All I wanted was to take her in my arms, lay her on the bed, and just be with another human being, and for that reason, more than any other, I was cruel. Cruel even by my standards, and I didn’t even realize I had those anymore. A part of me is racked with guilt. The other knows that it’s better for her to find out now that I’m a monster.
But something else has been bothering me since last night.
In those first moments after I pulled back, deliberately degrading her, she was shocked and angry, as she was supposed to be. But in the moments that followed, there was something else that pissed me off: resignation. In a matter of seconds, the angry, betrayed light went out of her eyes, and she just stood there, accepting what I’d just done as though it were her due.
I may not know Olivia Middleton well—okay, I don’t know her at all—but I do know that she deserves more than what she got from me last night.
There’s a soft knock at the door, and I hate that my head shoots up in expectation and my heart seems to beat just a little bit faster.
Then I remember: Olivia doesn’t knock. It’s Lindy.
“You look tired,” Lindy murmurs as she sets the tray with my lunch on my desk.
“Yeah.” I dig the heels of my hands into my eyes. “Rough night.”
She nods. “Same with Olivia. She was up early, but I sent her right back to bed. Girl looked like she hadn’t slept a wink.”
I catch myself before I can beg for more detail. Did she tell Lindy what happened? I scan the housekeeper’s familiar features carefully, looking for any clue, but Lindy’s calm and expressionless, as always. I like that about her. She’s one of the few people who’ve figured out how to be there for me without acting like a goddamned battering ram. Are you listening, Dad? And all you doctors and shrinks with your bullshit about how PTSD can be cured?
But just for the briefest second, I wish she’d ask. I wish someone would ask what happened. How I am. Something other than the vapid Need anything?
Hell yes, I need something. I need someone to care.
“You’re not drinking today,” Lindy says, eying my coffee mug.
I raise my eyebrows as if to say, And?
She shrugs in response. “I asked your father for a weekend off. It won’t be for a couple of weeks yet, but I’m giving you a heads-up now.”
“Fine,” I mutter, relieved that she dropped the topic of my drinking. I’ve been telling myself all morning I’m laying off the whiskey because of my headache. Not because a certain green-eyed girl has made me all too aware that I might be using alcohol for all the wrong reasons.
“Mick is taking some time off too,” Lindy says, heading toward the door. “We’re headed to Portland for a little getaway. Your father offered to get us a hotel. Thought we’d go to the movies. Have someone cook for me for a change.”
Wait, what? My father is giving his employees free vacations now? And the two of them are taking it together? I try to think back to the times I’ve seen Mick and Lindy together. Not often, but then I make a point of ignoring everyone as often as possible. Are they…you know? Good for them if they are. At least someone should be getting some.
“Cool,” I say.
Lindy purses her lips. “You’ll be fine. For food and stuff. I mean, it won’t be my cooking, but…”
Technically she’s talking to me, but I know from her tone she’s trying to reassure herself that she’s not abandoning me.
I give her a look. “Do you have any idea what they feed soldiers in Afghanistan? I’ll be fine.”
“Olivia tells us she’s handy enough around the kitchen,” Lindy responds, as though she didn’t hear me. “I’m sure you can survive on scrambled eggs or grilled cheese, or whatever she has in her repertoire.”
Olivia.
Me and Olivia.
Alone. In the house.
Olivia in itty-bitty pajamas, with small breasts and long, toned legs.
Olivia with her don’t-fuck-with-me green eyes and lips that taste better than the most expensive Scotch on the market.
I won’t survive it.
“Whatever,” I mutter.