26. Oliver
Oliver
Once we are back in the hospital, I accompany Lissa and Henry to his room.
I’m surprised by how much Henry talks to me as we ascend the elevator, pointing things out and asking me about them. He doesn’t seem to be intimidated by me at all this time.
As we get to his room, I find myself placing my hand on Lissa’s back to escort her inside, and the innocent gesture feels so right and so wrong at the same time.
Stop treating her as if she’s yours. She doesn’t belong to you. Nor would she ever want to.
“I’m going to the cafeteria to get a drink. Do you want anything?” I ask, not meeting her eyes as she turns back to me.
“Oh, no. You’ve done so much already,” she says, her eyes going wide as I shake my head.
“I wouldn’t offer unless I meant it, Lissa. Can I get you something?”
She fidgets, unwinding the scarf she’s wearing from around her neck. “A decaf latte would be great, thanks.”
“Henry, would you like anything?” I ask, as Henry gets back into bed and Lissa settles him in.
“Can I have some juice?” he asks, looking at his mom for approval, and Lissa gives me a grateful half-smile as she shrugs.
“Apple juice if they have it,” she mutters, and I leave, walking through the hallways of the hospital, following the signs until I reach the cafeteria.
My palms are sweating when I arrive, and I brush them against my suit pants.
I wanted to kill him. With my bare fucking hands.
The strength of my anger toward James is startling, alarming. The rage is stronger than anything I’ve ever known.
The fact that Lissa has a protective order against him means James did something to her. I don’t know what, but by his body language the day I saw him and his temper when I challenged him, it isn’t hard to guess.
The thought of someone laying a hand on that beautiful, sweet woman who wouldn’t hurt a fly makes me sick. I want to break something, punch my fist through a wall.
This rage frightens me. It’s as if it’s outside my body, put there by someone else, something else, and impossible to fight.
Am I becoming like my father?
The thought threatens the very foundations of who I believe I am. This fucking asshole has triggered something in me that I didn’t know existed.
I reach the line at the cafeteria, barely able to process anything else around me until I reach the register. Desperately trying to remember what Lissa wanted, I order an apple juice for Henry and then finally recall that Lissa wanted a decaf latte.
I look up at the board, unsure what I want, and decide on an espresso, just to get something as strong as possible. I wait for the drinks to arrive while I spiral quietly at the end of the counter.
In some crazy way, Lissa has fulfilled so much of what I wanted to find in a partner. She’s perfect for me in bed; the way she complies with what I want gets me every time, but I also know the control is an illusion.
That’s what I want. I don’t ever want a woman to be truly afraid of me. Maybe that’s what makes me different from my father.
But you do like to dominate women.
The snide little voice in my head makes my chest tighten as I pick up the drinks and make my way back to the room.
How did this go so wrong?
Lissa was hired to be an escort, and yet somehow I feel responsible for her, protective of her. Even Henry, whom I barely know, reminds me of me as a young boy. Curious and thoughtful.
Fuck. I should terminate her contract right now. This is not going to end well.
“Thank you.”
I look up, startled to find that I’ve made my way all the way back to the room already, lost in thought.
Lissa gently takes the apple juice and latte from me as I open the espresso and down it in one scorching swallow. I watch her pierce a hole in the top of the juice box and hand it to her son, her movements so careful and gentle.
How could anyone feel anger toward her? She’s wonderful.
“Is there anything else you need?” I ask, not wanting to intrude on their time together for much longer. I plan to go and get my mother anyway, as she’s finally cleared to leave the hospital tonight.
“No. Thank you,” Lissa says quietly, before turning to me, and rising from the bed. She looks back at Henry. “I’ll be back in just a couple of minutes, okay, baby?”
He nods, sucking happily on the straw as the juice box slowly compresses in his hands.
I walk out of the room, Lissa following behind me.
“Thank you for what you did today,” she says as soon as we are out of earshot. “I appreciate it, but I’m pretty sure you don’t want to get tangled up in my life, or my son’s. I’m so grateful for you speaking up for me, but I have to handle James on my own.”
Briefly, she closes her eyes, letting out a stifled breath.
“This job is the best way for me to do that. It means I can pay for Henry’s care and any legal bills that’ll come my way in the divorce.
I hope you don’t feel as if I expected you to come with me today.
I was upset, but I should have told you to stay at the office. ”
My stomach drops at her words. They are clinical, matter-of-fact, and cold. Any illusions that there might be something more between us are snuffed out in her hard, concentrated stare.
She sounds as if she is negotiating a business deal, and I’m not too proud to admit it blindsides me. To hear her tell me that the job is her lifeline, and not, as it has become for me, the best part of her day, is a harsh reminder of just what we are to one another.
Nothing.
She is an escort, I’m paying her for sex, and when that contract is done, it’ll be over. She won’t think of me again. And I should do the same.
“No problem,” I mutter, already taking a step back, wanting to disappear from here. Lissa doesn’t need a protector. And if she does, it isn’t me. “I’ll… see you tomorrow.”
I turn away, walking quickly toward my mother’s room without looking back. After I turn the corner, I shake out my arms, as if to get rid of the need I feel to turn back around and demand further explanation.
What do you mean it’s just a job, when you melt in my arms every day? That isn’t an act, I know it’s not.
As I walk to the elevators, I consider my options, wondering if I should call Sterling House and ask Pippa to terminate our time together. That would be so much easier.
But even after everything Lissa just said, I want to help her.
I close my eyes in frustration, stepping into the elevator and jabbing at the button for my mother’s floor.
It’s clear Lissa needs her independence from James; that’s a boundary I shouldn’t cross, but I feel as if I know him.
There’s something in his eyes that tells me everything I need to know about him.
I’ve seen countless examples of this type of case in my life, and almost always, the more dominant, violent partner has something to hide. There is almost certainly something he isn’t telling her, something that could help her case, and Lissa won’t have the resources to discover it.
But I do.
She deserves a chance at happiness with her son, free from a world of pain. I might just be able to give her that, even though I know there will be no reward at the end of it all.
I pull out my phone, dialing Noah’s number before I can change my mind.
“Hi, Mr. Heath,” he says briskly, and I can hear murmuring voices in the background. Checking my watch, I roll my eyes. He’s probably already at home.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize it was so late.”
“That’s okay, I’m actually just grabbing some food and heading back to the office. Do you need something?”
“I’d like you to take a break from the Reynolds case tomorrow.”
“Uh, sure. What for?”
“I want you to look into a man called James Davenport. Do some digging. See if you can find anything sketchy in his past that we could use. I’ll send you the details.”
There’s a short pause on the other end of the line. “Is this for a case?”
“Yes,” I reply gruffly, about to hang up.
“Which matter should I assign my time to?”
Damn Finnigan and his process obsession.
“It’s pro-bono. Off the clock.”
“Does it have anything to do with Lissa?”
My stomach flips. “Why would it?” I ask, his use of her name grating on me for reasons I don’t want to think about right now.
“Well, Davenport is her last name.”
“Just look into it, would you?” I snap.
Another pause. “Of course, I’ll let you know what I find out.”
“Thank you.”
As I reach my mother's room, I find her already packed, smiling up at me, her bag beside her. But her smile fades when she sees my expression and she frowns as I approach her.
“Ready to go?” I ask while grabbing her bag.
“What’s wrong?” she asks me. I’ve never been able to hide anything from her, and she’s giving me that look I know well. If she thinks I’m upset, she won’t let it go.
My shoulders lower, the bag held loosely in my hand as I sigh heavily.
“Something happened today at work,” I confess, not wanting to give away anything about Lissa. “I got angry. Really angry. And I didn’t like the way it made me feel.”
There’s a long silence as she watches me, still seated on the bed, infinitely calm.
“It scared me,” I add. “I felt like I wanted to hit something, break something. I didn’t feel like I was in control.”
I can feel my cheeks heating at the admission. I hate being vulnerable at the best of times, but telling such a thing to my mother of all people feels horrible.
“I’m worried I’m like dad, deep down, and that it’s finally coming out of me, now that I’m older.”
“Look at me, Oliver.”
I do, feeling as if I could dive into her wide, gray eyes, so full of kindness.
“You’re nothing like your father. You never could be.
He never worried about his temper. He just let it rule him.
For years. You may feel like breaking something, but you don’t.
That’s the difference, because you are a good man, and you have the strength to control yourself and make the right choice. ”
She rises, walking over to me slowly, the weight of her broken body heavy against the walker as she keeps her gaze on mine. It’s like looking at a shadow of the woman she might have been if my father had never existed.
“You’re better than him in every way, Oliver. Don’t you ever doubt it. Your father wasn’t a monster; he was just weak and bitter all his life. You’re my son, and the kindest man I’ve ever known.”