Chapter 11
Olivia
Isip my drink, nodding along as Cameron launches into another story, something about a golf tournament, or maybe a fishing trip. Honestly, I’m not one hundred per cent sure but I smile regardless.
He hasn’t asked me a single question since I sat down.
The Rig is busy tonight, a low hum of music, clinking glasses, laughter from a table across the room. I focus on that for a second, let it fill the silence in my head before Cameron’s voice yanks me back in.
“—and then I told him, ‘Well, that’s what happens when you cheap out on your truck tires.’” He laughs at his own punchline and glances at me, like he expects me to do the same.
I smile politely, taking another slow sip of my drink.
It’s not that he’s rude—he’s just… exhausting. And loud. And more interested in hearing himself talk than getting to know the person sitting across from him.
Which, unfortunately, is me.
“Do you come to The Rig often?” he finally asks, breaking his monologue for what might be his first attempt at conversation.
“Not really,” I say, “but I like the atmosphere.”
He nods, looking around like he owns the place. “Yeah, yeah. I come here all the time. Know the owner, actually. Good guy. I get a discount on the top-shelf stuff.”
Of course you do.
I glance down at the condensation sliding down the side of my glass. My dress feels a little too tight now, my heels pinching. I shift in my seat and try not to let the disappointment show on my face.
I wanted to be open to this, to trying. And Cameron seemed fine enough when Aubrey mentioned him. But now that I’m here, with him sitting across from me, talking over the music and completely unaware of how checked out I am, I can’t help but wonder—
What am I even doing here?
Cameron’s voice cuts back through my thoughts. Loud. Confident. Still going.
I nod again, almost on instinct.
It hits me like a train at how familiar this feels.
How many nights had I done this back home?
Sitting still, smiling politely while someone talked at me, not to me.
Learning to make myself small, to not interrupt, to not redirect the conversation, to be the kind of woman who listens and nods and says the right things at the right times.
I grip the base of my glass tighter. This isn’t what I wanted.
I glance across the table and force another smile as Cameron starts a new story—something about golf this time.
And I wonder quietly to myself: If I left right now, would he even notice I was gone?
I glance toward the door, trying to figure out how to make a graceful exit without seeming rude. I don’t owe him anything, I know that. But old habits die hard.
“This has been really nice,” I say, folding my napkin and setting it beside my glass.
He leans back in his chair, totally relaxed. “Right? I feel like we really clicked.”
I blink. Did we?
“I had a great time. You’re super easy to talk to,” he adds with a grin, as if he’s paid me a compliment.
I force another small smile. “Yeah, thanks for the drink. I should probably head out now though, early start tomorrow.”
“Oh, yeah, sure.” He waves it off like it’s no big deal, already signaling to the bartender. “You good getting home?”
Of course it would be too much to actually offer to walk me.
“Oh yeah, I live just around the corner. I’ll be fine.”
He shrugs. “Cool, cool. I’ll text you, yeah? Maybe we can do this again sometime.”
I nod, even though I already know we won’t.
“Great,” he says, and then he’s already turning back to the bar, chatting with someone he knows, like the night’s just a pit stop on his way somewhere else.
I slip out quietly, the cool night air brushing against my skin like a sigh of relief.
Once I’m home, I kick off my shoes, swap my dress for cotton pajama shorts and a tank top, and tug my hair into a messy bun on top of my head. I sink into the couch with a sigh, finally able to breathe.
My phone buzzes beside me.
Two messages—one from Aubrey and one from a number I don’t recognize at first. Until I open it.
Unknown: Hope your date goes well. Kade.
I blink at it. Read it again.
It’s the first time he’s ever messaged me. Before I let myself think too much about it I tap into Aubrey’s instead.
Aubrey: Sooo how’s it going?
Me: You’re not allowed to set me up again.
Aubrey: Oh no why?? Do I need to kick his ass??
Me: No ass kicking necessary. But let’s just say… he likes the sound of his own voice. A LOT.
Aubrey: Oh. Shit. Yeah, not great. He was always a chatterbox in school, but I thought he had charm too.
I close the thread, laughing softly to myself. My first date was an absolute flop. Of course it was.
Just as I go to set my phone down, it vibrates again. I glance at the screen, this time, it’s Ivy.
“Hey,” I say as I answer, leaning back against the cushions.
“Hey, bestie. How’s life?” Ivy’s voice bursts through like sunlight, and instantly, my chest tightens with something like homesickness.
“It’s good. I miss you.”
“Me too. I hate that I haven’t seen you in, what six weeks now? Tell me everything, I need all the tea.”
I grin and start filling her in. I tell her about the quiet little town I’ve come to love, my job, the office, how I work with Kade and Brandon. Of all the things I tell her, her first question, naturally, is… are they hot? I laugh so hard my stomach hurts.
I tell her about Aubrey, how close we’ve gotten, and that she set me up on a date tonight.
“Oh my god. This is huge!” Ivy squeals. “Your first date!”
“No, no. It was awful. He talked about himself the entire time. It felt like being back at one of those Gala’s in Glenwood Hills.”
“Oh no, really?” she says, her voice falling a little. “That’s disappointing.”
There’s a pause.
“I still can’t believe I wasn’t there for your first date. We always talked about it.”
My throat catches for a moment. I grip the phone tighter.
“I know. I thought about that tonight, too.”
I pause, debating whether to ask the question that’s been hovering in the back of my mind. Eventually, I gather the nerve.
“How are things there?”
Ivy exhales slowly on the other end of the line, and the sound alone makes guilt bloom in my chest. I left her to deal with the wreckage I walked away from.
“Your parents are acting like nothing happened,” she says. “Saving face. You know what they’re like. Your dad’s asked me a few things here and there, but mostly they’ve kept their distance.”
“And Caleb?” I hate the feel of his name on my tongue. It tastes like ash in my mouth.
There’s silence. Long enough to make my skin crawl.
“Ivy, it’s okay,” I say softly. “You can tell me.”
She sighs again, heavier this time. “He’s pissed, Liv. A few weeks ago, he cornered me at the grocery store, demanded to know where you were. I played dumb, of course, but it was obvious. He was barely keeping it together. That rage? It was right there, just under the surface.”
A chill snakes down my spine.
“I haven’t seen him since,” she adds quickly, like she can hear my breath catch. “But I know he’s still meeting with your parents.”
Fear and guilt twist inside me, sharp and immediate. My eyes sting, and I blink against the tears threatening to fall. The thought of Caleb actively looking for me strikes a deep, familiar panic—one I thought I’d left behind.
Sensing it, Ivy’s voice cuts through gently. “Liv, listen to me. You’re safe. He doesn’t know where you are. He’s just embarrassed and throwing a tantrum. Don’t give him space in your head. Focus on your life now—the new one. All the amazing things you’re experiencing.”
I sniff, trying to hold it together. “I’m so sorry.”
“Stop that,” she says firmly. “You have nothing to be sorry for. I’d do it all over again if it meant seeing you free of that place. This is where you’re meant to be.”
She softens, her tone tender but resolute. “Going forward, we don’t talk about him—or your parents—unless there’s something you need to know. Okay?”
“Okay,” I whisper, overcome with gratitude for her loyalty, her strength, her love.
The rest of our conversation drifts into lighter things. We laugh, we reminisce, and for a while, it’s just the two of us again, just like old times. I’m reminded, yet again, of how lucky I am to have someone like Ivy in my corner every step of the way.
By the time we hang up, my cheeks ache from smiling, and the tightness in my chest has eased just enough for me to breathe again.
I set my phone on the coffee table and sink deeper into the couch, pulling the blanket over my legs. The apartment is quiet, warm, still. Safe. And for the first time tonight, I feel like I can finally exhale.
The date might’ve been a disaster, and the past still lingers like smoke I can’t quite shake—but I’m not that girl anymore. I don’t have to sit in silence while someone talks over me. I don’t have to smile and nod and pretend.
I’m building something new here.
Slowly. Quietly. Day by day.
And even on the nights when it all feels like too much, when fear threatens to crawl back in—I remind myself: I’m free.
And I’m not going back.