Page 7 of Not Made to Last

And… I wear the damn hoodie.

It’s way too big, or I’m way too small, but either way, it’s nice. Warm. Smellsdelicious. “What is this?” I murmur, sniffing the neckline.

“A hoodie,” he deadpans.

I contain my eye roll. “The smell, you idiot.”

He chuckles. “I don’t know. Body wash?”

I sniff it again. “Man, you must have some bougie-ass body wash.”

He doesn’t reply.

Minutes of silence pass.

Max sighs in his sleep.

Finally, Rhys leans forward to look at him, his lips ticked up on one side. “Do you just have the one?” he asks, settling back in his seat.

“One what?”

“Kid,” he replies. “Is he your only one?”

I shift my eyes up to his and raise my eyebrows.

“Right.” He nods once. “I forgot…off limits.” He taps at his temple. “Timothy will keep that in mind.” After a heavy exhale, he asks, “Is your name really Honor?”

Confused, I keep my head down and ask, “Honor?”

“Your kid or whatever—that’s what he called you, right?”

“Ohana,” I provide, shaking my head. “And no, it’s a nickname. It’s um…” I clear my throat, suddenly anxious. “…it’s fromLilo and Stitch.”

He shrugs, seemingly uninterested. “Never seen it.” More silence passes, and he slumps lower in his seat, kicking out his legs and crossing them at the ankles. “So… are you going to offer your name, or should I just keep referring to you as my attempted murderer?”

“Shut up,” I whisper, looking around the room to see if anyone heard him. “And it’s Olivia.”

“Olivia…” He seems to turn over each syllable in his mind—all while his gaze skims each of my features. “Suits you.”

What am I supposed to say to that?Thank you?

“I’m Rhys, by the way,” he offers, getting more comfortable. “You know… just in case you cared about the guy you almost killed.” He smirks, and my stomach does this weird thing I haven’t felt in years. “But you already know who I am, don’t you?” It’s not so much a question as it is a statement, and he says it in a way that’s almost… teasing.

I admit the truth, however cringeworthy it is. “I knowofyou.”

“Yeah, most people around here do,” he mumbles, nodding slowly, before looking away and glancing around the room.

I stay quiet, but inside, my mind is racing, trying to come up with excuses to get the hell out of here.

“Hey, thanks for hanging around,” he says, tilting his head toward me.

I lower my gaze, murmur, “Yeah, well, I’m kind of the reason you’re here, right?”

“Not kind of,” he’s quick to respond. “Youarethe reason.”

Ouch. And also:fuck off.“What the hell were you doing dressed in all black creeping around at night, anyway?” I’m defensive, and so I should be. He can’t place all the blame on me.

He lifts his head, nose up in the air like he owns the air we breathe. “I fail to see why that matters.”

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