This bloke, who’d been more like a brother to me than any other family, went out of his way to make sure Olive was comfortable with him. To prove to her that he was trustworthy. To prove to himself, and to me, that when the day came for me to be locked up, he could cope being a godfather and Olive could cope being raised by yet another man who wasn’t her dad.
Fuck.
Slamming my laptop closed, I eyed it. Perhaps I should sell it too. After all, the uploaded content didn’t seem to be resurrecting my career, and I didn’t need the expensive Photoshop software to edit my painted canvases.
My career was dead.
The public had officially murdered any chance I had of climbing my way out of the hole I was in. Not to mention, O hadn’t messaged me or emailed or attempted to get in touch in any way.
I checked my phone for the billionth time today.
She’d gone from coming around when she wasn’t invited to avoiding me at all costs.
The amount of times I’d stared at her number on my phone, willing myself to call her, even while knowing I never could was pathetic.
In her mind, we were over.
In my mind, I couldn’t allow us to be.
Not like this.
Not without confessing everything.
“Hey, mate.”
I jolted as Justin appeared behind me, slapping a hand on my shoulder and eyeing my phone. O’s contact details blazed on my screen, condemning me to a life I’d totally destroyed.
“Still not got the balls to call her, huh?” He tutted under his breath. “Two weeks is a long time. She might’ve moved out and flown overseas for all you know.”
I stood, shoving my phone into my pocket and marching past all my paint supplies that no longer had a purpose and into the small apartment.
“Hey, Dad.” Olive waved with her tiny paintbrush as I brushed past her and planted a kiss on her crown.
“Wow, that’s amazing, little spinach.”
And I wasn’t just saying that.
My daughter was fucking talented.
Her eye for shading. Her patience with detail. Her skill at intricacies. I’d like to think she inherited all that talent from me, but the reality was, she got some from Jeffrey too.
God rot his soul.
“It’s a toucan to go in the rainforest.” She pointed behind her at the rainforest graffiti on the wall. “It needs more animals in there.”
“Good idea. Perhaps do an otter next.”
The word turned to ash on my tongue.
Otter.
O.
Fucking hell.
I couldn’t stop thinking about her.
I’d always carried her in my heart since I’d walked away from school, but now the memories of her, the thoughts of her, were a hundred times stronger.
I couldn’t stop them. I had no peace from them. Every part of me craved to see her. To touch her. Kiss her. Slip inside her and erase all the badness between us.
Carrying on into the kitchen, I tore open the pantry and grabbed a box of risotto. Tonight, I’d cook creamy mushroom risotto because it was filling and cheap and the leftovers could make a pasta bake tomorrow night.
I’d make every penny stretch as much as I could, so Olive at least had some cash to take with her when I was incarcerated.
Justin unbuttoned his blazer and sat on the wooden barstool. His hands rested on the same counter where O had cornered me, stolen my vodka bottle, and I’d consumed her instead of alcohol.
My gaze fell to the floor where I’d thrust inside her for the first time. The rush of lust and the cloak of shame at being so rough with her after only wanting to be gentle. My healing side twinged a little, jerking me back to the present.
“You’re thinking about her again,” Justin muttered under his breath. “Why don’t you do what I said and talk to her?”
“Shut up.” Opening the fridge, I pulled out an IPA and shoved the cold bottle at him. “Here. Sip your beverage, let me cook, and then you’re leaving.”
Unscrewing the lid, he smirked. “How about I’ll drink my beer and harass you while you cook? I like that plan better.”
“I just won’t listen to you.” I tapped my ears. “Selective hearing, Miller. And tonight, I don’t want to hear what you say every fucking time you come here.”
“What? That I think you’re giving her too much space and should go over there before it’s too late?”
My heart kicked. “You keep threatening me that she might have gone. But...has she left yet?”
“No, but that’s beside the point. The longer you leave it, the harder it will be.”
Hard, definitely.
Hard emotionally and physically.
My body tortured me on a daily basis. I almost had a fucking wet dream the other night. I woke to an orgasm threatening to crash over me, her scent in my nose and her touch on my skin. I’d finished myself off in the dark, drowning in the fantasy that I hadn’t destroyed us.
“I’m honouring her wishes, Miller. She wants nothing more to do with me. And I can’t fucking blame her.”
Justin swigged his beer, settling in to give me the lecture he’d given almost every night he’d visited. “Yes, you fucked up. Yes, you used her to find Olive. You didn’t tell her—or me, I might add—what you were going through. You pretended you hated her, when really, you’ve always loved her. You sent out so many mixed signals and made up so many lies that she has no idea what part of you is real.”
“Exactly. That’s exactly why she wants nothing to do with me.” I dumped the risotto into a pan and scooped some butter into it.
“So...why don’t you go and tell her the truth? Why don’t you show her what part is real so she knows for sure that leaving is the right choice.”
“She deserves better.”
“Ugh, don’t start this martyr bullshit again, Clark. You know as well as I do that if she’d truly been afraid of you, if she truly never wanted to see you again, she would’ve booked a ticket anywhere in the world to run away from you. She would’ve vanished by now.” He pinned me with a stare. “But she hasn’t. She’s still here. She’s waiting for closure or hope—just as much as you are. So...you should go to her.”
“She probably wouldn’t even open the door if I knocked on it.”
“Don’t you owe it to both of you to find that out instead of making up bullshit excuses?”
I scowled. “Just stay out of it.”
He looked over his shoulder at Olive still engrossed in her painting. “Answer me one question. If the answer is honest, I won’t bring this up again.” He drew an x over his chest. “Cross my heart.”
I rolled my eyes, ignoring the itch of healing from my wound. “No chance.”
He lowered his voice, not giving me an option. “That teacher bitch you told me about. She took your virginity, right?”
Tearing open vegetable stock and pouring it over the risotto was suddenly fascinating. I kept my gaze well away from Justin’s. I’d told him where Olive had come from a week ago. I’d skimmed the details but gave enough that he looked even more fondly at Olive. As if being abandoned by her mother after raping her father made her even more worthy of being protected at all costs.
It so happened I agreed with him.
Olive didn’t have an evil bone in her body. She was my little firecracker. My tiny tornado angel. The fact that I’d soon be torn away from her brought as many sleepless nights as I’d suffered when she’d been torn away from me.