Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
Shaye
Ding!
The elevator doors part, and Oliver and I step inside.
“Don’t think that I don’t realize how you sidestepped the question about who you are as a person,” he says, shoving a hand in his pocket.
“Did I?” I bat my eyelashes at him. “I didn’t realize.”
He bumps me with his elbow as the doors close. “Sure you didn’t.”
I fight off a physical reaction to the contact. “Our conversation just kind of went in another direction. How is that my fault?”
The elevator wooshes as it lowers us to the parking garage. I hope the sound and motion distract him, but it doesn’t.
“You don’t like talking about yourself too much, do you?” he asks.
“There’s not a whole lot to talk about.”
I stare straight ahead, waiting for the ping that will announce our arrival. It will be a good diversion.
Unfortunately for me, the sound rings through the elevator car, but Oliver is undeterred.
“I highly doubt that, Shaye,” he says.
A gust of wind barrels through the parking area. It’s so strong that it catches me off guard. I take a step, but the wind takes advantage of my momentary imbalance and knocks me to the side. I land against Oliver’s arm.
Instantly, his arm goes around me. His hand cups my waist, steadying me with his sturdy grip.
It all happens in an instant—before either of us realizes what is happening.
My gaze flips up to find his already pinned on me.
The heat of his gaze steals my breath, the intensity of his touch silences me.
I can’t pull away. I can’t lean into him. I’m frozen in an awkward-yet-not-awkward position that I can’t do anything about.
I’m electrocuted—held to the spot by an invisible connection that has my body lit up from the inside out.
It’s been so long, so incredibly long since I’ve felt anything like this.
All I want to do is close my eyes and pause time; enjoy being held without the weirdness that will ultimately come from this errant step.
But this is the real world, and there are no remote controls to stop the bad.
Sadly.
“Oops,” I say, planting a hand on his chest. I start to push off, to get back to my own two feet, but I don’t quite have the strength, or the desire, to disconnect myself from him yet. Instead, I stare into his eyes. “I didn’t mean to fall into you.”
He grins but doesn’t move a muscle either. “It’s a thing with you, isn’t it?”
“What?”
His hand clenches a bit tighter on my hip. “You just keep running into me.”
“At least there’s nothing to zip tie this time.”
His eyes darken. And then as if he just realizes that he’s essentially holding me in his arms in the parking lot, he frees me from his clutches.
I stand, wobbling a second as I get myself together. How did it feel more comfortable in his arms than it does out of them?
Oliver straightens his shirt and heaves a deep breath.
Goose bumps shoot across my skin, reminding me of the particulars of the situation.
I need to say something. I can’t stand the silence in all of its trickiness, and if I don’t say something, who knows what might come out of his mouth?
“My middle name is Lilliana,” I tell him. “It’s after my grandmother.”
His hand falls slowly back to his side. He looks at me cagily.
“I like the color blue,” I say. “Deep rather than light. My favorite food is macaroni and cheese. The blue Kraft box, if I get a choice.”
The corner of his lips turn up.
I start to walk toward my car. He follows beside me.
“My favorite movie is Steel Magnolias. I was obsessed with that movie growing up. I named my cat Ouiser when I was nine,” I say.
He nods but doesn’t respond.
“I always thought that I’d have a daughter and name her Shelby Lilliana someday,” I say, pushing a strand of hair out of my face.
“I was stuck on a boy’s name, though. Drum lent itself to a lot of jokes, and I was never a big fan of Jackson.
” We stop at the front of my car. “I was always convinced he was cheating on Shelby.”
“I’ve seen that movie.”
“You have?”
He nods. “My cousin Larissa loves it. That and Fried Green Tomatoes.”
“Oh! I love that one too!”
Oliver grins. “You’d love Riss then.”
The wind picks up again. I turn my back away to shield myself from the dust being thrown around the parking lot.
“What else is there to know about you, Shaye?” he asks.
It might be the softness of his voice. It could be the smoothness of his tone. Still, it could be the way my name feels so intimate wrapped around the twang of his voice. All I know for certain is that the simple question feels a whole lot more complex than it should.
I raise my eyes to meet his. In a flash, my shoulders fall.
All I see in Oliver’s eyes is sincerity—an honest-to-goodness request to get to know me as a person.
I search his features, looking desperately for a sign of deceit. What does he have to gain from this? Would answering it put me at a disadvantage? Do I trust him?
Uncertainty bubbles inside me. The possibility of lowering my guard and being open with this man sends a spike of adrenaline surging through my veins. But the fact that I’m even considering it, something I haven’t done for anyone in a very long time, tells me that maybe it’s okay to open up.
Just a little.
“I don’t know my father,” I admit, my voice just a notch above a whisper. “My mother and I don’t really see eye to eye. About anything.” I swallow past the lump in my throat and look at the ground. “I haven’t talked to her in three years.”
I focus on a bubble gum wrapper that has landed at my feet.
“That’s a long time not to talk to your mother,” Oliver says
“Yeah.” I bend down and pick up the thin waxy paper. “She took my husband’s side in our marriage and then blamed me when he died.”
The words fall from my lips and land in the space between us. This is what absolute silence sounds like.
As if Oliver should have something to say about that, Shaye.
Oliver shifts his weight from one foot to the other.
“I know that sounds like I’m a terrible person,” I say with a sigh. “I mean, whose mother does that? It paints me in a really bad light, but—”
“But nothing.”
My attention snaps to him.
His eyes are narrowed, his lips pressed into a firm line.
“I feel like I should explain,” I tell him.
“If you want to, then sure. I’ll listen. I’d love to know why your mom took someone else’s side in your marriage. It would justify my anger right now.”
I lift my chin.
“But there’s really no explanation needed for your pain, Shaye. And all I really care about is you.”
The bridge of my nose pinches as a swarm of emotions gathers in my chest.
The wind swirls around the two of us. The sound of the air rippling through the concrete and light posts act as background noise for the cacophony of my thoughts and feelings struggling for attention.
And all I really care about is you.
I know he doesn’t mean it—not in the way it sounds. I’m positive he just means that I’m his employee, and I’m the only person involved in the situation he knows.
Still, no one besides Lisbeth has said that to me. Ever. And to hear someone say that, regardless of how they meant it, renders me speechless.
Oliver studies me with the most tender look in his eyes. “I hope you have someone to talk to.”
I nod, still unable to formulate words.
“You said you’re an only child, right?” he asks.
I grin at him. “You remembered I said that.”
“Of course, I do.”
A small, disbelieving laugh escapes my lips.
“And your husband died?” he asks carefully.
“Yeah. He did.” I give myself a second to walk through this conversational door. “We were getting divorced anyway. It just wasn’t final yet. He had a car accident and didn’t make it.”
He shoves his other hand in his pocket. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“It was three years ago. Not that three years somehow erase the trauma and all that comes with it, but time makes things more manageable.” I shrug. “It’s hard to explain that to someone who hasn’t experienced it.”
Oliver leans against my car. The halogen lights above give him a warm, orange-y glow. He stares off into the distance, choosing his next words.
“I haven’t lost someone like that. Just grandparents. But,” he says, letting a sigh surround the word as if he doesn’t quite want to transition into the next part of the sentence, “I was engaged once.”
“You were?”
He twists his lips. “Yes.”
“Can I ask what happened, or is this too personal of a topic?”
He looks at me. “Do you want to know?”
I think about it before answering. “Yes.”
“Her name was Kendra. She was having an affair that I didn’t find out about until after I asked her to marry me. Something that she and her friends all made clear that she wanted.”
“Ouch.” I frown. I think it’s clear she’s a fucking fool. “She sounds like a bad apple.”
“She was a rotten one.” He smiles as he leans up and away from my car. “Rotten to the core.”
“Luca, my husband, was rotten to the core too. I often wonder if he was always that way, and I just didn’t see it or if he rotted while we were together.”
He slips his hands out of his pockets. “What you’re really wondering is if you’re to blame somehow for it. If he was rotten before, then you just didn’t see it. If he changed while you were together, maybe you had a hand in it. Am I right?”
I exhale sharply.
What he said is absolutely true. It’s a deep, dark fear that I only let myself consider in the middle of the night. I’ve never admitted that to anyone before—not to Lisbeth and not to the therapist I saw for a few weeks after Luca’s death.
Oliver’s question, coupled with the complete lack of blame in his eyes, is like a button has been pushed.
What you’re really wondering is if you’re to blame somehow for it.