by Tribue,Alice
“Let me go,” I scream.
“No,” he barks through gritted teeth.
“Oliver, let me go before I scream.”
“You’re already fucking screaming. Calm down and let me talk to you,” he demands, his nostrils flaring. We’re in a standoff, and I hate him. I hate the way he’s looking at me, with anger, and remorse, with greed and lust. I know those looks on him, all of them. I’m familiar with every single one. “Please?” he asks softly, loosening his hold on me.
I slump my shoulders in defeat because I’m tired. I’m so exhausted from fighting. Fighting with Oliver, fighting with myself, trying to get my life back in order after he left it in upheaval. “Why are you here? What is it that you want?”
“Mostly, I want to show you this place.”
“Why?” I ask looking up and around again. For the first time, it registers in my mind that my mother is nowhere to be found. “Where’s my mom?”
I get a sheepish grin from him and a shrug. “I asked her if she’d get you here for me. I knew you wouldn’t come if I asked you.”
“What’d you do, threaten her job again?” I ask seriously.
“What? No.” He looks hurt that I would suggest it, but I wouldn’t put it past him. I know all too well that when Oliver wants something, he’ll do whatever it takes to get it. “I asked her, and she did it.”
“Well, then she’s a fucking traitor too.” I make a mental note to call my mother the minute I step foot outside of this building. We have to have a serious conversation about where her loyalties lie.
“She’s not—”
“Why am I here? What is this place?” I push. I need to get this over and done with; let Oliver say what he needs to say so that I can get as far away from him as possible.
“It’s yours,” he says, and my eyes go back to his in shock. I tilt my head in confusion. Did he just say that this place is mine? I couldn’t have heard him right. I must have misunderstood.
“What did you say?” I whisper.
“I said it’s yours, Riley. I bought it for you,” he confirms, and I’m momentarily at a loss for words. He’s sitting here after months of being absent from my life and acts as though he still has a place there.
“You did what? Why …”
“Because I thought it would be the perfect spot for your bakery.”
“I don’t have a bakery.”
“But you can,” he suggests hopefully. “You can have what you want; you should have what you want.”
“You have some nerve,” I say because the only thing I wanted was him. He had the power to make me happy, and he treated me like I didn’t matter. “You left me with no goodbye, no explanation, and cut off all contact with me for six months. And now you think you can come back here and offer me a fucking bakery as a what? A peace offering?”
“I can explain what happened if you’d just—”
“I’d tell you what you can do with your explanation,” I say, yanking my arm out of his hand, “but I’m a fucking lady.” With that, I turn around and head for the door again.
“Riley, please.” He calls after me, but I don’t stop. When I hit the street, I take off, running as quickly as I can and not stopping until I reach my car. Getting in, I turn on the ignition and check the mirrors for oncoming traffic. When the coast is clear, I pull out onto the road. I make it home in record time, not bothering to call my mother, not bothering to do anything except lock myself in my room and lose the little bit of control I had been holding onto.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
OLIVER
That didn’t go over as well as I’d planned. I must have played that scenario out in my head one hundred times, and in the end, Riley always jumped into my arms, kissed me, and told me how much she’d missed me. I think I may have been a little too optimistic.
After being in London for a few weeks, alone and miserable, and a handful of in-depth conversations with my mom, I realized that I had made the biggest mistake of my life. I wanted to come back, I did, but I needed to get my head straight. So I focused on renovating the hotel in London and sought help from a therapist there to help me deal with some of the issues I had been struggling with. The pressure from my father to be more like him, the fear that his abusive tendencies were an inherited trait. It took me a while, but I finally started to understand that I am not another version of my father. I get to choose my own path in life, and I can break that pattern of violence that began with him.
I finished the London hotel in three months, and the minute I was done, I hopped the first plane to Savannah. I went to Riley’s house, but her mother answered the door when I showed up that day. She had a few choice words for me, and I stood there and listened to them all because I deserved them. Afterward, she let me explain to her what had happened. What had prompted me to walk away from Riley the way that I did? I told her about therapy, that I was in a much better place, and that I wanted to do right by her daughter.
She told me that Riley wasn’t in the best place emotionally because of me, that she took me leaving badly and was just starting to come out of it. After explaining to me that Riley was almost halfway done with her culinary program and that it might be detrimental to her if I came back at that point in time, she suggested that I give her some space to follow her dream and finish school. I could take that time and figure out if a life with Riley was what I really wanted, and if it was, then I should come back and set about proving that to her.
It wasn’t what I wanted to do, not by a long shot, but I felt that the advice she gave me was sound, even though it wasn’t what I wanted to hear. I realized that I couldn’t just come back out of nowhere and expect Riley to come running. I had to have something to offer her, proof that I was serious about us and wouldn’t leave again. I spent the last three months working on doing just that.
With my own money and a small investment from my mom, I was able to acquire an old hotel here in Savannah. It needs work, but with a little time, I know I’ll be able to turn it into something great. I came back here to start work on it a little over three weeks ago, and while walking to my car one day, I came across a recently vacated storefront only a few doors down. I’ve never been a big believer in fate, but this felt exactly like that to me. The owner let it go for a lot less than I was willing to pay, which only made it more appealing. I bought it with the intent to let Riley have free rein to renovate and decorate it exactly the way she would like it. I took possession of it yesterday and called Riley’s mother to set things in motion for today. I thought that maybe once the bakery and hotel were established, Riley could place some of her baked goods on the menu at the hotel. It would be like both of us working toward our future as equals.
I knew that Riley would be mad at me, hurt, and confused, but I had hoped that she would at the very least let me explain what had happened. Now, I’m left wondering what to do next. How I can get Riley to talk to me and understand that I never meant to cause her pain. I pick up my cell phone and dial my mother’s number.
“How did it go?” she asks immediately. I think she wants things with Riley to work out just as much as I do.
“Well,” I say with a sigh, “I’m talking to you instead of her. How do you think it went?”
“Oh baby, I’m sorry. What are you going to do now?”
“I don’t know, Mom. I don’t know how to get her to listen to me. She ran out of here like she couldn’t stand the thought of being anywhere near me.”
“Can you blame her? You abandoned the poor girl after making her promises.”
“Thank you for that, Mother. I really needed a play by play of what I’ve done to screw up my relationship with Riley,” I say with a roll of my eyes. This isn’t helping.
“Okay, I’m sorry, but Oliver, you have to give her some time. You’ve made your presence known, so let that sink in. Give it a day or two then try again.”
“I don’t know if I can wait,” I tell her honestly because this is driving me crazy.
�
�You’ve already waited this long. What’s another day or two?”
I can’t argue with that, but it just feels like, with every day that passes by, Riley is slipping further and further away from me. I’m not so sure she hasn’t already. The way that she reacted to seeing me today wasn’t exactly the welcoming I’d hoped for. Deep down, I knew that it wouldn’t go well, but I still had to try.
“All right, Mom,” I concede. “I’ll give her today, but after that, all bets are off.”
***
I must have banged on the fucking front door a full five minutes before Riley finally deemed it necessary to answer it. I gave her yesterday as I promised I would, and now, I’m done waiting. She stands there staring at me as if I’m a stranger, and she has more pressing things to attend to.
“Are you going to let me in?” I ask her with very little patience.
“I hadn’t planned on it. No.”
I glare at her, and she glares right back. I’d forgotten how combative she can be when she really wants to be.
“I have a class to get to. Did you want something?”
“We have to talk.”
“Our time for talking is done. What we need to do is stay away from each other for the greater good of humanity.”
I chuckle, I can’t help it; I’ve missed her smart mouth. “A little dramatic, don’t you think?”
“Not at all,” she responds crossing her arms over her chest.
“There are things to say.”
“I don’t agree—” she begins, but I cut her off.
“I understand that you’re angry, and you have every right to be. I get that, I promise you, but all I’m asking is a chance to explain. That’s all I want from you, and if you want to walk away from me after that, then I’ll let you. But at least I can find peace in knowing you walked away instead of feeling like you needed to run from me.”
“You’ll let me? How thoughtful of you, to give me a choice. Maybe if you’d given me a choice about your abrupt departure six months ago…”
“Please. Give me twenty minutes.”
“Fine. But not right now. I really do have a class.”
I pull out a card with the hotel's address and hand it to her.
“Meet me here at three o’ clock. Room 210,” I tell her then turn and walk away, not giving her a chance to say no. She’ll show. I know she will, and when she does, I’ll lay it all out for her and pray that it’s enough.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
RILEY
I’m late on purpose. I didn’t want to give Oliver the satisfaction of having me show up on time, so I stroll into the hotel casually at three thirty. I take the elevator, outwardly appearing as if I didn’t have a care in the world, but inside, I’m dying. What could he possibly have to say that would make any difference? How can he possibly explain why he left me the way he did? Why he yelled at me then disappeared?
Did he really think that giving me a bakery would make the past few months go away? That I would be so desperate for him that I would accept his over-the-top gift and throw myself at him? He’s delusional. I make it to his room and knock on the door, knowing that if I don’t do it quickly, I never will.
Jesus, I think to myself as he opens the door wearing a pair of dark jeans and a fitted gray Henley. Well, this is just not fair because he shouldn’t look this good. Regardless, I steel my spine, man up my defenses, and accept his invitation to come inside. I look around his room, simple yet beautiful.
“Why aren’t you staying at your hotel?” I ask, trying to break the ice, and also genuinely curious.
He smirks at me and responds. “I am staying at my hotel.”
“Then why are we here?”
“This is my hotel.” I’m confused by this. Why would a major hotel chain buy more than one place in the same city?
“Your family bought another hotel in Savannah?”
“Not my family. Just me,” he says with a shrug of his shoulders.
He bought this place. I’m more than a little stunned by the news.
“Are you not working for them anymore?” I probe. Because even though I hate him right now, I know how unhappy he was working for his family.
“No. I quit after I finished the London project. This place has no ties to my father and his money. It’s all mine.”
“Well, that’s amazing,” I say softly. I mean it, but out of all the places in the world, he had to choose Savannah to buy a hotel in. “Why here? Why not New York or Florida?
“It’s simple really,” he answers, taking a step toward me. I instinctively take a step back, needing to keep a safe distance between us. “You’re here.”
“Don’t say things like that to me.”
“It’s the truth.”
“If that were true, you never would have left me. I loved you. I was ready to follow you to another country. I would have done anything for you, and you just left me here.”
He takes a few steps closer to me, reaching out for me as he says, “I wasn’t in the best place, baby.”
“Don’t call me that!” I yell, giving him a shove. “Don’t touch me and don’t call me your baby.”
I can feel the tears stinging my eyes, threatening to fall, but I fight them. The last thing I want is to let him see me cry. I’ve already shown him enough emotion.
“Okay,” he says, putting his hands up in surrender. “I won’t touch you, I promise, but I just need you to listen to me. Can you at least just hear me out?”
“I’m listening,” I tell him because I’ll listen to whatever he has to say as long as I can get the hell out of here. I can’t take being around him much longer.
“I love you, Riley. I need you to know that,” he says, and I turn away from him. I can’t look at him when he’s saying shit like this to me. It’s not fair.
“I thought that I was sparing you from a life of abuse by walking away from you.”
I’m struck by this, caught off guard, and I turn back around to face him.
“What are you talking about?”
“I grew up in a tumultuous home. Things were never right there, and I learned from a very young age that my mother feared my father, and I should fear him too. Even if there were no bruises on her that I could see, I knew that he was a scary man,” he says, walking across the room and sitting on the edge of the bed.
“I thought it was normal, though. I was just a child and Jacob lived in his own world, so he never realized things were off. As I got older, I learned to spot the signs. My mom would walk a little slower, flinch when she sat down, or shudder when one of us would hug her.”
“She was hiding bruises.” I say it for him. I can see that this is difficult for him to get out.
“Yes,” he confirms, looking up at me. “It would be years later when I finally came between them and put a stop to it until the last time he hit her.”
“You did the right thing.”
“I did. But that didn’t stop me from convincing myself that I was just like my father. That I had this inherited trait in me that would eventually make me hurt any woman who I got close to.”
“But you never did.”
“I never let anyone get close enough to hurt them, Riley. You were the only person I let in, and the entire time, that fear lived in the back of my mind.”
God this is so fucked up. It’s incredibly sad that he grew up believing he would eventually turn out to be a carbon copy of his father.
“You do know that’s an irrational fear, right?”
“I do now. And I tried to shake it off when I was with you, put it aside so that I could just enjoy being with you but that night, the night of the re-opening, my father showed up there.”
“I saw you talking to him,” I tell him, remembering Oliver getting agitated. I remember wanting to go to him, but I was talking to someone and didn’t want to be rude. When I saw him walk away from his father looking like he was about to lose his cool, I followed him, not caring that I had left mid conversation. “You looked u
pset, so I followed you back up to the room.”
“I lost it. I did, and I’m so fucking sorry that you had to see me like that.”
“Why were you so upset?” I ask taking a step closer.
“Because my father had just finished telling me that I was just like him. That no matter what I did, I was his son, and I would eventually hurt you just like he did to my mom.”
“Oliver,” I call quietly. I’m gutted by this, by what it must have done to him to hear those words from his father. I let the tears fall now, not caring if it makes me weak. He’s been living in his own personal hell, and I only wish that he would have said something to me sooner.
“When I saw your face after I broke that lamp … it killed me, Riley. It fucking killed me to see you that scared. Looking just like my mom looked before …”
“Don’t,” I say, crouching down in front of him. I take his hand in mine and give it a squeeze. “Don’t ever compare our situation to that again. You never hurt me. You never laid a hand on me.”
“No. I never hit you. I just took advantage of you and used your misfortune to my advantage.”
“You made a mistake, and we’d moved on from that. We moved past it, Oliver, we were in love.”
“Were? Do you not love me anymore?”
“I …”
“I came back here for you. I saw a therapist when I was in London. I dealt with a lot of those issues, and when I was done, the only thing I wanted was to get back to you. To come home to you.”
“So you bought a hotel?”
“I bought a hotel, and I bought a fucking bakery, not because I’m trying to buy your love but because I want us to have a future together. I want a life with you, and I want it here,” he says, and I can feel my defenses crashing down around me. He loves me, he came back for me, and maybe it’s stupid of me to give in so easily. Maybe I should put up more of a fight, but I love him too.