“Of course money’s a factor,” he replied. “But at some point you’ll need to decide whether you should just start over.”
“Different question, same answer.” A light rain started, scarcely more than a drifting fog. Even so, the faces she saw along the crowded sidewalk looked worried. And exhausted. She was very glad for Dillon’s company. “I don’t have anywhere to live.”
“Of course you do.”
“I’m not talking about the jail. I am very nearly broke. I feel like I’ve spent the past few months standing by this great swollen river. Watching events I can’t control and mostly don’t understand sweep away everything I’ve built.”
“You’ve come back home with a talent, a gift. Something you can build on.”
“Home,” she repeated softly. “You just said I don’t have one.”
Dillon stopped, waited for her to face him, and said, “You’re moving into my grandparents’ home. With me.”
“Dillon, thank you. So much. But I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Listen to what I’m saying.” Firm, solid, definite.
“What’s past is past. But we’re still friends, aren’t we?”
“Of course we are.”
“The old place has three bedrooms. Two baths. We’ll share. You take your time. Try to work out what you want for a next step.” He waved toward the unseen hills. “When you start working up your next temper tantrum, we’ll flip to see who’s sleeping in the barn.”
“I don’t have tantrums.”
“Oh really. Maybe it’s just my memory playing tricks.”
“Obviously.” She used both hands and cleared her face. “You were always there for me.”
“Not always.” Dillon took a very hard breath.
“I’m so sorry, Olivia. I knew I was hurting you, leaving like I did.”
“You were angry.”
“I was. And desperate to get away. And so many other things. It all got mixed up inside. My grandad gave me his old truck. I piled everything I owned in the back, covered it in a tarp, and set off. Drove sixteen hours that first day. Doing my level best not to look in the rearview mirror. Deliriously happy to finally break free of my old man. And brokenhearted, no matter how often I told myself it was the only way.”
She remained silent for a time, then said softly, “Maybe it was. You had to go. I knew that. I wanted it to be LA. And yet . . .”
He whispered, “Tell me.”
But it was to herself that she spoke. Confessing the impossible. “I wanted you to come. Desperately. But I fought against it too.”
“We both did.” His response was barely a whisper.
“All the time.”
“I wanted to be free. I love you. Loved. So much. But I couldn’t see how to have you near and still . . .”
“Become who you are.” He nodded. “I see that.”
“Did you feel the same?”
“Olivia, maybe. At some level. But you were always the smarter one. The one who saw things first. I was too busy fighting to get away.”
She felt as if a great weight had suddenly been lifted. One she had not even known she’d been carrying. “I’m glad we talked. Now let’s get out of the rain.”
