by Masen, Kat
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.”
I so want to test him, but resisting, I tease, “I wouldn’t put it past you. Now, c’mon, lazy bones, we’re going to miss it.”
He turns around, pulling the blanket with him. The top of his ass is exposed, and holy shit, he isn’t kidding. I stare at his back, admiring his skin, and why do I want to bite his ass? That’s very unladylike.
“I’m going to wait for you out front,” I tell him, trying to tame my imbalance of hormones at this point. “To give you some, um… privacy.”
“Are you sure?” He rips off the blanket, his ass now completely exposed. “Come join me.”
I almost choke at the sight of him naked. Backing away from the bed, I turn only to walk straight into the door. The pain ricochets through my face and up to my temple. “I’m sure.”
Struggling to open my eyes, his smirk is all I can see. Asshole.
“You okay, Gabs? I don’t picture you as a prude.”
“I’m fine, I’ll meet you outside.”
“Stop!” He hops out of bed, standing in front of me, and my eyes wander carelessly to see the bedsheet wrapped around his waist.
“Hey, eyes up here. I know you’re keen to see the Colonel Madden, but I need to check your nose.”
He scans my face, sliding his finger against the bridge of my nose. The bone is tender, and my eyes are still watering from the collision.
“You know, a Major General is higher than a Colonel,” I tease, trying to keep a straight face and ignoring the pain.
With a smirk in tow, his eyes dance with delight. “I didn’t know that. Perhaps you should look to make an educated decision.”
I punch him in the chest, pulling away. “Another time, playboy.”
Careful to open the door this time, I’ll meet him outside, praying a bruise won’t appear from the brutal hit. Ten minutes later, he’s there, all dressed and yelling at me to keep up.
Today isn’t as bad. I’ve surprised myself with how fast I can run without falling into a heap on the pavement.
By the time we arrive at the pier, we make it just in time to watch the sunrise. The sun blooms on the horizon, golden petals stretching outward into the rich blue sky. My body relaxes at the stunning sight. It’s the invitation to a new day, new possibilities filled with hope and endless dreams. Dreams I have trained myself to stop conjuring up because they never belong to me.
Even when the world around me feels like it’s drowning, the sky always remains beautiful. It’s become my savior, my glimmer of hope when darkness shadows the light at the end of the so-called tunnel.
And beside Oliver, I allow myself to dream.
I dream of watching this forever.
With him.
“It’s beautiful, don’t you think?”
From the corner of my eye, I can see Oliver staring at me. “Yeah, I think.”
“Don’t you wish you could watch this every day?”
“I wish for that every night,” he whispers.
I turn to face him, unsure of what to say without saying something I might regret. He’s lost in thought, watching the sunrise quietly. I observe his sharp jaw, chin, and cheekbones, and the way his hair, a mess of sandy blond strands, frames his face. When Oliver falls quiet, such as moments like now, he’s incredibly beautiful. An odd description to use on a man, but I can’t help but use a word so fitting to what I see beside me.
“I want to take you out for breakfast,” I say, breaking his deep stare out over the ocean. “Are you free?”
“I have to be somewhere at eleven, but free before that.”
We run back, stopping at Sally’s, which isn’t as busy given the early hours of the morning. Taking our usual table, we both order and sit quietly watching the few people who stroll by as we wait for our food to be served.
“You’re quiet today,” I mention, not oblivious to his calm demeanor.
“I’m thinking.”
“About what?”
“You.”
“Me?” I ask, nervously playing with the end of my braid. “Why?”
“Because I’m thinking about how someone like you doesn’t see all the beauty around you. Every door is open, and she’s only staring at the one that’s closed.”
He’s quick to bring it up again. I grab the napkin, placing it on my lap to avoid eye contact as a waitress serves our breakfast. My acai bowl looks delicious, yet so does Oliver’s bacon, eggs, and hash browns.
“Oliver, you just don’t understand.”
“Make me understand, Gabriella.”
“You called me by my first name?” I lift my gaze, staring directly into his eyes. “I don’t want to be just a senator’s wife. I don’t want that life for me. Sebastian is no different than my father.”
“Then explain to me why a man, no different, has allowed you to walk away?”
“I don’t know…” I murmur, twisting the napkin to calm my anxious nerves. “I thought I just needed time to figure things out… and now… I’m all confused.”
The second I say it, I regret it instantly.
Oliver has to know it’s about him.
He must know that he circles my thoughts almost every minute of the day, tearing my conscience apart.
Desperate to change the topic, I muster up a smile as I observe his plate. “How’s your breakfast?”
“It’s great, thanks…” He pauses, then puts his fork down, resting his elbows on the edge of the table. “This confusion—”
“I don’t want to talk about it. At least, just not now.”
He doesn’t force another word, respecting my decision to no longer entertain this topic. We eat the remainder of our food in silence until Oliver suggests we leave, so he can attend his appointment he has across town. I don’t ask any further details while we walk back to the house silently.
“Oliver?” I call, waiting for him to turn around. “Just give me time, okay? I need to process all this.”
His soft lips stretch into a smile that doesn’
t quite reach his eyes. They’re lit with sadness, and no doubt pity, because he can’t grasp the way I live my life and the feeling of entrapment.
For a few moments, I stare at him, almost sure his expression mirrors mine. I want to ask him to stay, come inside and sit with me. But I know that would be asking for something only to satisfy my needs. Play the selfish card because he has somewhere important to be, and I want him to put me first.
I want anyone to put me first.
Including myself.
Oliver disappears around the corner without a single word, and once again, I’m alone.
I close the door behind me, resting against it while I try to come to terms with what just happened. Inside my head, I can’t comprehend my feelings toward Oliver. Sexual attraction is one thing, but the way he makes me feel in his presence—alive and worthy of this life—I just can’t, no matter how much I try, get my head around those thoughts.
My heart, on the other hand, knows what the hell is happening, waving red flags at me to walk away now before it gets too messy.
I wrack my brain trying to remember when I last felt this way. It wasn’t with Pierce Worthington in senior high when I lost my virginity to him on prom night at The Ritz-Carlton, nor was it with William Chesterfield in college during our eight-month relationship.
And it isn’t with Sebastian King.
It is now, with the arrogant Aussie next door.
After a long shower, desperate to rid my thoughts and gain some clarity on the situation, I settle myself in the kitchen with a strong coffee and my new book. I opt for reading non-fiction—a simple way to steer my brain toward something educational.
There’s a gentle knock on my door breaking my concentration. Aubrey strolls in, dressed in a pair of denim shorts and a ripped tee, carrying a basket of muffins.
“Good morning, how are we today?”
“Good,” I answer, eyeing her cautiously. “What’s with the muffins?”
“I just thought they would be nice.”
“Thank you.”
“All right…” She states, placing them down on the table and sliding into a chair. “I need a huge favor.”
Of course, never take muffins from a neighbor without a string attached.
“Spill…”
“It’s Chance’s and my anniversary. I’ve planned a night away, and Adele was supposed to babysit, but she’s got food poisoning. If I cancel, it’s non-refundable.”
“You want me to babysit? At your place?”
“Pretty please? Don’t worry about Olly, he’s out tonight. He said he wouldn’t be home until tomorrow.”
The disappointment stabbed me like a thousand knives. And just like that, the man who I thought I knew has become a complete stranger once again. Oliver never mentioned going out, let alone overnight. He has a whole other life which I know nothing about. Surely, it involves a woman. We are nothing. He’s certainly not tied to me whatsoever.
“Sure, I can take care of CJ.” I smile, hiding my humiliation. “Go. Enjoy yourself and have copious amounts of sex making every woman in the rooms surrounding yours jealous.”
Aubrey winks, laughing. “That’s the plan.”
Oliver
“I’d like to refer you to a specialist in Colorado.”
Dr. Wheeler slides over a piece of paper with some contact details.
“He’s an old college friend of mine, but I can speak to him privately and organize for you to see him as soon as you can get there.”
It isn’t the news I was hoping for. As I sit here, squirming in this uncomfortable chair and listening to Dr. Wheeler, I try my best to ignore the nagging voice inside my head telling me the fight is over.
I am naïve to think my scans would come back positive, and straight off the bat he would tell me I could play again.
It takes me a moment to process and accept another roadblock in the journey of finding my way back to playing soccer. With my posture fallen and mood souring by the minute, I leave Dr. Wheeler’s office to pull out my phone, needing to hear her voice at this very moment.
“Olly?”
“Hey, Ma.”
I miss her so much, more than I care to admit. Being here feels so far away from home and the sound of her voice reminds me of that.
“Is everything okay?” she asks, worried. “It’s… oh, wait a minute, your day, our night.”
“Just wanted to check in. How are things back home?”
“Pa just installed a new aviary out the back, which means he spends all his time trying to find exotic birds online. Can you remind me why I married such a man?”
I can’t help but smile. Pa is quirky that way, and no doubt depleting their retirement fund on some bird from Africa which could repeat the alphabet as well as hum to classical music.
“And you, Ma?”
“I’m missing you, kid. That’s for sure.”
“Miss you, too, Ma.” I let out a sigh and proceed to tell her about the appointment.
My parents have been by my side every step of the way. Ever since I could remember, they supported my desire to play soccer. When I was twelve years old, I tried out for an elite sports school in Sydney. I received a partial scholarship, and in just a few weeks, Pa sold our country home and moved our entire family to Sydney.
They drove me to games and spent copious amounts of money on holiday programs to develop my skills. They were, and always have been, my biggest supporters.
“You’ve never been one to give up, Olly. So, you’ve hit a roadblock, that’s why detours were invented. Book your flight, get your butt up to Colorado, and if you need us, you know we’ll fly up in a heartbeat.”
“I know, Ma. Thanks for the chat. I better go. Love you.”
“Love you, too, my son.”
I hang up the phone feeling extra homesick. My parents were never too far away, and even my annoying sisters were usually chasing my tail. But being here, thousands of miles from a place I’ve always called home is enough to throw me into a major funk.
Over the next few hours, I bum around town, walking aimlessly around Sunset Boulevard before making the annoying drive through peak-hour traffic back home.
I told Chance not to expect me home—a late invite to some party in the Hills held by an old school friend who married a rich yank and moved here a few years back.
But I wasn’t in the mood, so I opted to go home instead.
Stuck in a sea of red lights, bumper to bumper, I instantly regret leaving so late. The traffic in Los Angeles is beyond a joke. So many lanes, back-to-back cars, all desperate to get somewhere in a hurry.
It’s just after six when I pull into the driveway. I turn the Jeep off and sit quietly as I close my eyes to gather my thoughts. I have to adjust my mindset. I need to focus on my next step and not the hindrance. The more I try to talk myself out of this slump, the more I fail miserably.
I need a distraction, a big one at that.
Damn! I should have gone to that party, or, maybe, I could convince Chance to head out for a beer tonight.
Crap! Adele’s babysitting.
I don’t mind Adele, she’s a cool chick. Very similar to my sister in a lot of ways.
Rory. She keeps to herself, never says too much, and allows her goofy brother to always steal the spotlight in the room.
I walk through the hall, stopping just shy of the living room to see Gabriella sitting on the floor with CJ. I haven’t thought about her since this morning and our discussion about her confused feelings. She doesn’t seem to notice me, and with a burning curiosity, I hide behind the pillar, watching her play by singing some song to CJ making him giggle.
Soft wisps of copper hair sweep past her ears, caressing the skin of her neck and falling against her shoulders. Gabriella’s face radiates in delight. Her eyes dance as she smiles watching CJ sing along with his cute babble.
I catch her attention, and she waves with a shy, “Hey.”
“Hey,” I respond, trying my best to ignore how she’s slowly begun to tear up the walls inside of me. “No Adele?”
“She’s sick. Chance and Aubrey went out for their anniversary date. You know, adult time? Hence, why I’m designated babysitter for the night.” She ends with a slight chuckle, trailing off until silence falls between us, and the only noise is the annoying sound of Paw Patrol in the background. Yes, I learned what Paw Patrol was after spending numerous mornings with CJ. I may even have the opening credits remembered by heart. Not that I care to admit that to her.
I wasn’t expecting her to be here.
Here, inside the house, alone.
“You’re staying here tonight?”
She answers with a nod. “Well, yeah. CJ can’t exactly stay by himself.”
Fuck—I’m screwed.
I don’t say another word, heading back to my room and throwing myself on my bed. I’m beyond exhausted—mentally, physically, and emotionally. The thought of being in the same house as Gabriella does nothing to cure my need to be inside her. My emotions bounce back and forth between today’s let down and this thing between us which has become a struggle to control.
I need to get out of here.
Blow off steam.
Get her off my mind.
Get everything off my mind so I can fucking think straight once and for all.
An hour later, dressed in a pair of jeans and white buttoned shirt, I grab my wallet and head out of my room.
She’s in the kitchen preparing a bottle and holding CJ in her other arm. He’s resisting, as usual, shaking his head and saying, “No bed.”
Our eyes meet. Her gaze shifting down toward my feet then back up again.
“I’m heading out.”
“Oh, okay,” she mumbles. Her smile slips, and an almost hurt expression appears as she shakes the bottle in her hand. “Have fun.”
“I always do.”
I can see the pain in her eyes, and immediately, I feel like a fucking arrogant arsehole for saying it. I need to rid myself of her, I mean, what’s the goddamn point if she’s going to keep me dangling on a string all because of Prince Charming.