Total pages in book: 29
Estimated words: 27832 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 139(@200wpm)___ 111(@250wpm)___ 93(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 27832 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 139(@200wpm)___ 111(@250wpm)___ 93(@300wpm)
His features twist with emotion.
“I love her too,” he admits. “I miss her so much.”
“I miss her, too. I miss both of you.”
Oliver’s eyes, the same shade as mine, turn cold as he narrows them. “You should never have put her in a position where she felt like she had to lie to me.”
“I know.”
“You were her doctor for God’s sake.”
“Believe me, I know how fucked-up it is. But that doesn’t change the way I feel about her.” I swallow thickly. “Tell me what to do, Oliver. Tell me what to do to fix this.”
“I don’t know. I wish I did.” He sniffles. “Nat was always better at this kind of stuff. I bet she’d know exactly what to say right now.”
“I’m sure she would.” I can see Natasha’s determined stare as clearly as if she were here with us. I can’t help but chuckle. “She’d have us breaking bread again in no time.”
We stand in silence for a long moment, listening to the gentle lapping of the lake. I glance over at my son, searching his profile for traces of the little boy who used to squeal with joy every time I picked him up from kindergarten. He’s become a mystery to me, and it breaks my fucking heart to think that I’ve destroyed my chance at getting to know the man he’s still growing into.
But I won’t give up on us. No matter how many times he slams the door in my face.
“Are you hungry?” I ask him. “We’ve still got steaks in the freezer. I could throw a couple on the grill along with some ears of corn.”
Oliver hesitates, shifting his duffel bag to the other shoulder. I’m prepared for him to say no, but to my surprise, he shrugs one shoulder.
“Fine,” he says. “On one condition. You let me start up the grill.”
“You remember how?”
“Not really. But that’s what the internet is for.”
I roll up my sleeves with a chuckle.
“Well, I’m here if you need a refresher.”
I follow him into the house with a small, hopeful smile on my face. Nothing’s fixed; one productive conversation doesn’t mean we’re cured.
But it’s a start.
CHAPTER NINE
NATASHA
No amount of Chinese takeout or romantic comedies on Netflix can distract me from the gaping hole in my chest. I lost the two most important men in my life. My best friend and my boyfriend. Gone, in the blink of an eye.
And I only have myself to blame.
My phone chimes on the couch beside me. I close my eyes and sigh. It’s probably Evan again, asking if I’m okay, wondering where I am. I’m at Hailey’s, but he doesn’t know that. I don’t want him to know because if he knows, he might come for me, and I don’t want that.
Except I do. I really, really do.
The phone vibrates as a reminder that I’ve missed a text. I flip it over, then blink twice at the name on the screen. It wasn’t Evan who texted me, but Ollie.
I swipe down to read the message.
Ollie: Yoga at 3?
This is the first I’ve heard from him since our big fight. I wanted to text him every day since it happened, but I didn’t think he’d be happy to hear from me. I wonder if he and Evan ever managed to sit down and talk about their issues. I suppose the only way to find out is to ask. But it’s not the kind of thing you just bring up out of the blue.
My stomach flutters as I type back a quick, Okay.
I know which gym he wants to meet at. It’s the same one we always went to together, every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday afternoons. I put on a pair of leggings and a loose tank, then grab my bag and head out the door.
Ollie is already there when I arrive, stretching on a yoga mat. He’s already laid one out for me beside him.
All good signs, I tell myself. Still, I don’t want to get my hopes up.
“Hey,” I say to Ollie.
“Hi.” His smile is brief, but genuine. “I, uh, got you a mat.”
“Thanks.” I lay my bag down on the floor and take a seat on the yoga mat.
Our instructor, Skyler, welcomes us to the class and starts us off with a warm-up. I try to focus on my breathing and my posture over the next hour, but I can’t resist stealing glances at Ollie.
Is he still angry with me? I wonder. And does he still expect me to choose between him and Evan?
After class is over, Ollie suggests we grab smoothies at the café across the street, his treat. Seated together at a table by the window, neither of us seems eager to be the one to ruin the tenuous good mood.
“I’m sorry,” I say finally, stabbing at my strawberry-mango smoothie with my straw. “I’m sorry for keeping my relationship with your dad a secret. I should have told you who he was from the beginning.”