“Explain yourself,” Olivia yelled.
“I don’t understand. I didn’t do anything.”
“You did. Daddy saw you.”
“Saw me where?”
“Out back, dancing in the mud. In. My. Dress!”
“Not true. Daddy’s lying. I swear.” Her chin quivered, and for a moment, Olivia wondered if their dad did lie. Then she saw Lily’s hands. She grabbed her wrist and twisted her hand so they could both see the dirt caked under Lily’s fingernails.
“Liar!”
“It’s paint,” she cried.
“I don’t believe you. I’ll never believe anything you say, not when the proof is right there.” She gestured at Lily’s dirty hands and left the room.
Olivia slaps the lid on the pink shoebox. Something about that memory doesn’t sit right with her. It feels different than before, but she can’t pinpoint what. Nudging the box aside, she drags her keyboard forward. She’s about to search the National Crime Information Center website to see if Lily or Josh have been reported as missing when a car door slams, drawing Olivia’s attention away from her computer.
Blaze is back.
The urge to run outside and straight into his arms has her pushing away from her desk. She wants to tell him about Josh. She doesn’t know the first thing about kids. He’ll help her figure what to do. Then memory kicks in and her stomach knots. He’s no longer hers. But he’ll listen. He might even help, though she doesn’t deserve it, not after the scene she made earlier today.
She meets up with him as he’s loading a floor lamp into the bed of his truck.
“I’m surprised you came out,” he says, his back to her.
So is she, but she regrets how she handled herself. It wasn’t fair of her to accuse him of cheating. “I’m not looking to get back together if that’s what you’re thinking.” The snarky comment slips free before she can tell him about Josh.
“Just to ship me off.” His tone has an edge.
She cringes and gives him the shoebox she used to pack his toiletries. He drops the box in the truck bed. It lands with a thud.
She tries again to tell him about Josh. “Blaze—”
His hand is a stop sign between them. Words lodge in her throat. He leans against his truck and rests an elbow on the bed ledge. “You forget how well I know you. You end things before you get too close.”
“I do not,” she says, defensive, even though that’s exactly what she did.
“I should have seen this coming. We were getting close.” His smile is sad. “Not everyone is out to break your heart, Livy.”
She purses her lips and crosses her arms. “This never would have worked out. We shouldn’t have gotten back together.” Then she wouldn’t have had to worry about her heart in the first place.
“I bought a ring, Liv.”
Air rushes from her lungs. She shifts back a step.
“Didn’t expect that, did you?”
No, she didn’t. Her chest strains and she feels a weird scratchy sensation at the base of her throat. “I wish you didn’t tell me.”
He tilts his head. “Why?”
If she’d known he was this far into them she would have ended it sooner. She keeps her gaze fixed on the truck behind him.
He rubs the back of his neck and expels a long sigh. “I’ve never lied to you, and I’m not going to start now. Even in high school I didn’t lie. I fucked up, that’s for sure. It killed me seeing you with Ethan, knowing you were with him because I screwed up.”
It was late in their junior year, after the Whitmans divorced and the doctors diagnosed Rhonda with lymphoma, that Olivia caught Blaze between the library stacks making out with Macey Brown. She broke up with him immediately, right there in the library. Blaze pleaded for months that he’d made a mistake. She almost reconsidered until he started dating Macey officially. Then she met Ethan.
“You never would have been with him if I hadn’t hurt you.” His face tightens and nostrils flare. He averts his face.
She stares at him. Where is this coming from? Blaze isn’t an emotional guy. That’s why she liked dating him. Everything about him was light and fun and wicked good. She should have known a casual relationship was impossible with their history.
“You had no clue,” he says.
None that she was brave enough to admit being aware of. She shook her head.
“Were you aware at all of how much I care about you?” She looks at the ground. He laughs at himself. “Of course you were. Why else would you call it quits?”
“Blaze, I’m—”
“What would you say if I proposed right here?” He runs over her attempt to apologize.
“Now?” Her voice squeaks. Nervous perspiration dampens her armpits. She moves an involuntary step back.
“Thought so.” A sad smile curves his full lips. “Until you get over whatever’s holding you back, no one’s got a chance with you. You won’t let anyone in.”
She doesn’t want to. She has every intention of flying solo from here on out. But it still bites when he calls her out. “You’re saying I’m a bad person.”
“Don’t twist my words.”
“You think I’m horrible.” She’s the one who treated him horribly, but she can’t stop the outpouring of accusations. She wants him hurting as much as she has in the past.
“Liv.” He says her name with an air of impatience. He cups the back of her neck and brings her forehead to his lips. He kisses her and she wrenches from his grasp. “Hope you’re happy.”
“I am happy,” she snarls. Emotions seethe. Forget it. She doesn’t need his help with Josh. She just wants Blaze to leave so she doesn’t feel worse than she already does. Get this over with already.
He just laughs. “See you around town.” He pulls himself up into his truck and drives off.
“I’m not a bad person,” she screams after his truck, flipping him off. He might be looking in his rearview mirror. “I am happy,” she mutters when he turns the corner. She has a beautiful home with a resort-like backyard. She was incredibly successful in her career. She’s pursuing her artistic aspirations as a graphic novelist and she’s been quite successful with that, too. Her first book was a bestseller. With Blaze gone, she can get back to her life without the risk of someone screwing her over.
But dammit, she’s on her own again with Josh. She rubs her cheeks. Smooth, Liv. She just keeps flying off the handle and landing in shit stew. Blaze’s proposal blindsided her and she freaked out. Now she needs to resolve what to do with her nephew. By herself. She also wants a smoke. But she checks on the kid first.
Despite the late hour, light spills from under Josh’s door. She lightly knocks, and when he doesn’t answer she cracks the door to find him fast asleep. She tiptoes across the room to turn off the lamp and glances at his bare head. “What the—?”
He lies on his side, knees bent, and sheet pulled up to his waist. He snores gently and a frown mars his forehead as he dreams. The Padres cap rests on the pillow beside him, his hair flopped to the side revealing a crescent-shape surgical scar, the staple indentations visible.
She lurches upright and back. Whatever happened, Josh had hit his head hard enough to require surgery. Did he have a brain bleed? A hematoma? Given how pink the skin is, the procedure was more recent than what Josh described as “long before . . . here.”