“But, Ollie?—”
“Do not call me Ollie. In fact, you are never to speak to me again, is that clear?”
Renata’s face paled and her hands shook. “I…but…”
Oliver placed Renata’s phone back in her hands, grabbing his own and dialing a number. “I have spent years witnessing you talk down to everyone around you in an effort to elevate yourself. I have stood by as you drooled first over Xavier, then me, in hopes of becoming queen. I never should have allowed you to become a part of this competition in the first place, but I was foolishly hoping to keep the peace. No more. You are no longer welcome in this competition or in my presence.” He turned to speak into his phone. “Hello, yes, I require an escort for Ms. Raines. She will meet you at the front entrance of Lexington Manor. Please ensure that the rest of the security team knows she is barred from all further competition events and the palace grounds for the foreseeable future.”
Oliver hung up his phone, placed it back in his pocket, and gestured toward the hall. “After you, Ms. Raines. Let’s make sure you make it out safely, shall we?”
Renata brushed her hands over her short dress, straightened her shoulders and put on her haughtiest face, her confidence not meeting her eyes as she stalked from the room with Oliver at her heels.
I leaned my head against the wall and let out a deep sigh.What the fuck just happened here?
My head was pounding, and when I turned over to the opposite side of my bed, waves of nausea came crashing over my body. It took a lot for me to be hungover, but after the night I’d had, I had given myself the greenlight to drink until I forgot everything.
If I was being honest with myself, I knew better, but I had to try to forget. I needed to forget what it felt like to have the woman I was in love with tell me she didn’t love me back. I needed to forget that my sheets still smelled of her. I needed to forget what her lips tasted like, and I needed to forget that she left and I would never see her again.
Eugene whined from under the comforter. I knew that he needed to go outside but I wasn’t sure that I could stand without throwing up. But he needed me.
Birdie may not have needed or wanted me, but my boy did.
I made it to the back door to let Eugene out when the nausea turned full force. I sprinted to the sink, barely making it there before the bottle of whiskey from the previous night made its way back up.
Once I let Eugene in, I grabbed a bottle of water out of the refrigerator and some bread from the pantry. I could have been a grown man and toasted it, but I was only eating it so I would have something on my stomach for the acetaminophen I was about to take.
I stepped back into my bedroom, but one sight of my bed triggered memories of Birdie that made me feel like I was going to be sick again. Instead, I settled for the couch, covering myself with a blanket as Eugene forewent his normalspot by my feet and curled up in front of me with his head on my arm.
Despite his pain-in-the-ass tendencies, Eugene was more adept at reading a room than some humans I knew, making him the first to recognize when my emotions were a wreck. I scratched that special spot behind his ear and he nestled deeper into my side, his breathing synchronizing with my heartbeat.
“Looks like it’s just going to be you and me, boy.” I put my arm around him. “I’m sorry. I tried to get her to stay, but I wasn’t enough.”
I closed my eyes, trying to push down the tears that threatened to fall. I drifted back to sleep, recounting the way that Birdie had felt in my arms in this exact spot and the fact that it would never be like that again.
I woke a few times throughout the day to feed Eugene, take more acetaminophen, and drink water. That night was Cora’s birthday celebration and there was supposed to be a large dinner with Oliver’s suitors, but there was zero chance of me attending. There was no way I could force myself to be anything other than miserable. Maybe Oliver would care that I was absent, but I would deal with that later. Guilt rose in my chest, but I pushed it away, numbing that part of me for the time being. I heard my therapist’s voice in my head telling me that I needed to feel my emotions as they came, regardless of how much I wanted to ignore them.
I thought about how Birdie wouldn’t acknowledge any of her feelings except the fun, lighthearted ones. I had recognized it from the first time she mentioned her mom and then quickly changed the subject. It was evident that she hadn’t worked her way through her grief when I found her in the barn, not knowing where to start when the panic attack took hold.
It was clear to me because I had been there before. It hadtaken me years to sift through my own shit when my parents died. Hell, it took twice weekly appointments with Dr. Sanchez over the course of a year just to manage the panic attacks.
But I couldn't hold onto my anger at Birdie for not dealing with her stuff and then turn around and do the exact same thing. I couldn’t numb my feelings. I knew what I needed to do that day, and that was to sit with my feelings and feel them.
I would let all the tears come if they needed to. I would sit there in the dark and think about what it would have been like to have her choose me. I’d think about what it would have been like to have her stay and build a life with me. I’d think about how it would have been to have her be mine.
And once I had thought through all those things, I’d grieve what wasn’t and could never be and then lay them to rest, setting them on a leaf in a river and letting them sail away down the stream.
The morning sun rose, and I woke up physically feeling a little better, aside from the giant hole that had taken up residence in my chest. It felt as if something was missing. Maybe it was my confidence, maybe it was the fact that the girl I loved had left without even saying goodbye. Maybe it was a bit of both.
I grabbed my gear and Eugene, and I headed over to the woodworking shop. I knew it would be one of the few places where I could sort through the shitstorm in my brain.
I pulled my truck up to the back of the shop, let Eugene out and unlocked the door. It was early and I was there even before Mr. Lewellen, though I knew he wouldn’t mind me letting myself in.
I flipped on the lights and started the small space heater in the corner. After rearranging my tools on the table for a fourthtime, I still couldn’t get settled or decide what to work on. My mind wouldn't stop racing, and I knew that if I couldn’t focus on this, I’d only waste perfectly good materials and my own time.
“Come on, Eugene, let’s go out to the field.” I put my coat back on and grabbed my pack with my axe, knives, and saw and threw it over my back. The sled we kept around to haul whatever wood we chopped was leaning by the back door. After dusting the snow off, I set it down on its rails so Eugene and I could start our mission of finding a way that we could both work out our pent-up energy.
My mind drifted to the last time I was at the workshop: it had been with Birdie. My chest constricted when I couldn’t push aside the memory of what it had felt like to have my arms wrapped around her and the way that her breath had caught when I laid my hands over hers and showed her how to whittle.
Remembering moments like that, I knew in my heart that she felt more for me than she would admit, but the devil on my shoulder continued to insist that I wasn’t enough.
