“I’m not accepting charity.”
“For the last fucking time, it’s not charity. It’s what friends do.”
“And you’ve already done far too much. So has O. Where does it end, huh? How many favours do you both have to give before enough is enough?”
Justin shrugged. “Until you’re back on your feet.”
“And if I’m never back on my feet?”
“Then we figure it out.”
“No. I’ll figure it out. This is on me. Not you.”
“You made it personal when you said I was her damn godfather, Clark! Just accept it and stop being a twat, all right?”
I wanted to tell him to get the hell out but...I couldn’t.
He had every right to yell at me.
Had every concern about how I’d fix this shitty situation.
I’d sold my warehouse and in turn ran the risk of renting.
I’d put Olive’s future at risk all because I hadn’t kept her safe to begin with.
I had no money for a hotel.
No other friends to impose on.
I couldn’t stay at Justin’s ’cause I didn’t want to risk Olive having another meltdown so soon—which only added to the stress of who would look after her if I was imprisoned if she never got over her fear.
And just because no commissions had come in didn’t mean I wasn’t actively trying to find work. Temporary, menial—I’d accept anything if it meant I could at least leave something for Olive.
My temper faded. “O doesn’t want to see me again. Even if I was okay with imposing, yet again, I can’t.”
Olive appeared from her bedroom. Her backpack slung over her shoulder.
The past four days had been an awful whirlwind of trying to explain that we could no longer live in our home, that the few pieces of furniture we had left had to be sold, and I didn’t entirely know what the future held.
Olive had hugged me tight and whispered she didn’t care where we lived, as long as we were together.
I’d been both proud and horrified.
Proud that she was such a brave little thing not to worry about material things. And horrified that I was about to fail her all over again when the summons came.
“Eep, are we moving into O’s?” she asked, her eyes sparkling with hope. “Yay! I miss her. I sent her notes and drawings asking her to visit, but now we get to visit her!” She spun in front of me. “Her bed is super comfy. Do you think she’ll share with me, or I’ll have to share the couch with you, Dad?”
I choked. The thought of being in O’s space, of wanting her, craving her, only for her to look at me in that dead-eyed, all-hope-ended way was unthinkable.
I’d gone to her place hoping to explain myself. To finally share the secrets she’d begged to know. Only for her to push me until I’d pinned her against the kitchen bench and taken her fast and ruthlessly. I hadn’t wanted to do that. I’d never wanted to touch her so violently. Yet, each time we slept together, softness wasn’t part of the equation.
She’d made me take her, use her, and then she’d told me goodbye.
My heart fisted at the thought of living through that torture, day after day.
“Can we go now? I want to see her.” Olive took my hand, tugging me toward the exit. Not caring this would be the last time she’d be allowed in this place.
I held her back, stopping her momentum. “O is too busy to have us stay right now, little spinach. We can visit her, though. You guys could have lunch next week.”
“But Justin said we’re staying.”
“Justin was mistaken.”
“Justin already cleared it with O, and she’s agreed,” Justin interrupted.
“You what?” I spun on him. “What the fu—” I cut myself off, not wanting to swear in front of Olive.
“I asked her a few days ago. She said no problem.”
“Of course, she said no problem.” I raked a hand through my hair. “She’s the sweetest person on the goddamn planet.”
“It’s only for a few days, Gil. Until we can sort something else—”
“A few days is too long, don’t you see?” I wanted to punch him. How dare he fucking meddle? My still healing side twinged. My insides felt hollow. Pain lashed through me. “I can’t expect her to do this.”
“It’s already done.” He strode past me, heading to his sedan and the meagre amount of belongings I’d packed. I wasn’t attached to clothes, and with a totally different living arrangement in my future, I hadn’t bothered keeping crockery and other life requirements. I’d sold everything in a flash sale, earned another few thousand pounds, and budgeted each penny to its maximum.
The only items I couldn’t sell had been my paint supplies. Boxes of brushes, sponges, and airbrush attachments would travel with me. The bottles of pigments would also come. Along with rhinestones, metallics, and a few prosthetics that made fantasy into reality.
One day, I would use those mediums to make another fortune.
Until then, I had to pay the taxes on my life choices.
Jeffrey popped into my head. He’d fucked me over while he was alive, and he still fucked me over even when he was dead. Would I choose differently if I could redo the night I killed him?
I’d asked myself that question a lot.
And the answer was...complicated.
I would’ve spared his life if it meant I didn’t have to let Olive down by going to jail.
I would’ve still killed him because he deserved to know what those girls felt as he watched them fade into death.
There was no right or wrong answer.
Unlike now.
It was wrong to go to O’s. Wrong to encroach on her space. Wrong to not honour her wish to end things permanently between us.
But what other choice do you have?
“Come on, Popeye.” Olive pulled her hand from mine, skipping after Justin as he continued stomping through the warehouse to the pedestrian access. “Time to go see, O.”
* * * * *
“O!” Olive bowled through the door the moment it cracked open. “Hi! Yay, I’m so happy to see you. Did you get my notes? Did Justin give you my drawings?” She squished her face into O’s chest, hugging her fiercely. “I missed you!”
O froze in almost comical shock. Unprepared for a hurricane to smother her with conversation and cuddles. Her eyes met mine, then skated away almost immediately. “Hi, Justin. Hi, Gil.”
“Olin.” I nodded.
The moment polite greetings were done, O dropped her arms and squeezed Olive back with just as much affection. “Hi, little Olive Pip. Man, I swear you’ve grown since I last saw you.” She pressed her hand on Olive’s glossy dark hair. “Yep, you’ve definitely sprouted another inch at least.”
Olive Pip?
O had given my daughter a nickname?
Yet another fist reached into my chest and punched a bigger hole into my heart. If I wasn’t careful, the hole would soon be big enough to bleed me dry.
Olive snickered. “Probably been eating too much spinach. Dad makes sure we eat lots of veggies.”
“That’ll do it for sure. You’ll be taller than him soon.”
“Eww, no.” She wrinkled her nose. “I don’t want to be that tall. I want to be dainty, like you.” Looking past her, she asked, “Can we come in? We don’t have much stuff. We promise not to take up too much room.”