling along his jaw in a way that makes me want to run my fingers over it.
His hair’s longer, curling slightly at the temples, like it’s been days since he cared enough to fix it.
His T-shirt is rumpled, collar stretched, the kind of domestic imperfection that shouldn’t be attractive and yet somehow is.
Why does he have to look like that when I’m trying to let go?
A slow ache that feels a lot like grief pulls at my chest. Like I’m mourning something I never really had, not the way I wanted. Damn you, Olivia, for looking.
There’s a sudden scratch of claws against the floorboards. Before I can say anything, Diesel barrels through the doorway like a missile, tail wagging furiously. He crashes into my legs, nearly toppling me as his wet nose presses against my cheek.
“Hey. Hey!” I laugh, stumbling back as he licks my face. “Alright, bud. Enough kisses. Calm down.”
He sniffs at me again, probably cataloguing every trace of farm dust and heartbreak, then turns his head when Sebastian whistles softly from the doorway.
“Diesel, enough. Inside,” he commands firmly. Diesel gives me one last sniff before bounding back toward his owner, tail still thumping happily against the doorframe. I stand and swallow hard, willing my heart to stay steady.
“Take care of yourself, Sebastian.” My voice is barely above a whisper. “And them.”
“Liv, wait—”
But I’m already stepping back. One foot, then another, down the stairs, onto the gravel. The stones crunch beneath my boots, grounding me, anchoring me in the decision I’ve already made. Because I can’t let myself look at him again. Not when I know what I’ll see.
The way he looked at me once still haunts my chest like something holy.
A single tear breaks loose, trailing hot down my cheek, and I swipe it away before it can fall far. The glow of the house disappears in my rear-view mirror as I drive away. I grip the steering wheel harder. So much for the festive fucking season.
The road stretches ahead, and all I can hear is the low hum of the engine and the pulse in my chest. My teeth are clenched, as if I’m holding in every word I didn’t get to say.
If you love something, set it free.
If it comes back, it was meant for you.
That’s what people say, isn’t it? Some soft lie to cushion the fall.
Some poetic bullshit to pretend like letting go doesn’t splinter you into jagged pieces.
I guess I’m supposed to believe that now.
The ironic thing is, I don’t even know if it was love.
Not really. I’ve never truly been in love before, not in the all-consuming, earth-shifting way people talk about in books or movies.
But if I had to guess, if I had to put a name to whatever this was—this ache, this pull, this impossible tenderness—I think that’s what it must’ve felt like.
Maybe that’s why it hurts so much.
Because for a moment, I thought I’d found it. The kind of love that fills every quiet space and makes the world feel steady again. The kind of love that lets you breathe easier. Maybe that kind of love isn’t meant for me. Not yet. So now, I’ve got fences to mend, water to shift, hay to move.
Work that doesn’t ask questions or offer comfort. Work that just keeps going, even when you feel like stopping. And maybe if I keep moving long enough, I’ll forget what it felt like to be wanted. Maybe I’ll start remembering what it means to want myself back again.
Screw him. Screw the ache. Screw this stupid, hopeful heart that should’ve known better.
I’m standing over the sink with a half-drunk cup of coffee gone cold as the message lights up my phone midmorning. My body aches, my stomach feels like someone’s wringing it out, and my brain hasn’t stopped looping over the last week. Handing the cheques over. The silence since.
Me: You home? Or free?
I stare at the screen for a while before pressing send.
It’s pathetic, maybe, how much I need a familiar face right now.
But between the cramps, the exhaustion, and the emptiness sitting in my chest like a stone, I can’t pretend to be strong today.
Not when my period has hit—a cruel little reminder that my body’s out of sync with everything else in my life.
Her reply comes within seconds.
Zoe: Always, babe. Come over.
Zoe and Michael’s house is warm, cluttered in that comforting way that says it’s lived in—boots by the door, a motorbike magazine left open on the counter, and Sprinkles, sprawled in a patch of sun near the window.
Zoe’s in leggings and an oversized T-shirt, her hair piled on top of her head, when she greets me. Coffee mug in hand, and a knowing smile. “Where’s Michael?” I ask, toeing off my shoes.
“Oh, I told him I needed girl time.”
“And he willingly left you?” I scoff. “I don’t believe it.”
She grins. “Okay, well… I may have bribed him with dirty sex later.”
I groan, throwing my head back. “Oh my God. I did not need that visual.”
Zoe snorts into her coffee. “Please. You love my honesty.”
“Yeah, until it traumatises me.”
We settle onto the couch, legs tucked up, and for a while, it’s easy. Comfortable. But since I’ve known her, Zoe’s never been one for small talk, or talking in general, unless she knows something’s wrong. When her opinion is needed.
“Alright,” she says like clockwork, setting her mug down. “Spill it. What’s up?”
“Nothing important,” I say, waving it off like the lie it is. “Just needed to get out of my own head.”
“Don’t bullshit me, Olivia.”
I sink back into the couch with a sigh. “I’m not—okay, maybe I am. I don’t even know what I’m doing. I just wanted to talk. Or not. I don’t know.”
Zoe watches me carefully. “This about him?”
“Maybe. Among other things.”