“You are worthy of living your own life,” I whisper, my voice clouded by the steam rising from the water. “Don’t let anyone else live it but you.”
“But I don’t know how to follow my dreams.”
I grab her hand, placing it against her chest, watching the water cascade down her heated skin. “You follow what’s in here. What does it tell you?”
Staring into her eyes, she’s only inches away from my lips. I wanted to kiss her, beg her to unleash on me, but I know there are cameras everywhere, so I begin to pull away slowly, waiting for her response.
“It tells me we need to get out because my skin looks like a prune,” she says, then shifts her gaze to meet mine. “And nothing good will come from being drunk with you in this spa.”
It’s the most honest thing she’s said all night.
Despite my reluctance to pull away at this moment, I have to respect her decision. I owe her at least that since no one else will.
We get changed, separately, and head back to the car.
The ride home is quiet. We listen to music and open the windows to let the cool night’s air inside.
When I park the car out front and walk her through the gate, she says goodnight until I call her name from the bottom of the steps.
She turns around, watching me with her curly hair falling past her shoulders. I want to go inside, make sweet love to her, and promise her more than I should, considering the time we’ve spent together. But, I don’t want to push that boundary, not when I am unsure of exactly which path to go down myself.
I am not sure of anything.
“I wasn’t meant to ride my bike that night, but arrogant me wouldn’t listen to my coach. I was above his direction when it came to after hours.” I clear my throat, closing my eyes. “The guy in the car, he blew three times over the limit. Ran a red light, and I had no chance.”
Gabriella doesn’t say a word, instead stands perfectly still and listens.
“I have nightmares every night, which is why I have insomnia. So, that’s i-it,” I stammer. “That’s it.” I didn’t know what else to say, baring my soul to her in a way I never have with anyone else. Not Ma or Pa or even my two-hundred-dollar-an-hour therapist.
Gabriella’s footsteps move toward me, stopping at the step just above where I’m standing. Her arms wrap around my neck, and there, under the moonlight, she holds onto me tight, the scent of her skin only inches away from my lips.
“I know that was hard,” she whispers against my ear, “But thank you, Olly. Thank you for trusting me enough to tell me how you’re feeling.”
I don’t want her to let go. Something forewarned me that opening up to her was more than getting something off my chest. I’m trusting her with my heart and soul.
A messy way to get incredibly hurt.
Gabriella
I woke up the next morning feeling brand new.
My body clock woke me at exactly half-past five, after what felt like the most magnificent and peaceful sleep ever.
Lately, I dream every night. The dreams vary between certain animals, snakes in particular, to falling off the edge of a building. They have been so vivid, often causing me to wake up utterly exhausted from the constant worry.
This morning was different.
I lay on my back, arms sprawled across the pristine white sheets I had bought to match the décor of this house. Despite it being a holiday rental, using someone else’s sheets wasn’t exactly my idea of hygienic. I even went so far as to splurge on luxury pillows. If there is only one thing my mother knows how to do right, it’s purchasing ridiculously expensive bedding fit for a queen.
The sun hasn’t risen yet, but the sound of birds chirping outside the window hint that it’s early morning. My mind begins to reminisce about last night, replaying like an olden-day movie.
Things between Oliver and I have begun to shift. A direction I so desperately want to follow, yet knew I had to hold back.
Oliver is so carefree with his thinking, not understanding why someone wouldn’t just live their life on their own terms. The more I tried to justify my father’s behavior, the more I sounded like an idiot. Oliver doesn’t understand what my father is capable of. I’ve seen it firsthand, how easily he destroys people’s lives without a care in the world.
And I would be no different.
Blood is not thicker than water. If you do him wrong, you will pay no matter who you are.
I somewhat feed off Oliver’s confidence, desperate to have his courage, willpower, and drive. He didn’t let anything stop him—the arrogant Aussie thought he was better than everyone else and deserved only the best.
Oliver only thought about himself—his career, his goals. Selfish, perhaps, but his determination got him this far, and nothing seems to deter him.
I crave to be around him, looking forward to his texts, or even the way he annoyingly refers to me as Gabs. As far as our friendship goes, we are platonic. Neither one of us has physically crossed the line, and I ignore every part of me wanting to take that line and shove it up someone’s backside.
Oliver treads that line with a careful balance.
I close my eyes, remembering how close he sat beside me in the spa, how our bodies were only inches apart, and how I wanted him to throw all caution to the wind and kiss me deeply. If we both had acted on spontaneity, not for one second thinking about the consequences, where would we be this morning?
But like always, the guilt is a toxic wave refusing to settle. It eats away at me when I least expect it, and last night, standing on the steps as he poured his broken heart out, I knew I was in trouble.
Oliver Madden is all I can think about. And seeing him in pain almost killed me.
I need to see him now.
I change into my workout gear, brush my teeth, and try to tame my hair. It’s an epic failure, as usual, so I decide to quickly braid it away from my face.
Late last night, I cleared it with Aubrey to borrow her spare key which she kept under a potted plant out front to use it to wake Oliver up. It wasn’t without a thousand follow-up questions, all of which I promised to update her on soon.
With the front door closed behind me, I tiptoe toward his bedroom, stopping near the living room to pat Pixy as he’s nestled into his bed, before heading back down the hall.
As I enter Oliver’s room, he’s lying with his arm over his shoulder, torso in full view. He’s all muscle, a delicious sight with a small amount of hair in the middle of his chest. I crave to run my fingers through it but know better.
He begins to stir, watching me as he grunts. “What the hell?”
“It’s morning. Rise and shine, baby,” I cheer.
“Do you know this is the first time in months I’ve had more than four hours sleep? And how did you even get in here?”
“Is that how you greet all your women callers?”
“You’re the first one who’s stalked me all the way to my bedroom.” He rubs his hands against his face to wake himself up. “If it helps, I’m going commando under the blanket.”