Chapter 14 #2
They walked downstairs. Olivia twisted her long hair up into a topknot.
“Oof.” She took off her sweatshirt, revealing a tank top underneath it. “It’s been a minute since I’ve done that much cardio in sweats.”
He tried to shake off the haze of his past as he walked through the living room, that trashy feeling of neighbors looking at you. Airing out your dirty laundry in front of everybody.
He turned on the oven fan for some noise coverage and walked to the laundry room.
He wiped a hand down his face. “Thank you.”
Olivia’s quiet, understanding smile radiated like the hope of a sunrise at him. “Of course.”
He leaned back on the washer. “We never even talked about my mom. I mean, a coked-out-looking lady came into the backyard, and you handled it like a fucking champ.”
I thought I loved her yesterday. How could that miserable amount compare with the aching ton of it that’s pressing onto my chest now?
God, I’m in fucking love with her, and I barely even know this woman.
She’d ruin me if I ever let myself get too close.
And then he thought back to AB’s bedroom, their yelling in the yard having been drowned out.
She didn’t hear it.
AB didn’t hear the yelling.
This angel of a woman had made everything okay.
“Are you okay?” Olivia asked, her expression laced with concern.
“Yeah,” he said, tossing away the comment. His feelings weren’t really important. “Thanks—”
“Hey.” She caught his eyes and stood closer to him so he couldn’t escape her gaze. Her blue eyes had turned a stormy sapphire. “Are you”—she poked a finger into his chest, emphasizing who she was addressing—“okay?”
No.
That simple admission escaped his subconscious. But that would be enough.
He tried to look anywhere else but at her, and she wouldn’t let him.
He wasn’t used to this, to someone not letting him evade. All five-foot-four of her stared up at him with a mixture of sternness and care.
He cleared his throat as emotion clutched at it. He blinked it away, looking everywhere but at the red-headed work of art in front of him.
“AB’s never been in a house with yelling,” he said, coughing to cover the emotion, blinking his eyes rapidly. “I never want her to think I’m—”
He shrugged, trying to hide a quiver in his lip. He paced in the laundry room to the other side. He stared out at the backyard. “Thank you for playing music to cover it up. I never want her to think we’re trashy, you know?”
He turned to thank her—
“Jesus,” he said, starting.
Olivia was two inches behind him—arms crossed, head tilted. She’d boxed him into the corner beside the dryer and the window.
Her brows drew together. “You did not answer my question. How are you?” She shook his elbow.
Christ, this was new for him.
“I’m—” He struggled with the next word.
What could he even share?
What was even going on in his head?
“A feeling usually comes next,” Olivia said, quirking a smile.
He nodded, trying to do this her way. “Yeah. Mad? I think? At my mom.” He felt lighter as the words evaporated from his mouth.
“And I’m… overwhelmed,” he said, blowing out a sigh. “At how much I appreciate you for protecting Annabelle. She’s not a nice lady, my mom.”
The two feelings seemed to satisfy her.
“Hey. I’ve got you, okay?” she said, rubbing a hand up and down his arm. “And AB.”
He stared at her hand rubbing against the fabric of his shirt.
When was the last time somebody had tried to take care of him?
He felt safe with Olivia, which he realized he did not like.
The harder you love, the harder you grieve. He knew that.
She pulled him down hard into a hug, leaning on her tiptoes and wrapping her arms around his neck.
He was surprised but let his arms wrap tight around her, then squeezed her closer as he savored this new feeling of being cared for.
She pulled back with furrowed brows. “Did you eat lunch?”
He’d been working in the garage since they’d both gotten home at 3:30. It was almost six o’clock now. “Um…” He scratched the back of his head. “No?”
“All right, well, dinner”—she clapped her hands with a bright smile—“is going to be the Olivia Special.”
A grin curled onto his face. “Protein smoothies for everybody?”
“Hey.” She spun in a full circle for effect, pointing a finger at him. “I am an excellent peanut butter and jelly maker.”
“Don’t you need to go do your practice thing?” It felt uncomfortable, even scary, to have someone take care of him.
What if they didn’t do a good job?
Worse: what if they did, and you’d grow to depend on them and then they’d leave you?
“Eh, I can work out after dinner.”
His eyes traveled the length of her taut frame and muscular arms. She looked like she worked out nonstop. But when your body was your job, he understood the need to be on top of things.
“I’m even going to add my special ingredient,” she said with a mischievous smile.
“Love?” he asked, smirking.
“Lack of crusts. It’s the way Annabelle and I prefer them,” she said, comically sassy with her nose in the air as she walked to the kitchen. “Be nice,” she called, “or I won’t cut your cucumbers into stars.”
He laughed to himself, resting his forehead on the wall, at just how fucked he was going to be when she left.