13. Oliver #2
“You’re asking me for advice?” I peel off my gloves and wipe my hands on my jeans.
“Yes—no—I don’t know!” She sounds flustered, like a storm building under her skin. “Roger’s timing couldn’t be worse. Showing up now, of all times…”
“Why’s that?”
Because of me? Because of the night we spent together?
She gestures toward the mess, irritation flashing across her face—and even though I should be disappointed, I can’t help but laugh.
I sit beside her, a little closer than I should, and glance over my shoulder, scanning for any curious eyes—especially Lucien’s. When I see the coast is clear, I let myself relax a little.
“I know this year’s been hell for you all,” I say, tearing up bits of grass the way I used to when I was a kid. “But I promise I’ll do everything I can to make it better. We can go shopping, get you the basics to start over.”
“It’s not your responsibility. We’re not your responsibility.”
She puts extra weight on that we, and I can hear the pride buried under her exhaustion.
“We always get through things—just… this time, everything hit at once and—”
She exhales, drowning in her own thoughts.
“It’s not yours, either,” I say quietly.
Her hair’s fallen loose from the bun on top of her head, a few strands brushing her cheek.
Before I can stop myself, I reach over and tuck them gently behind her ear.
“Lucien’s a stubborn man,” I say, trying to sound calm but failing. “What he should do is accept the changes, take whatever help he can get from the government, let me do my part, reorganize everything—not make his daughter carry the weight for him.”
Cala frowns—really frowns—for the first time since I’ve known her, and damn, she looks angry.
“I don’t mind helping them.”
“I know… I know; that’s not what I meant.” I inhale, trying again. “What I mean is none of you let people help. It’s like it runs in the family.”
“Oh, and you do?” she fires back. “I offered you help—a shoulder, an ear—and you brushed me off like I was some annoying fly.”
She’s right.
“Mine’s… complicated,” I admit.
“Everyone’s life is complicated, Oliver. The difference is how we choose to live through it.”
She stands and starts walking away, but I’m not ready to let this moment—this strange, fragile thing between us—end yet.
“I had a traumatic childhood!” I blurt, jumping to my feet. “Talking about it just brings it all back. I’m not pushing you away, I just… I can’t talk about it. Not yet.”
She stops. Turns. We’re about fifteen feet apart, wind cutting between us, but her eyes never waver.
“Sometimes,” she says softly, “what we fight the hardest is what we need the most.”
“Then let me help you.”
Cala bites her lip, searching for a clever comeback, some escape route. But she’s cornered—by me, and by her own heart that doesn’t know how to back off.
“Only if you let me help you too.”
I stretch out my hand, leaving it there in the air between us. When she reaches me, her fingers clasp mine, firm, certain.
“Deal.”
I tug her closer until she’s right in front of me—close enough to catch that faint fruity scent of her perfume.
“We’re going shopping.”
I’m doing something I’ve never done in my life—going to a damn shopping mall.
I hate crowds. Hate them so much that I hired a personal assistant just to deal with my wardrobe, and when it comes to work clothes, I’ve always ordered everything online. So being here, in an actual physical store, feels like stepping back into the Dark Ages.
Guess that vow I made—to never set foot in a place like this—went straight to hell the second I saw tears in Cala’s eyes. Somehow, we convinced her parents to come along, to buy the essentials until they can rebuild their lives and replace everything they lost.
Cala smiles at me as I push Lucien’s wheelchair through the automatic doors, and I try to return it—or at least my version of a smile.
“Why do you have this chair?” I ask my friend as we roll through the mall.
“Lis picked it,” he mutters, keeping his voice low since his wife’s a few feet ahead of us. “Said it was the only one she could find.”
“Well, we’ll fix that,” I say. “You can’t rely on someone to push you around all the time. You need an electric one.”
“Oliver…” he grumbles. “I’m fine with this.”
“We’ll see about that.” I wink at Cala, who’s walking beside us. She catches the look and smiles, like she already knows what I’m planning.
The first store we hit is one of those that sells a little bit of everything. The women go off looking for coats and work clothes while Lucien and I wait by the entrance, watching them drift in and out of the aisles.
Cala holds up a few things to show us—mostly jeans and flannel shirts for working around the ranch. I don’t say a word, but my eyes linger a second too long, tracing the way the denim hugs her just right.
I clear my throat and look away, pretending to study the ceiling. Damn it, Walker, get a grip.
“Oliver,” Lucien says.
Shit. He caught me staring at his daughter’s ass.
“Lucien,” I answer, matching his tone, trying to sound unbothered.
He cuts me a sidelong glance—one of those quiet, fatherly looks that carries more judgment than a whole sermon.
“I know what’s going through your head,” he says.
Shit.
Shit.
Shit.
“And what’s that exactly?” I ask, bracing myself.
“You feel guilty about us.”
The breath I’d been holding finally leaves me. Not what I expected—but maybe worse.
I sigh and cross one leg over the other, resting my ankle on my knee. Pulling my phone from my pocket, I start scrolling through a few messages from Killian.
“See what I’m doing right now?” I ask without looking up. “I’m ignoring you. Let me work while the women handle the rest.”
Lucien just smiles, shaking his head like he can’t believe me—and honestly, I don’t blame him. I barely recognize myself either.
And I’ve got a feeling his daughter—the damn intruder—has everything to do with it.