She doesn’t say anything, just stares at me. Her breathing is tight, but she doesn’t look scared, just, tense.
I take the moment to look at her, really look at her. She’s still the same girl, still looks beautiful, still smells of the perfume I got her. She’s the same. My eyes move to the necklace.
She’s wearing it. My necklace. The one I gave her on her sixteenth birthday, the one I ripped off her a few days ago.
I lick my lips and tilt my head as I bring my hand to her neck, and she quickly moves away from me, grabbing the necklace so I can’t remove it from her.
“Where did you get it from?” I ask, there's no way Jen would give it to her, because she can be a bitch when she wants to be, so I know she didn’t give it to her.
Olivia holds on tight to the necklace, scared I’ll take it from her again, and to piss her off I would, but the look in her eyes, the worry, the fear in them is something I’ve never seen before from her. The last time I saw a little fear in her eyes was when her mom was taken to hospital, and she had a panic attack.
“Where did you get it from?” I ask again, making sure she’s heard me.
“Ab—Abigail got it back for me.”
“You’ve got a lot of fucking nerve,” I mutter, dropping the book on the dash and lean back. She touches the chain, her fingers brushing the charms like she’s trying to protect them from me.
“You took it,” she says softly. Her voice... goddammit, that voice. It still sounds like every memory I ever loved, she talkedso much all the time, and she always joked she'd stop if I told her too, but I loved listening to her ramble about things I didn’t care about.
“I didn’t think you’d want it back after I gave it to someone else,” I bite out, she should know I took it off her for a reason, she should know I don’t think she deserves it.
“I never stopped wearing it,” she says, taking the book from the dash, not looking at me. “Even after?—”
“Don’t!” I shout. She has no right to say anything about that time. No fucking right.
Silence.
I should walk away, but instead, I stay there, staring at her while she avoids my eyes. The smell of fries, old car air freshener, and her perfume—Dior J’adore, fills the space between us.
No matter what happened between us, she’s still trying to keep that part of our life together. The good part, even though she fucked it up.
“Enjoy your book,” I finally mutter, and walk away. I don’t look back. Not once.
But the image of her fingers clutching the necklace I gave her, hits me.
Why am I so fucking stupid to care about what she is doing?
Thirteen
Olivia
17 years old.
I lay on my stomach, my legs kicking up behind me, swaying in slow rhythm as I flip the page of the latest romance novel. I was putting my tips from work to the side to buy it. The afternoon sun is sharp today but shining bright through the wooden slat of the treehouse.
Hayden sits beside me, his back resting against the wall, fidgeting with his phone, pretending not to be interested in what I’m reading, but I know he is, because he keeps peeking over as I turn the page.
“Okay, so in this one, the girl meets this tattooed biker who turns out to be this undercover FBI agent,” I say, grinning, holding the book up so he can see the cover of it. “And she thinks he’s just some bad boy, but really, he’s risking his life for justice!”
Hayden groans, rubbing his face. “Olivia, I swear every book you read has a guy who’s either an assassin, an alien, or a billionaire.”
“And yet you still ask me what happens in them,” I smirk.
He chuckles, bumping my shoulder with his. “Only because your reactions are better than any review site.”
I laugh, closing the book and turning to look at him. “You love it.”
Hayden shrugs, the corners of his mouth lifting just slightly, but he doesn’t say anything.
