Chapter 43 Olive
Chapter forty-three
Olive
There are so many things a small-town girl like me could never have imagined herself doing.
Never in my wildest dreams did I expect to play sold-out stadium shows across the country.
I never thought I’d be at a beach in Florida, swimming confidently alongside new friends who aren’t blood but love me like I’m theirs—friends who like me, for me.
And never, ever, did I expect to be presenting an award for Best New Actor at the F and T awards…to Cole Green.
A man I consider family.
All of it—every wild, impossible moment—happening with my husband by my side.
Husband.
The word’s been easier to say lately. It doesn’t leave that bitter taste in my mouth anymore when I think of him, or what we are to each other. Now, it leaves me feeling…unburdened. Like, even if this all ends, and he decides not to keep me in his life, I’ll still know I mattered to him.
Though you wouldn’t know it right now. Avery’s been on edge since we left Florida, and no matter how hard I press him for answers, he gives me nothing.
No matter what I do. No matter what I say.
I could feel my sisters’ eyes on us while we were on stage presenting the award to Cole. He barely said two words on stage, totally ignoring the lines written out for him on the teleprompter. I had to act fast and remain calm.
Because that night wasn’t about us.
I still have time off before the final leg of the tour, and Avery only has one more night off before he gets back to basketball.
And while last night wasn’t about me and Avery, and what we are…tonight is.
Because tonight, he’s meeting my family for dinner—and we all have to pretend we’re not strangers who are suddenly desperately in love with each other.
Nobody can throw around a casual ‘Nice to meet you’ or a bright ‘Hi, I’m Olive’s mother, Roxanne.’
Dinner’s at a packed restaurant, which means the second we walk through the door, every eye in the place will be on us.
Can’t wait.
***
"Wow," Avery says, drawing a deep, steady breath, puffing his cheeks before slowly letting the air out. "You look…" He hesitates, then trails off without finishing his compliment. No "beautiful." No "sexy." Not even "you look nice."
His gaze drops to the floor, breaking contact with mine, and I feel the loss deep in my core. I don’t need him to compliment me. I don’t need him to tell me I look good. But the fact that he didn’t—the fact that he looked away before he could spit the words out—tells me I’m right.
There’s something wrong, and he’s too damn stubborn to tell me what.
"Avery, come on." I step closer, my heels clacking against the hardwood.
He takes a step back.
"What is it?" I ask. The question lingers longer than I hoped it would.
I want him to just spill it. Open up like it’s the most natural thing in the world. But he doesn’t. He just shakes his head, slides his wedding band onto his finger, then takes my hand.
He fiddles with the jewelry on mine, eyes still down, then brings my palm to his lips and presses a soft, warm kiss there.
"It’s nothing. It’s..nothing." His voice cracks, weak and raspy, sending a chill up my spine.
"I don’t speak in code, Avery. We don’t speak in code. I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s wrong. I need you to talk to me." I thread my fingers through his, try to pull him toward the couch, but he doesn’t budge.
"When I know, I will tell you. But tonight, let’s just enjoy dinner with your family. We’ll focus on the rest later. Alright?" Those sapphire blues finally meet mine, stealing my breath and sending my heart galloping against my ribs.
I hesitate for a moment before repeating that one, small word.
One I hope is enough to steady us, if only for tonight.
"Alright."
***
Looks like everyone decided to come to dinner. Cassandra called ahead and booked a table big enough for ten—if you count Willow.
And somehow…everyone’s getting along?
It’s kind of freaking me out. Though Mom’s using the baby as a distraction, avoiding eye contact with Avery or me for more than a few seconds, constantly asking Cassandra if she can help in some way. Much to Roxanne Herring’s disappointment, my big sister and Harley have everything under control.
Also? Mom’s a total baby hog. I had to pry Willow from her grip just to sneak in a quick cuddle before her next feed.
But apparently, Willow finds me comfortable. She’s been using me as her personal mattress for the last hour.
Avery, Harley, Cole, and my dad have spent the entire dinner talking about sports.
I thought it would be awkward. I thought Dad would make it hard for my husband to even breathe.
I didn’t think Avery would even want to talk to anyone, especially since he’s barely spoken to me.
But I’ve never been happier to be wrong.
"So," Cassandra says loud enough for everyone at the table to hear, though I know in my gut she’s talking to one person in particular. Avery shifts in his seat beside me, uncomfortable, while Willow squirms at the sound of her mom’s voice.
I catch Lizzie’s head snap toward Cass, bracing for whatever’s about to come next.
"So." Avery clears his throat, the corners of his lips tugging up—just barely. He can feel the weight of everyone’s eyes on him, but he doesn’t seem to care. His eyes are firmly locked on Cassandra’s.
"Olive?" She raises her brow, crossing her arms over her chest. She didn’t say my name to get my attention. No, she said it like a question, aimed at Avery. Like she’s trying to kick off a conversation they’ve already been having in their heads.
"Olive." Avery nods, draping his arm across the back of my chair, and kisses my temple. My body melts into his. Cassandra’s eyes flick from him to me. With a slight tilt of her head, she smiles in approval at us.
"You won't hurt her?" she asks. Mom’s cutlery clatters loudly against her salad bowl.
"Momma Cass is fiery, I like it." Jenna snickers while Cole pins her with a look. She throws her hands up in surrender, and he kisses her shoulder.
Cassandra might sound like the protective big sister just trying to guard my heart, but everyone here knows what she really meant. That question had two edges.
Hurt…or hurt.
As much as I hope Avery’s not offended by the double-edged dagger my sister just tossed at him, his face is unreadable.
He could be offended.
He could be fucking pissed.
Either way, he doesn’t let it show.
"I won’t." His brows knit as he lifts his ice-cold glass of water, takes a sip, then sets it back on the table. "But…"
"But? Come on, I was just starting to think I could like you, Jones.
" Cassandra slouches back into her seat with a defeated sigh. Dad chokes on his beer but doesn’t say a word.
This is not a battle he wants to fight. Mom rises from the table and gently lifts Willow from my arms. I let her go, not sure how awkward this is about to get.
"But," he continues, "who’s to say she won’t be the one to hurt me?"
Talk about a loaded question. I swallow the lump in my throat, my body going stiff under the heat of my mom’s stare.
I won’t. The words hover on the tip of my tongue, so close to spilling across this table for everyone to hear. But those words and the weight behind them, it feels like something meant for just him and me.
No one else.
Because to me, those two words carry just as much weight as the famous three. The ones that have been clawing their way to the surface since that night in Florida.
And I’ve been too much of a chickenshit to do anything about it.
The silence is thick enough to taste.
One by one, every person at the table turns to me. Waiting and waiting for me say something.
Anything.
I look my mom dead in the eye and say, "I need to use the restroom."
Then I walk away, not daring to look back.
"Olive, are you in here?" Mom’s voice echoes beneath the bathroom stall not long after I close the door. I knew she’d follow me. I hoped she would.
I slowly unlock the cubical door and step out, staring at my feet instead of the eyes that mirror my own. "You love him, don’t you?"
I collapse into her chest, sobs racking through me as I finally let it all out.
Thinking I was dying.
Being away from home.
The diagnosis—something that could steal my quality of life.
The medication.
Avery.
The marriage.
She wraps her arms around my neck, and I loop mine around her waist, crying into her chest, no doubt smearing mascara and foundation all over her soft pink blouse.
There’s so much I need to unpack with my mom, so much I want to say. But I can’t bring myself to say any of it out loud.
I write songs about other people, for God’s sake. I don’t talk about my feelings. Why start now?
"I’m scared, Mom," I whisper, my lip uncontrollably trembling.
"Is he as bad as they say?" she asks, her voice low and careful. But the question catches me off guard.
I pull back from her chest, and her arms drop to her sides. I wrap mine around myself to make up for the sudden loss of her touch.
"Not even close." I wipe the tears off my cheeks, grabbing paper towels to dry my eyes. "He’s—I—"
"Then we love him, too. I don’t need the details.
I don’t need to know how you feel. If you say he’s good, and he treats you right?
That’s all your father and I could ever ask for when it comes to you girls.
As long as you three are happy, love freely, and are loved in return, we’ve done our jobs as your parents. "
She pulls me back into her chest, places a kiss on my head, and runs her hands down my back. "You tell that man how you feel when you’re ready. If he’s as good as you say he is, he will wait as long as it takes. I promise you that."
She kisses my cheek, and slowly, my tears start to dry.
I will tell him tomorrow.
I will admit that I love Avery Jones tomorrow.