“No.” I scoffed.
“I could use some money.”
“Oh, me, too. But I didn’t win the lottery.”
“So, what are you doing here? Wayford? A pool house? You can’t afford this. And don’t tell me it costs the same as that apartment you had because I know that’s impossible.”
I breathed out. “Okay, I’ll be honest with you, because trust me; I only have debts. Oliver is an old friend. My mom used to work for his dad. He lets me live here for a reduced price so I could save the rent money, because the kids’ tuition and college expenses don’t come cheap, you know, and they only now received those scholarships. I don’t want them to know that I’m practically bankrupt.” The scholarships that Oliver had given them. That was something I didn’t say and couldn’t even fathom yet myself. I also didn’t mention that I had been evicted, and that I was living at June’s now. The little Jamie knew, the less he could ruin. I told him the bare minimum while still going into enough details to convince him that I was telling the truth and that he couldn’t shake money out of me.
He took a step forward, though remaining close to the bookcase. “He lets you live here for free. Am I right? In exchange for what, Jan? What services are you performing for him that he lets you live here for free? Would someone like him even want something from someone like you?”
I opened my mouth to respond, but a stomp stopped me and made me spin toward it, not before I caught Jamie’s eyes widen in surprise.
Oliver crossed the room in a few large strides, grabbed Jamie by the collar of his shirt, and pinned him to the bookshelf with a loudthump. His palm covered Jamie’s throat, pressing into it, his other was clenched at his side. My ex-husband wasn’t a small man, but he looked like a marionette hanging in Oliver’s grasp.
“What did you say to her?” Oliver huffed into his face.
“Let go, man!” Jamie crowed, his face reddening, his head pinned back to the edge of one of the shelves.
I ran toward them and grabbed Oliver’s shoulder. “Oliver, stop!” I tried pulling him back, but it was like trying to move a boulder.
“Don’t you dare talk to her like that,” he continued, bringing his face close to Jamie’s.
“Oliver, please,” I called.
“Let go of me, psycho!” Jamie strained to say. Floundering to free himself, he only looked more like a marionette hanging from the hands of its operator.
“You want money? Here’s money! Go buy some respect for the mother of your kids.” With his free hand, Oliver took out a wallet from his back pocket and, against Jamie’s chest, extracted bills out of it and threw them into Jamie’s face.
“Oliver, please,” I begged.
Oliver finally looked back at me. His eyes were the dark green I had seen that day on the stairs after his dad had hit him.
He breathed out, shifted his head back to Jamie, and let go of him.
“A millionaire, not a billionaire, by the way,” he said in a low growl right into Jamie’s face, still blocking his way. “The moment I hit one billion, I start shedding. You know why? Because money stinks. Here, smell it!” He shoved a bill that was caged between him and Jamie right into Jamie’s face then let it fall to the floor.
“Now get the fuck out of this house!” he yelled into Jamie’s face. Inhaling deeply again, Oliver took two steps back, allowing my ex to move away from the bookcase.
As soon as a small distance opened between them, Jamie looked at him as if assessing a retaliation. But Oliver was taller, younger, well-built, well-kempt, while Jamie was wasted from years of drinking too much and doing nothing except the odd jobs his buddies got him. He threw a gaze at me, then bent to pick up the bills from the floor.
He skirted around Oliver and me, heading toward the door. “I can sue you for assault, you psycho,” he spat when he was at a safe distance from Oliver.
Oliver scoffed. He looked as if the wind had been knocked out ofhim.
“You do that, Jamie, and I swear to God, I’ll sue you for all the years you haven’t paid child support!” I said, holding myself back from yelling. My palms were numb and sweating at the same time.
Defeat was written all over my ex’s face as he turned and walked out. I followed him from a distance to make sure he was indeed leaving out the front door. He slammed it behind him, and through the large window next to the front door, I watched him get into his blue and yellow truck.
I returned to the room. Oliver stood a few feet from the wall by the bookcase, his palm flat against it, his head hung at level with his shoulder, like an athlete halting to catch a breath. He was slightly panting, his gaze on the wooden floor beneath him.
“Oliver.” I approached him and put a hand on his shoulder. He didn’t move. “Oliver, I’m sorry.”
He turned to me so sharply that my hand fell to my side and I had to tilt my head back.
“Don’t apologize!” he breathed. Then his voice rose with every word. “This!This is what I am. This iswhoI am.”
“That’s not true.” I shook my head as I spoke.
