Chapter 8Olivia
Olivia
I should be more than satisfied with a two-week turnaround time from Rico’s. But now that my knuckles are white around the steering wheel, I could’ve used some more time to cook up this scheme. “I don’t know why I’m so nervous.”
“Probably because you’re about to admit to purposely stealing someone else’s ring,” Lauren jokes from the passenger seat.
I chew on my bottom lip, my eyes still glued to the infinite brick of the Federal-style building. “Would it kill you to be serious?”
She holds up her hands. “All kidding aside, there’s nothing to be nervous about. It’s not like you’re meeting with him .”
“Yeah,” I sigh. “I guess that’s true. Officer Bellmont knows I’m visiting this morning, and I’m not asking him to do anything outlandish .” My lips contort in trepidation as Lauren’s silence fuels my doubt. “Right?” I demand.
“No, not really.” The last syllable stretches a beat too long, and my anxiety fills to the brim. “You’re doing the right thing, but we can leave out the part about your ankle. You know, the one that’s wrapped in a duplicated version of the ring that belongs to your knight in shining armor.”
I rest my attention on Lauren, shooting a palm out while my opposite forearm rests on the steering wheel. “You’re being overly dramatic about this anklet. You act as if I’m murdering a person. Or worse, a dog.”
Her brows briefly crinkle, my statement throwing her for a loop until she smirks. “I was going to correct you, but you’re totally right. Killing a dog is worse. Nice catch, Liv.”
“Exactly,” I say. “See? My head is screwed on straight, and you’re being dramatic.”
Her brown eyes glare at me, a finger landing on the center of her crewneck sweatshirt. “ I’m being dramatic? Says the woman obsessed with someone she doesn’t even know.”
A scoff tumbles from my throat, my gaze directing forward again. “I am not obsessed with him,” I counter. “I’m intrigued .”
Lauren huffs a breath, bending down to grab the white box resting beside her sneakers. “Go.” She slaps the cardboard into my chest, and my hands reflexively cradle the sides of the carton. “Before you change your mind.”
My eyes loll to her, shining with appreciation when she jerks her chin toward the driver’s side door.
Before I change my mind.
“He’s still in jail.”
Nausea violently slaps me with the mention of my attacker. Words roll into a large lump in my throat, and my fingers curl firmly around the edges of the box in my lap.
My thighs tense through my distressed jeans as Officer Bellmont’s eyes apologize to me for what I already know. At the end of the day, my assaulter will eventually be released. It’s not a matter of if , but a matter of when .
Black filing cabinets in the corner of the office trap my attention, and I wonder if his information is stowed away there.
No.
Ignorance is bliss, Olivia.
My chest bloats with an intake of breath, head sloping down so my gaze can latch onto the ivory package sitting on my lap. “I’d like to ask a favor,” I start, subtly shifting in the seat across from Officer Bellmont. “I’m really hoping you’ll be able to help me.”
“A favor?” he echoes.
“Yes.” My eyes drag up to his, and those hazel saucers glimmer with surprise. “But I really need you to trust me.”
He sinks back into his chair, elbows resting on either arm so his hands can interlock before him. “Why don’t we just start with what the favor actually is?”
“I really need to thank the man who rescued me.”
A lopsided smile appears on his lips, and he softly shakes his head in disapproval. “I’m sorry, Ms. Sawyer. I already told you I can’t give you any of his personal information. That’s not something we can negotiate on.”
I lower my stare to the gold emblem of his navy uniform, defeat threatening to heist my operation. “I’m not asking you for his personal information. I’m not asking you for a single detail about his life.”
“Then what are you asking?”
I shake out a breath, my fingers whisking the curtain bangs plunging from my beanie.
“I need you to give him something. A few things,” I begin, only to desperately search his eyes right after.
“And I promise that none of my personal information is in this box. I respect his wish to remain anonymous and will keep his wish granted. If you don’t believe me, you can look for yourself and make sure I’ve included nothing about me in here.
” I raise the box to plant it on the cherry wood desktop.
“Except the fact that I’m the woman he saved,” I shamelessly confess.
Officer Bellmont’s brows draw together before extending an arm over the desk. Eventually, his palm finds the top of the carton, and then he’s sliding it toward him.
My hands fiddle against each other over my leather belt, and I study him like a hawk. Watching the way his fingers sift through the items inside, holding each one up with more bewilderment than the last.
Yep, he definitely thinks I belong in a psych ward.
Fear compresses my heart, tears pricking my eyes as I watch him urgently. I’m afraid. Terrified that my efforts will be unsuccessful and I’ll never get what I came here for.
A chance.
He doesn’t have to understand what any of my gifts mean.
He just has to understand my intention.
“This man saved my life,” I tell him. “I can’t live knowing I never thanked him for what he did for me.
It’s because of him I don’t have to walk around with greater scars than the mental ones I sustained from it all.
It’s because of him I’m able to have this conversation with you right now.
” I motion to the box. “I owe him this much. Can you understand that?”
Officer Bellmont arches a brow, stuffing the contents back inside the package. His attention never wavers from the carton, unwilling to acknowledge me until I’m standing from my chair.
“Officer, this is not me asking you to tell him my name, who I am, or where I live. I just need you to send this to him. Or hell, send someone to deliver it at least. You’re the only connection I have to make this possible. Please .”
Ever since I met Officer Bellmont, those green eyes of his have been tinted. Stern. But now? Now, they’re lighter. Softer. He doesn’t even have to speak his next words before my heart flutters with relief.
But they’re the most wonderful words ever spoken.
“I can do that for you, Ms. Sawyer.”
Cade
Chrome Pipes Brewing is set to open this Saturday, and the past couple weeks have been inundated with a whirlwind of tasks.
From promoting the business on social media, getting the name out there to the public, and deep cleaning the space, my mental exhaustion has transformed into the physical kind.
Not to mention, I’ve been a little underwhelmed by Jenna’s enthusiasm lately. It’s not like I expect her to help with anything or jump for joy every time I mention the business, but she’s disconnected. Not just from the company, but from me .
It’s the way she responds flippantly when I ask for her opinion on menu designs, and the way she holds a finger up when her phone is cradled in her palm. I don’t give a shit if she’s on her phone, I just want to laugh with her again. Exchange hilarious stories with her. Be with her.
But I get it. She started a new job recently, and her career has always been just as important to her. As it should be.
I swipe the towel back and forth over my soaked hair, attempting to shake my worry at the same time. Then I toss the terry cloth in the corner of the bathroom, snatching my folded black hoodie on the vanity.
I tug the thick fabric down my torso just as three heavy thuds boom from the first floor. My brows crumple as I slide the hood down the back of my head, chin perking up to listen for a second round of knocks. If it’s that important, I figure they’ll echo through.
But they don’t.
Instead, the ring of the doorbell chimes through the air.
I exit the bathroom and pad down the stairs. When I enter the foyer, I sneak a peek through the sidelight of the door frame.
With the glare of the porch light, the only detail I manage to make out is that of a navy-blue uniform.
A policeman.
I open the door, and as soon as my eyes meet a pair of familiar hazel ones, my chest clenches.
“Officer Bellmont.” I greet him with a curt nod, my free palm lifting to lean on the door frame. “What can I do for you?”
He returns the gesture as he says, “Mr. Owens, how are you?”
A wary grin draws on my lips, my heartbeat accelerating as images of that night scroll in front of me. “I was okay. Should I still be now?”
“I’m not here with any bad news, don’t worry.” The knot in my stomach unwinds, the release of the pressure manifesting a genuine smile now. “I actually came to give you something.”
“Okay,” I respond, brows pinching when my eyes catch the ivory box he’s clasping in his hands. “This is from you?”
“Not me,” he clarifies, offering the carton to me. “From someone who couldn’t live without thanking you.”
My eyes hold his amid the night, silently asking him to explain further. There’s an optimism knitted in his gaze—a buoyancy I failed to notice before. And it only takes another beat to answer my own question.
Her.
The gift is from her .
My throat bobs, my gaze volleying between Peter and the box. “She came to you with this?” I ask.
“Yes. And she wasn’t going to take no for an answer. Demanded to meet with me and even stood up from her chair to defend her case.”
A breathy laugh escapes me, my head turning as I surf a hand through my damp hair. “Is that right?”
I guess she’s feisty.
“I’m afraid so.”
I sigh, returning my attention to the white box before cautiously reaching for it. “So, what’s in it?”
He meets me halfway, planting the package in my open palm. “Something tells me she didn’t go through all this trouble for me to spoil it.”
Confusion crashes into me when the light mass of the box registers in my hand. “Thank you,” I simply say.
“You have a good night, Mr. Owens.”
My head flicks up, nodding once to acknowledge his departure. “You too, officer.”
I stand in the threshold of the doorway for a few quiet moments. The only sound that reverberates around me is the bustling of leaves dancing along the grass. My eyes remain attached to the box nestled in my palm, but the brisk breeze startles my skin.
My feet gradually retreat inside before I swing the front door shut. I walk the narrow hallway to the kitchen, a million different versions of her encounter with Officer Bellmont playing in my head. There’s this foreign excitement inside of me—dormant, but ready to take off any minute.
I rest the cardboard on the reclaimed barn wood of the eat-in kitchen table. The dim glow of the light fixture bounces off the top of the box—an inevitable spotlight on whatever this is.
My thoughts race round and round, knowing this faceless woman touched this package and its contents.
Wild.
My stomach recoils, but even so, I reach out to lift the top flap. I retrieve the folded piece of paper inside only to uncover a pair of stainless-steel wings.
My stainless-steel wings.
She had it the whole time.
I scoop the jewelry up, the hands of the clock rewinding to that fateful night. The flashbacks are muted in the background, and I smirk as I loop the cool metal around my right middle finger. Slipping it down to its original place, I’m somehow graced with a new perception.
When I initially received this ring, it represented the start of something new when I’d left my partnership with Mike. Maybe now it’s just a quaint reminder to live life to the fullest and chase every wild dream.
I can accept that.
I drop my right hand, finally opening the note with my left.
I respect the fact that you’d like to keep your privacy, and I promise this is the first and last time you’ll hear from me.
As much as I would love to return this ring in person and meet the man who saved my life, I’ll happily sit for hours trying to write the perfect letter that expresses everything I want to say to you.
You gave me wings to escape a situation that could have turned my world upside down, and for some reason unknown to you, you felt like my life was worth saving. That I was worth saving.
In the end, you didn’t just give me wings that night. You gave me wings to soar high in this life and reach for the stars. I don’t know who you are and what you’re like, but there is one thing I know without a shadow of a doubt.
This world needs you.
I need you.
I need you to be on this Earth so I feel safe and hopeful that good will always prevail against evil. Your existence reminds me of this every day, and your worth is immeasurable.
Priceless.
Maybe one day I’ll uncover the hero behind his cape and extend my deepest gratitude. But since there is no “thank you” that can suffice for what you’ve done for me, I thought about returning a favor to you.
It’s believed that a white feather drops from the wings of our guardian angels, and I’d like you to accept this feather as a symbol of protection.
Just as you’ve protected me. Call me superstitious or foolish, but I think it’s safe to say I believe in lucky charms. Hang it wherever you’d like, and hopefully you’ll always think of me when you see it.
Not me personally, but how I think of you.
You’ve given me another chance at life and opened my eyes to my worth.
It’s only fair I remind you of your value in case you ever forget it.
You’ll always be worthy to someone.
“Damn,” I whisper before leaning forward.
There it is.
I pluck the white feather from the bottom of the box, the pads of my fingers instantly stroking the vanes. Who knew two people’s lives could become so intertwined in a split second?
Every detail of that night crisps in my head.
The parking lot I was forced to station my bike in when the bigger lots were too crowded.
The credit card machine trouble that added an extra fifteen minutes at the bar.
Small mishaps that seemed like bad luck at the time but paved the way for good fortune.
I’m the last person to believe in “everything happens for a reason,” but my reservation is starting to blur.
Were we brought together for a reason?
The question reigns in my mind like an eternal riddle.