Chapter 39
Sebastian
Rewrite The Stars - Zac Efron, Zendaya
It’s Not Over - Daughtry
The florist smells like sugar, water, and pollen.
Too sweet, too floral, the kind of smell that sticks to your clothes and makes you feel like you’ve walked through a bloody greenhouse.
Teddy wrinkles his nose, his small hand gripping mine as his eyes dart between buckets of colour, lined up like soldiers.
The kid’s fascinated, and fair enough. The place is a goddamn rainbow.
“Why’re we here, Dad?” he asks, his voice muffled behind his sleeve.
I crouch beside him, brushing a hand over his head. “We’re grabbing some flowers, buddy.”
“For Olivia?” His eyes light up when he says her name.
“Yeah, champ. For Liv.”
The florist behind the counter looks up from trimming stems, her lipstick too red, her smile too knowing. “Who’s the lucky lady?”
I give a short laugh. “The girl I’m trying to win over.”
That earns me a smile. “Well, what does she like?”
My mouth opens, but nothing comes out. Fuck.
What does she like? I scan the shop like the answer might be hanging from the ceiling.
She’s never been one for cliché, that much I know.
I rack my brain, flipping through memories like a man trying to pick a lock in the dark.
There’s a blank space where knowledge should be—until the florist starts listing options.
Roses. Lilies. Peonies. Tulips.
And then it hits me.
The field.
That late afternoon when she dragged me out to the edge of town, where the sky turned honey and orange, and the wind kicked up her hair while she ran between those rows like she hadn’t been broken before. Tulips. That was the first time I saw her laugh like no one was watching.
“Tulips. The brightest ones you’ve got.”
“Good choice,” she says, pulling a bunch of yellow ones before wrapping them in soft brown paper. Bright. Because that’s what she is. The brightest fucking light that’s ever touched my life, and somehow, I still managed to screw it up.
I hold onto that thought while we duck into the café. Familiar smells hit me—coffee, burnt sugar, something fried and tempting—but it’s the comfort of it that sticks. I order a long black, and get Teddy his usual.
“Can I have the dinosaur cookie?” Teddy asks, bouncing on his heels.
“Dinosaur cookie?”
He looks up, all serious. “Yeah. That’s what Olivia used to get me.”
My chest does something silly. I swear I’ve been walking around with cracks in my ribs and hadn’t noticed until now. I clear my throat and nod. “Then we’ll get the cookie.”
Soon enough, Teddy’s got froth on his lip and a cookie in one hand, gripping it like treasure. The little menace looks so damn proud. I crouch down, pull out my phone, and snap a photo before I can overthink it. He grins wide, crumbs all over his chin, milk moustache and all.
It’s too fucking cute. I stare at the picture longer than I should, thumb hovering over the screen. Every instinct says don’t. Don’t reach out just yet, but I already know it’s too late for that.
There is one thing missing from this photo. Any guesses?
It feels stupidly small, but it’s something. I hit send before I can talk myself out of it.
Twenty minutes later, I’m standing in front of the mirror like a teenager on formal night, fighting with the buttons on a blue shirt that already feels wrong.
I’ve gone through three already, and none of them scream “please don’t reject me in front of our kid”.
Teddy wanders in, arms crossed, head tilted.
“I don’t like that one.”
I frown at him in the mirror. “You don’t even know what we’re doing.”
He shrugs. “Still don’t like the colour.”
I sigh, and swap it out for a grey quarter-zip shirt. Clean, simple. I grab a pair of denim shorts not daring to ask him because, at this point, I’ve got nothing left in the tank.
Teddy nods once. “Better.”
Approval granted by the fashion authority of Wattle Creek Primary.
We rock up to Olivia’s place just before sunset. The nerves hit differently now. Less fight or flight, more… hope wrapped in barbed wire.
Grace opens the door, one brow cocked. “Well, well. Look who’s back.”
“Evening, Grace.” I clear my throat. “Is Olivia home?”
She calls her down without hesitation, and the sound of footsteps hits before she does.
And then she’s there—barefoot, hair loose, still the most beautiful kind of chaos I’ve ever seen.
Her oversized shirt hangs off one shoulder.
That signature pink flush which coats her cheeks.
The way her eyes widen just slightly when she sees me.
There’s a tight pull deep in my chest, just under the sternum.
I rub at it without thinking. Is that normal?
Because it aches. God, it aches just to look at her.
“Olivia!” Teddy barrels past me, arms out.
Her expression melts. “Hey, you! What are you doing here?”
“We’re going for dinner. With you,” he says proudly.
“Right now?”
“Uh-huh. Daddy got you flowers.”
“Appreciate the subtlety, mate.” I mutter under my breath.
She laughs, and the sound tugs at every nerve I’ve got left. “What does he mean?”
“He means we’re taking you out to dinner. Go get dressed.”
She squints at me. “Why?”
“I think you’ve hurt my feelings enough, Trouble. Don’t say no in front of my kid. He’ll never let me live it down.”
Her mouth opens, ready to protest, then closes. She lets out a sigh. “Give me ten.”
Exactly ten minutes later, she’s coming down the stairs, and Jesus Christ, I’m done for.
White dress, dipping into a soft V that does nothing to hide the way she fills it out, wild hair, a denim jacket slung over one arm, and worn brown boots.
She’s sunlight and rebellion all in one.
I have to look away before I forget how to breathe.
We shuffle out quietly to the car. Olivia is grabbing something out of her bag, and I use this moment to grab the flowers and nudge Teddy. “Now’s your shot.” He marches up, little hands clutching the bouquet, and offers them with the world’s biggest grin.
“For me?” she asks, crouching down.
He nods, shy smile in place.
“How did you know these were my favourite?”
“Daddy told me.”
She smiles and smells the tulips before pressing a quick kiss to Teddy’s cheek, making him squirm and scurry back to me, like she set him on fire. I ruffle his curls, but I don’t take my eyes off her. She straightens, eyes flicking to mine. And fuck.
The way she looks at me—it’s not cold. It’s something in between, something softer.
Like she doesn’t hate me tonight. Like there’s a chance I haven’t screwed this all up beyond repair.
All I can manage is a wink. My usual fallback when my mouth might say too much.
Her eyes don’t narrow. Her arms don’t cross.
No warning bells. She just watches me. I open the passenger side door for her, tugging it wide like some half-trained idiot trying to earn brownie points.
I brace for the eye roll, but… it doesn’t come.
She just slips into the seat without a word.
And I swear to Christ, it’s the dumbest win I’ve ever had, but it feels huge.
Madison’s is one of those joints that hasn’t changed since the ‘80s. Neon signs buzz in the window, checkered floor tiles gleam under old lighting, and the booths creak with every shift of weight. It smells like coffee, sugar, and memories. We snag a corner booth. Teddy slides in first, Olivia beside him. I take the other side, watching them like a man watching a dream he’s not sure he deserves.
The silence is thick at first. Awkward. Stiff.
So I break it.
“You still hate being called Trouble?”
Her eyes flick to mine. “You’re pushing your luck.”
“Wouldn’t be me if I wasn’t.”
She tries to hide the smile, but fails. Teddy babbles on about school, bugs, something about a spaceship made of cereal boxes.
She listens like every word is gold, leaning in, nodding, laughing.
I sit back, soaking it in. That look on her face?
It’s everything. When dinner’s done, and we’re full on burgers, shakes, and whatever the hell Teddy ordered, we head back to the car.
“There’s one more thing,” I say.
She stops walking.
“And before you say no, just know Teddy wrapped it.”
She raises a brow. “You’re not playing fair, Bash.”
“How so?”
“You’re using your son against me.”
“Am I? That sounds manipulative.”
“Because it is.”
“Can I give it to her now?” Teddy’s bouncing beside me.
“Absolutely,” I say, a little too loud. He grabs the box from the backseat and sprints back.
I lean in close. “Have I told you I love it when you call me Bash?”
“Don’t.”
“Don’t what, Trouble? Don’t pretend I still don’t want you?”
She goes completely still. The kind of stillness that tells me every word hit its mark. I take one slow step forward, closing the last inch between us, and lower my mouth to her ear. My voice drops into the roughest part of me, the part she once moaned for.
“Because you’re all I fucking think about,” I breathe, letting the truth slip out in a way I can’t drag back. “You wanna know what happens when I think about you?”
Her inhale shudders. Her body tilts toward mine on instinct before she catches herself, fingers curling at her sides. She’s holding the line by a thread. One more word and it’ll snap. I see it in the way her lashes lower. The way her lips part. The heaving of her chest.
“Here!” Teddy wedges himself right between us, arms stretched up, clutching the gift.
The moment breaks, but not the pull. Olivia jumps back, and I take a step away, biting out a quiet curse under my breath as she clears her throat.
Perfect timing, kid. But thank Christ, because another second and I would’ve had her against the side of the ute, consequences be damned.
She takes the box, lips twitching. Five-year-old hands don’t do gentle.
The wrapping’s a disaster, more tape than paper, but she peels it back carefully.
And when the frame comes free, she stills.
This time, it’s us. The three of us.
A photo my sister snapped without warning at the party—Teddy perched high on my shoulders, her hand tangled in his, the three of us mid-laugh at something long forgotten.
Unfiltered. Unposed. Real.
“Because you deserve to be in photos too.”
I clear my throat like that’ll steady me, but it doesn’t.
It fucking doesn’t. Her fingers tighten around the edge of the frame, and that silence stretches—thick with everything I haven’t said and all the shit I can’t take back.
She doesn’t say a word, but she doesn’t need to.
The look on her face says it all. Like someone just split her chest open without warning, and it wrecks me.
It’s too much and not enough all at once.
“You didn’t…” she starts, her voice too soft, “have to give me this.”
“I wanted to.” I swallow hard. “If you’ve already written the ending to this story in your head, then you’ve clearly underestimated me, Trouble. I’ll rewrite the whole damn thing. Every page. Every chapter. Just to keep you in it.”
Her brow furrows, lips parting, but I keep going because I have to. “Just don’t walk away thinking I didn’t care. Because I did. I do. So fucking much it hurts.”
And fuck, if I don’t want to go back in time and never mess this up in the first place.
But I can’t. So instead, I stand here under the sputtering parking lights, hands in my pockets, heart in my damn throat, and I swear, I’ll go through every awkward silence, every bite of her anger, every scraped-together apology a hundred times over just to see her looking at me like this again.
Because it means there’s still something here.