“And doesn’t that say it all?” he asked gruffly. “Anthem issues aside, you’ve needed help for a long time. And it riles me up that no one seems to realize it.”
“It’s not their fault.”
“Why?” His gaze sharpened, and his voice dropped low and demanding. “Why not, Olive?”
“Because they don’t know how bad everything is!” She pushed off his lap and paced the deck, her chest tight, her breath shallow.
“Winnie knows a little—she’s seen our awful apartment, and I told her once about the landlord. But they don’t know about Robbie’s learning problems. They don’t know my mother’s illness has gotten worse every single day since we were evicted from our last place. That’s why she won’t leave the apartment, you know. She’s afraid they’ll lock the doors again. They don’t know my father’s money is gone, or that I wake up every morning terrified that today is the day we lose another home, or that I’ll have to pawn another of my father’s treasured belongings just so my baby brother has something to eat?—”
Tears flooded her eyes, and a ragged sob tore from her throat. She pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes, as if she could force it all back down. But she couldn’t. The words were poison inside her, killing her slowly, and now they were spilling free, burning on their way out.
“What if I tell them all that, and they don’t care? Or what if they’re like my old friends?” she choked out. “What if they decide I’m too needy, too poor, too beneath them? What if they don’t want me anymore? I can’t go through that again. I can’t.”
Emil’s arms wrapped around her, pulling her tight against his chest. She gripped his shirt, her body wracked with shudders. His hand swept soothingly over her back, anchoring her as she unraveled.
“It’s all right,” he murmured against her hair. “Cry. Cry all you want. I’m not going anywhere.”
Her breath hitched, her body sagging against his as the weight of the last few years pressed down on her. And still, he held her. When the sobs finally slowed to hiccups, when the poison of unspoken fears had finally drained from her, leaving her hollow and raw, he eased her back and cupped her face in his warm, calloused palms.
“Listen to me very carefully, min käraste. You have been put into situations you weren’t ready for. Your father died and left the three of you alone in the world. Your family has faced so many challenges, and every time, you rise to meet them. Even though you’re unprepared and terrified. Even when it feels—and often is—impossible. Most people would crumble beneath the weight of all that responsibility. But you never have. You might falter, you might fall, but you always get back up. That’s a hell of a thing. That’s courage. And it breaks my goddamn heart that you don’t see it.”
Fresh tears streamed down her cheeks unchecked.
“I see now that I owe you an apology. I was only thinking about how I would handle Wingate. Because for me, standing up for myself and speaking out against injustice have always been options. A risk, at times, but never one so dire that my entire life could be upended. I didn’t think about what it could cost you.” He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “From now on, I’ll follow your lead. I’ll still tell you what I think, of course, but ultimately, this is your life. You make the calls. And I’ll support you however I can. How does that sound?”
“It sounds really nice.”
“Nice,” Emil repeated, chuckling. “You’re overwhelmed, aren’t you?” She nodded jerkily. “Of course you are. You’ve just had a cathartic release.” She nodded again, grateful he understood her without having to explain.
Nice didn’t cover the half of it, but words were lost to her. She’d been carrying a heavy load for so long, plodding up a never-ending hill. At long last, someone—Emil—wanted to take some of the weight. Not take control, not pull her forward, but stand beside her, making her path forward feel possible for the first time in a very, very long time.
“Let’s go inside. I’m going to make you a cup of tea. I’ll wash up, and then—” He lifted her chin with a finger and brushed a slow, deliberate kiss against her trembling lips. When he pulled back, his gaze was full of promise. “And then I’ll give you another kind of release. One that pushes aside every worry, every thought, until the only thing you know is how good you feel.”
He held out his hand, and without the tiniest ounce of hesitation, fear, or worry, she interlaced her fingers with his and followed him inside.
Chapter 18
Emil’s bathing routine had never been so rushed. He briskly toweled his damp hair, slapped on some aftershave, and confined his penchant for flexing shirtless before the mirror to once. He tugged on pants and a flannel shirt, but didn’t bother with anything else. The promise of a wood stove and a warm woman was all he needed to stave off the winter chill. He padded barefoot to the living room, then paused, struck by what he found.
Olive was curled on his sofa as though evenings like this were already a habit of hers. Despite the steady heat radiating from the stove, she’d built herself a cozy nest: blankets gathered around her, pillows propping her back, a magazine spread across her lap. She idly turned the pages with her injured hand, the mug of tea gripped in the other. A lock of hair slipped forward to graze her cheek, and Emil’s fingers itched with the irresistible urge to brush it back.
The image should have been ordinary. It wasn’t. It pulled him toward her with a force he didn’t fully understand. How had this shy little wallflower upended him so completely? He’d spent years in raucous bars and glittering ballrooms, and none of it had ever felt like this. None of it had ever made him ache the way a simple evening in her company did.
With Olive, he wanted things he hadn’t wanted before. Not just laughter, or flirtation, or the shallow thrill of pursuit. He wanted to know her moods, her silences. He wanted to make her laugh, to coax her temper, to feel the weight of her leaning into him. He wanted things that both unsettled and compelled him, yet he couldn’t resist them. Couldn’t resist her. For better or worse, he needed to know what would happen if he let this continue—if he let her in. He shook his head slowly, almost in disbelief, before stepping into the room.
“Comfortable?”
She looked up. “Very.”
He cleared his throat and hunted for something—anything—to say. His gaze fell to the magazine on her lap. “The American Bee-Keeper, eh?”
“I didn’t want to become too engrossed in anything,” she admitted. “Though one particular issue of Vogue was very tempting.
“Take it home with you,” he suggested, grasping the topic with relief. “Hell, take a stack. Robbie can look at the photographs. Perhaps he’ll even be inspired to try reading them.”
“Thank you, that’s very kind of you.”
“Not really. They’re just collecting dust here.”
