Chapter Twenty-Eight
Oliver
Fuck.
For someone who rarely swears, my brain is doing a whole damn lot of it tonight.
I hit my head against the shower wall to accompany the fucks that have taken over it and let the water scald me in penance.
How could I not have defended her?
I froze.
I love Lemon, but my girls are my entire world, and her father has the power to disrupt everything they know with the snap of his fingers.
What’s worse is I saw myself in that moment.
Is that how I am with Bry? Lashing out and demanding obedience without letting her get a word in? Without listening to her side of the story?
I rode back with Mr. Perkins and his fiancée. Lemon didn’t exactly leave me a choice, speeding off in her Mustang with half my clothes and my phone.
It gave me time to set the record straight with her father. I explained Shaylyn’s tire problems, how calm and collected Lem was in the moment, even saw his eyes light with pride when I told him about the roadside concussion screening and subsequent vomit.
“So, this is the reason for the missing clothes and the swimming in the river? You were…getting clean?”
My stomach dropped when he asked that question, and it’s all I could do not to stumble over my lie of an answer.
“Of course.”
I’ve saved my job, secured my daughters’ futures, and gotten Emil off her back with two short words, yet somehow it feels like the beginning of the end.
I bow my head and try to pray, but all I see are her eyes and the tears I put there.
ME:
Are you up?
SOUR PATCH:
I’m obviously not.
Brat.
I smile that she hasn’t shut me out completely, and I prop myself against the headrest. I don’t even know where to begin with this.
ME:
I explained everything to your father.
SOUR PATCH:
…Everything?
Several minutes go by while my texting dots blink empty promises.
SOUR PATCH:
That’s what I thought.
Sour Patch has turned on Do Not Disturb.
Six thousand sheep and twelve reps of pushups later, and I’m still staring at the inside of my eyelids, waiting for sleep to take me.
It does not.
At 2:33 in the morning. I flick my fingers through the blinds, drawn to the brightness that pours through the slats. The sky is dark, barely a sliver of moon, so it’s the stars lighting the sky, sparkling even in the darkest night.
And now I’m thinking about Lemon.
Those are just things Lemon is.
Ice cream. I rise from the bed.
I’ll sugar-crash at the very least. Or maybe I won’t sleep at all after what we did tonight.
Broke laws. Got messy. Won bets.
We lived.
What would Lauren say to me now?
I wonder what she’d think about the man she fell in love with, the careful musical major with a promising future.
The one who planned to open his own studio and play for the world.
The one who wanted to be a loving father who provided his children with everything, even if he had to scrape the ground to obtain it.
The one who got on one knee to promise her the world and cried on those very same knees to a God who ripped her away when he was barely a whole man.
“You’d tell me to fix this, Lo. To stop being so me.
” I stab the metal spoon into the center of the carton and dig out the biggest hunk of cookie dough I can manage, then I shovel it into my mouth.
“Lemon’s probably thinking that, too,” I mumble around the frozen mouthful.
I swallow, letting the cold burn my esophagus so I can fucking feel something, as she says.
But I feel plenty.
I feel happy, proud, and hopeful one day, and terrified of those same feelings the next. Happiness means you can be sad. Pride allows for being humbled. And hope…
It died with my wife.
“You hear that, God? I stopped hoping, because she stopped living. How the hell am I supposed to hope and live and dream when those things are what cause the most pain?”
“You just grow a pair of ovaries and deal with it.”
“Lem.” I shove off my stool, but she stops me.
“Pain is life, Oliver. You should know that by now. But life is more than that. Look at me. Is there more to me than meets the eye?”
Of course. I struggle to say the same words I used as a lie to her father. I need to tell her what I said.
“Well, is there?” she hisses. “Answer me. Is there more than meets the eye?”
“Yes!”
“Pain only wins if you let it. You’ll feel it whether you decide to or not. So be more than meets the eye, Oliver. Dare to live how you want regardless of the pain. Despite the consequences. Bend them to fit your life, like rules, choose what you want and fuck the rest.”
“I choose you, Lem.” My voice cracks. “I do. What we said in the river, what we did…it’s real, and I want it, and I choose you.”
“But you didn’t.” She swipes the ice cream from the counter. “You didn’t choose me.” Stepping into the light, she licks the spoon clean, eyeing me as she tongues the metal. “You didn’t choose this.” She runs the spoon down her chin, neck, and then I see it.
“Is that a Darkpath shirt?” I move closer, but as my jaw tightens, her eyes blaze.
“Oh, this old thing? She fingers the hem, drawing it up to the tops of her thighs. “Could be anyone’s.” She closes the distance between us, turning and pressing her ass against my erection.
And yes, I’m fucking hard for it, because she knows every one of my buttons to push. Including…
“Does it bother you that it’s touching my bare skin? Skin that should be yours?”
My hands find her hips and fist the fabric. She grinds against my cock, punishing me with my own desire and taunting me with the reminder she could be with anyone she wanted right now, even an entire band, but she chose me.
And I didn’t do the same.
“Makes me want to rip it off you,” I hiss.
“Why?” she breathes. “Say it.”
“Because you’re mine.” I finger the hem, brushing my fingers over the bare flesh beneath, but she shoves me away.
“No, not yours, Oliver.”
My forehead pinches. “What about the river? What we both said. Your father understands about Shaylyn.”
“How stupid can you be, Nash? Jesus Christ, you’re a whole lifetime older than me and you can’t even do simple fucking math.
You say you want me, but when the time came to claim me, where was that same desire?
Does my father know of our relationship, or does he still think I’m your nanny, and you’re some persuadable older man who couldn’t keep his dick dry around the boss’s daughter? ”
I drop my head.
“You didn’t accept the title when my father was dangling the question in your face, and you didn’t correct him when he assumed I was no better than some coochie casting succubus luring you to my womb.”
“Womb?” I flick my eyes to her stomach, and my cock suddenly aches to fill it.
“Don’t you dare think about it.” She seethes. “No kinky stuff for you until you wake the fuck up.”
“Lem, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize—”
“You didn’t realize anything, Oliver. That is the problem here. So, if you want me? If you really, truly want me like you say, you need to realize all the shit and then come back to this conversation once you have.”
I swallow my words.
“Now, I’m still going on that camping trip tomorrow, because I promised your girls I would, and I do not break my promises, do you hear me?
It has nothing at all to do with my uncontrollable feelings for you, or the ache I feel between my goddamned legs from the thrust of your gargantuan fucking cock. ”
She storms up the steps before I can respond, and she takes the ice cream with her.