15. Oliver
Iwent to bed thinking about her—and now, at five in the damn morning, I’m doing the exact same thing.
What the hell is wrong with me? What does Cala Saint-Clair have that’s got me like this?
The answer doesn’t come easy, but I’ve got a pretty good guess. Her hands. There’s something about her hands that makes me want to beg her to touch me, to run them over the places no one’s ever dared to go.
I’ve always dreamed of finding someone who could give me that. Someone who could quiet the demons from my past, the ones that built me into who I am, the ones that taught me how to keep my distance… and stay there.
Belonging.
That word’s so far out of reach it almost feels imaginary, like a kid saying he wants to be an astronaut. Something fleeting, unrealistic.
Last night after dinner, I stayed in the kitchen helping Eliza. Normally, she talks my ear off, so much that sometimes I stop responding just to see if she’ll notice. She never does. She just keeps going.
But last night, she was quiet. Still. And when I handed her the last plate to put in the dishwasher, she said just one thing:
“Go find her.”
She looked at me with that sweet, knowing smile only older women have and handed me the keys to the Rover.
I didn’t argue.
Didn’t bother explaining that she’d completely misread the situation. I just drove straight to the arts district and waited outside the restaurant for her like some kind of obsessive fool, a man ready to claim something that doesn’t even belong to him.
When I saw her come out, I could tell right away she was either uncomfortable, bored, or both. Her face said it loud and clear. And I’ll admit it—God help me, I was glad.
Glad to see her irritated with that… that kid. Because that’s what he was, a kid. Barely old enough to grow a beard, for crying out loud.
The jealousy hit when I noticed the look in his eyes. I knew that look, hungry, possessive. And I couldn’t stand the idea of his hands anywhere near her. Near that body. The one I barely got to touch in the barn. The one I can’t stop thinking about exploring inch by damn inch.
So, yeah. My hand went straight to the horn, and I laid on it like a four-year-old banging a drum set.
The headlights flashing? Part of the show.
I wanted that date over. Didn’t care how insane it looked, that was the only thing keeping me up all night afterward.
Now, as I walk through the house, I’ve got one goal: the gym. I need to work off this tension, get it out of my system, because if I don’t start sleeping again soon, I’ll lose my damn mind—and maybe my company along with it.
The problem is, to get to the gym, I’ve got to walk through the kitchen… where Eliza and Cala are sitting, coffee cups in hand, mid-conversation.
They both go quiet the second they see me.
“Morning…” I say carefully, eyeing the two of them like they might spook if I breathe too loud.
They answer in unison.
Cala’s wearing jeans, a blue jacket, and a long braid that falls all the way down her back. She’s clearly ready to face the cold. But then she glances over her shoulder, and her eyes drag over me, slow and deliberate, from head to toe.
Damn it, don’t look at me like that, Cala…
I keep walking before either of them notices the very real problem forming in my gray sweatpants.
Yeah. This living arrangement’s gonna be really hard.
I answer Killian’s call while jogging on the treadmill. In the mirror, I catch sight of myself—sweat dripping down after a heavy lift.
Exercise is non-negotiable for people like me. The kind who lives with PTSD. That’s why the ranch works, it drains the excess energy, keeps my mind from wandering to the dark places it likes to visit.
“Hello?”
Instead of his voice, the Lone Ranger theme blares through the phone. Killian loves that kind of crap. I roll my eyes, already irritated by his childish sense of humor.
“You done?” I ask, slowing the treadmill to catch my breath.
Killian’s laugh bursts through the speakers—loud, open, completely genuine. It’s one of my favorite sounds, though I’d never admit it out loud.
I’ve always envied him, if I’m honest. My little brother’s got that energy, that charm that wins everyone over. He makes people laugh without trying. Sometimes I think that’s who I could’ve been, if life hadn’t… well, if things hadn’t gone the way they did.
But that’s a thought I’ll never get to test.
“At least once a year I have to pull that one,” he says, voice echoing slightly—he’s on speaker, of course. “It’s tradition.”
“At my expense.”
“Well, brother, the day you learn to laugh at yourself, you’ll be a new man.”
Yeah, sure.
“Did you need something?”
“Yeah, an explanation for what the hell happened in Texas. I’ve been calling for days and you’ve been ghosting me.”
I stop the treadmill and let out a breath.
“A tornado hit Lucien’s place. Wiped it clean off the ground. Everything else is fine.”
I grab a towel, wipe the sweat off my face, and glance at my reflection in the full-length mirror.
The gym isn’t big, but it’s got everything I need and for a guy like me, that’s plenty.
“Jesus Christ, Oli! Where the hell did this streak of bad luck come from?”
“I don’t know, and at this point, I don’t even want to.” I grab my water bottle, taking a long drink. “The Saint-Clairs are staying at my place for now. Just until we rebuild theirs.”
“Oh, so she’s under your roof now. Interesting.” Killian drags out the last word, then suddenly yells, “WHAT THE—?! Are you insane?! Who gave you a driver’s license, you moron?!”
He’s definitely driving through San Francisco traffic. I can practically picture the chaos.
“Don’t start, Kill.”
“Oh, come on! You didn’t see what that idiot just did, he almost hit me!”
“I meant your comments about Cala.”
“Ohhh, so it’s Cala now…” He laughs, low and smug. “You’ve gone thirty-two years without mentioning a woman by name, and suddenly she works at your ranch and bam, you can’t stop saying it. That’s gotta mean something.”
“It means that… that…” I try to spin a lie, but something lodges in my throat instead. My jaw tightens. “God damn it, Killian!” I shout.
He goes dead silent.
“I slept with her.”
“I knew it!” Tires screech through the phone, followed by a chorus of honking horns. “Tell me everything. Right. Now.”
I sit on the bench and drag both hands down my face. “We got stuck in the barn. The tornado almost swallowed us whole, and when it was over...everything went to hell.”
“I once saw a porn that started like that,” Killian says. “Did you screw her on the hay?”
“Yes.”
“What?! I was joking! That girl’s wild!”
“You have no idea.”
“Damn. Was it good?”
“The best sex I’ve ever had.” My voice sounds more worried than proud.
“Shit. I’m actually speechless and that never happens. So, what now?”
I drop onto the bench and cover my eyes with a towel. “Nothing. She’s my employee. I can’t keep this going. It’ll only end badly.”
“Or… really, really well.”
“Highly unlikely.”
“You’re always so damn negative, brother. Maybe try giving yourself a break.”
“Her father would kill me,” I mutter. “You should see the way he looks at me whenever we’re in the same room.”
Kill laughs. “Smart man. He knows Walker men only break hearts.”
I can’t help but laugh too. “Speak for yourself. Anyway, I’ve gotta head to the office.”
“But I still have questions!”
“And I still don’t have time.”
“Well, now that you mention it, neither do I. Gotta get to work.”
“Weren’t you driving there already?”
“No, just dropped Giuliana off at her place. You remember her? The Italian model.”
“The one from Milan?”
“No, the one from Rome.”
My brother—always chasing new women, never repeating. “I have no idea who that is,” I say with a laugh. “Bye, Kill.”
“Bye, big brother!”
He doesn’t ask for permission; instead, he reaches out, his hands grasping and probing places he has no right to touch.
I writhe in the bed, desperate to escape the invasion of his rough fingers and the sick hunger in his eyes.
Panic rises inside me as I shout, “Stop touching me!” The names tumble out next.
“Silas! Luca!” but my cries seem to vanish into the void. “No!”
“Oliver!”
My eyes snap open.
Sweat covers my forehead, my arms are shaking uncontrollably, my breathing’s all over the place.
“Oliver, it’s me, Cala.”
I turn to the left side of the bed. Cala Saint-Clair is there, her big dark eyes filled with worry.
Without thinking, I bolt out of bed and head straight for the balcony.
The cold hits my chest like a punch. The sweat on my skin makes every gust of wind sting.
Hands on my knees, I start my ritual.
Inhale for four.
Hold for two.
Exhale for four.
She crouches in front of me; her hands pressed to her stomach.
“What can I do? Tell me something. I just… I want to help.”
“Stay still,” I murmur between ragged breaths.
Fear claws at me—not just for myself, but for her.
In these moments, when panic has its grip on me, I can never predict what I might do or say.
Yet Cala remains steady. Her patience is unwavering, and I have to acknowledge that.
She sits beside me, watching with a tranquil presence that’s rare and comforting.
Meanwhile, I’m falling apart, my thoughts spiraling, barely holding onto reality.
Her calm is the anchor I desperately need as I lose control, and I find myself both grateful and terrified for her sake.
My heart pounds so hard in my ears that I can barely hear my surroundings. My body shakes so violently it’s hard to stay on my feet. This isn’t getting any better, and she knows it too.
“Oliver, let’s do it together,” she says, kneeling in front of me. “Inhale.”
She takes a deep breath, and I try to copy her. “Hold, four, three, two, one. Exhale.”
We repeat the same thing four times. My vision begins to widen again, to clear. My body starts to register the cold, and my hands don’t shake as much anymore. At least I can hide it better. I’m sitting on the floor, curled into myself, my head between my knees.
“Can I touch your back?” she whispers.
I nod.
Her hand moves in slow, gentle circles across my back, and a soft, melodic sound escapes her throat—something between a hum and a lullaby—that loosens every muscle in my body.
We stay like that for a long time. I’m torn between wanting to keep my head down for two very different reasons: one, because I want to keep enjoying this without her seeing my eyes; and two, because of the shame, raw, heavy, unbearable shame.
At the same time, I can’t help but worry she’s cold. She’s only wearing her pajamas, and the air out here cuts deep.
“What are you doing here?” I ask. My voice comes out rough, almost harsh, but it doesn’t stop her hand from moving across my back.
“I heard strange noises,” she says softly. “I came to warn you, but then I realized they were coming from here. Were you having a nightmare?”
I nod.
“Do you want to go back inside?”
I shake my head. Then she stands up and leaves. I tell myself it’s for the best, that she should stay as far away from me as possible. A man this broken, this beyond repair, has nothing to offer someone whose life is full of color and laughter.
But Cala surprises me again. She comes back a moment later, draping a blanket over my shoulders and tucking it around me. I look up, stunned by the simple kindness. Then she wraps one around herself too. Her hair is loosely tied back, her pajamas just a long-sleeved shirt and gray cotton pants.
When she notices me watching her, she smiles softly.
“Hey,” she whispers.
“Hey,” I answer, my voice rough. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
Minutes pass.
The night has fallen completely, and the sound of crickets fills the air. Somewhere out in the dark, coyotes roam my land, their howls echoing in search of their pack.
“I don’t want to talk about what just happened,” I mutter.
“I know. Do you want me to go?”
I take a few seconds too long to answer. My mind says one thing, but my mouth betrays me.
“No.”
Cala settles in, resting her head near the foot of the lounge chair to look up at the stars. I follow her lead, letting the constellations pull me in.
“My grandmother used to invite me over to her house to watch the stars,” she says. “She could spot the constellations like the back of her hand.”
“Which one was your favorite?” I find myself asking.
“Draco,” she replies with a quiet laugh. “I guess it was the easiest one to find.”
I glance upward. The sky is so full of stars it looks dusted in glitter. To me, it feels like home, the place I go to in my head whenever I dream about peace.
Only this time, Cala’s here. And somehow, that doesn’t seem like such a bad alternative.
I watch her as she gazes up at the sky, the same kind of reverence in her eyes that I feel in my chest.
“You talk about your grandmother a lot,” I say. “Were you two close?”
“She was my best friend.” Her smile softens, though I can see her body trembling under the blanket, her legs pressed against the cold floor of my balcony. Guilt knots in my chest.
“She gave me the necklace you found in the grass,” she adds, brushing her fingers over it. That’s when I notice her hand trembling too, but in her case, it’s from the cold.
“Come on,” I say, getting to my feet.
I reach out my hand, and she takes it tightly. The warmth of my room hits us the second we step inside. The bedside lamp is on, probably her doing.
The clock reads three in the morning.
“Do you want some water? Something to eat? I think Eliza baked cookies for tomorrow.”
I shake my head and gently pull her hand toward the bed.
“Sleep. It’s late.”
I can see the questions flickering across her face when she realizes I’m guiding her to my bed, not hers.
“And you?” she asks softly.
“I can’t sleep again. But you get some rest. You’ve got a few hours left.”
She grabs my other hand and tugs me toward her.
“Try.”
I groan under my breath, but I give in—like I always do with her—and slide under the sheets. She crawls in beside me, curling up against my back, her hand resting on my waist, her leg slipping between mine.
I close my eyes—and let myself fall.