“Yep.” She releases my wrist, only to press her hand to my throat instead. “But if you’re ever in a position like this and it’snotinside a gym, labels won’t really matter, will they? You’re in a world of trouble at that point, and calling the person on top of you an asshole isn’t gonna change things. Hate me if you want.” Her face is hard. Her words, harder. “People have been hating me their whole lives. They think ‘cos I fight, my feelings don’t get hurt. I’m still gonna teach you how to get out of this position.” She grabs my free hand and wraps it around her wrist. “You need to buckle my arm. These are my foundations, and right now, they’re strong. My elbow was created to bend, so use it, bend it, snap it if you have to. Then, when I’m falling, you buck me forward.”
She slaps my hip, the loud crack of her palm echoing throughout the gym. “It’s not much.” She falls forward. “You’re still under, and I still havemy hooks in. But it’s better than what you had a minute ago. In competition, you could drag me into an arm bar. If you’re quick, you could even get me into a headlock. But since you’re not competing and there’s no championship belt in it for you—” She grabs my hand and presses my palm to her face. “You dig your fingers into my eye socket and tear.”
My stomach whirls, sickening and painful.
“There’s no referee in the real world, Rose, calling you out on an illegal move. There’s just life or death, and even if I’m pissed at you, I still want you to live if something goes bad.” She lowers over me, jamming her elbow and forearm across the side of my face. “What do you do?” Infuriatingly, she claps my cheek. “What do you do, Rose?”
What do you do, Rose? What the hell do you do?
“This feels…” I exhale a huffing breath and stare at myself in the mirror in my room, running my hands over my top. My jeans. My long hair, left to hang loose.
If I puke on the dinner table, that’s reasonable, right? It’s normal?
Ollie shifts in my peripherals, his broad form taking up most of the doorway, his thumbs tucked in the pockets of his jeans, and his jaw clenched impossibly tight.
His eyes are hard. His glare, unkind.
For the first time since knowing him, he looks at me like I don’t matter.
“I don’t like how this feels.” I press my hand to my belly and turn from the mirror to face him.Tell me not to go, you coward!“Maybe I should cancel?”
“You look beautiful.” He spins into the hall and leaves me behind.
Scowling, I stalk into the hall and turn toward the kitchen, the anxiety in my belly momentarily replaced with anger. With hurt. “Ollie?—”
He swings the fridge open, burying his face in the cool all so he can avoid looking at me. “I might make an omelet for dinner, since you’re going out.” He snags a carton of eggs. Milk. Butter. “You’ve got your phone, right? If you need me to come pick you up, I can. Doesn’t matter what time.”
“Darcy’s coming here to get me.” I sniffle and draw back the emotion intent on making me look like a fool. Straightening my spine, I wait for him to turn… and wait… and wait… and wait. “Why are you mad, Oliver?”
“I’m not mad.” He sets ingredients on the counter and goes back to the fridge for vegetables. Peppers. Tomato. Onion. Finally, he closes the fridgeand comes around, looking me up and down that way he does that makes me feel beautiful… or like a specimen in a jar. “I’m never mad at you. I promise.”
“It feels like you’ve been mad since we left the police station.” I lose my composure and the war against my tears. Moisture burns and itches the backs of my eyes, trickling into my throat and down to set fire to my lungs. “I feel like I’m being punished for existing before Plainview, even though,duh, of course I did.Weweredoing everythingwecould so I could find the answers to what came before.Weput that interview on TV, knowing—hoping—someone from my past would see it and come for me. But now that that’s happened, it feels likeI’mallalone in this mess, searching for more information. And you’re just…” I stumble forward and press my hand to the counter just so I can stay up. “Was I dreaming all this? You and me? I thought we’d made plans forus. I thought, no matter who came for me, and no matter what we learned, thatwewere decided? Darcy asked to meet, so I called to talk it through with you, to tell you it made me feel a little uncomfortable, and that maybe we could come up with a plantogether. But you were totally fricken chill about it all.Sure, Rose, go get dinner with him. That’s a great idea.”
“Would you prefer if I told you no?” He snags a knife from the top drawer and slams it to the countertop. “Would you prefer if I tried to control you? Tell you what to do?”
“I would prefer if you treated me like I matter! Like this whole situation actually bothers you. Because I walked into that police station and straight into your arms. But when we walked out again, I may as well have been alone.”
“This man is your fiancé, Rose! You have a whole life with him.”
“So youwantme to go?”
“No! I want you to do whatyouwant to do. I want you to go to dinner and ask the questions, and get the information you need. Because begging you to stay home tonight, to watch a movie with me and pretend the outside world doesn’t exist, is a short-term gain that’ll break us later. Six months from now, a year from now, you’ll still be thinking about him. You’ll be thinking about the life you left behind. And if you send him away, if you break his heart, it’s entirely possible he’ll turn bitter, taking all that history and all those answers with him.” He strides around the counter, furious and swollen with adrenaline. Wrapping his hand around the back of my neck, he tugs me in and crushes me in a hug that knocks the oxygen from my lungs. “I’m screwed no matter what I do. Because if I tell you to stay, I’m robbing you of your history. If I tell you to go, I’m robbing myself of the best fucking person I’ve ever known. If I step in the way and so much ashesitatewhen you mention wanting to talk to him, Ibecome the controlling, jealous bastard who doesn’t trust you to handle yourself.” He presses a kiss to the top of my hair, bathing my scalp in fiery air. “You matter to me, Rosaline. And this is bothering me more than you’ll ever know. But I can’t make this choice for you.” His voice crackles, his chest jumping and trembling. “I just can’t.”
The doorbell rings, the trilling chime booming through the house like the crack of a whip. Poppy meanders through the kitchen and into the living room, but my feet remain rooted to the floor. Unmoving. Heavier than iron.
“You didn’t dream this.” Ollie groans, squeezing me tight. “I love you like I’m gonna die if I lose you. Sending you out there tonight is harder than anything I’ve ever done in my entire life. But I have to let you do this.” Pulling back, he cups my face, his eyes burning, red and swollen. “Don’t for a single second think that I’m mad at you, or that I don’t want you. If you need me, I’m right here.” He surges forward, tugging me to my toes, and slams his lips to mine. It’s close-mouthed and breathy. It’s violent and firm. And then it’s done, his nostrils flaring with his exhale as he pulls away. “If you get there and feel uncomfortable, call me and I’ll come get you. If you feel unsafe, call me. If you need a hug…” He groans. “Call me.”
The doorbell chimes again.
“Tell me to stay,” I whimper, clinging to his wrists, my fingertips lying over the pulse pounding in his veins. “Demand that I stay, and I will.”
“Which is exactly why I can’t.” He sniffs and huffs, shaking his head and looking up at the ceiling. He swallows a groan and paces his breathing. Finally, he brings his focus down again and pastes on the sweetest, kindest,fakestsmile I’ve ever seen. “If he offers to go halfsies on the bill, punch him in the throat.”
I cough out a watery, winded laugh that does nothing to minimize the tears blurring my vision.
“If he tries to grab your ass, destroy him. I know he’s your fiancé and all that shit, but he doesn’t get to touch unless you say so. If this is all a ruse to get you in his car and drive you back to your old home…” He releases me so I fall forward, then he strides around the counter. Opening a drawer, he takes out a…
I frown.
