Page 120 of Oliver
A bit after nine, Tobias and Theo joined us, and we gathered around the table. The conversation quickly turned into a tease fest aimed at the four of us. Two couples born from dating contracts, and apparently, we’d started a trend among the men of Rent-A-Date.
Parisa and Tobias, who had frighteningly matching energy, were hitting it off, filling the space with rolling laughter, and suddenly my house was a home.
Full of joy and love.
I caught Oliver's eye across the room, which shone with the same contentment I was feeling. It made my heart flutter. He belonged here with our makeshift family, with me.
When it came time for gift exchanges,
The first package Oliver opened was a thick manila envelope delivered by courier the day before. The return address was from Davidson's law firm.
Oliver's hands trembled slightly as he opened it. Inside was a certified check for an amount that made his eyes widen, along with a letter. As he read it, his expression shifted from shock to disbelief to something like reverence.
"What is it?" Emmet asked, picking up the envelope and turning it in his hands.
"It's from Davidson," Oliver said, his voice rough with emotion. "He died two months ago."
The room fell silent. Everyone knew who Davidson was to Oliver, and what his death meant.
"He left this for us." Oliver handed the check to Emmet, and the latter gasped, hand covering his mouth and tears brimming in his eyes. "It's the full amount he benefited from the stolen estate, with interest. He wrote that this is his final penance, his attempt to make things right before he died."
The amount was substantial—enough to cover all of Oliver's student loans and release him from the financial burden he'd carried for years.
"Does this mean..." Emmet let the question hang.
Oliver nodded, a small smile forming. "It means we're free, Quark. No more debt. No more worrying about tuition, about transition costs. No more second jobs."
The relief that washed over his face made my heart ache. He'd been carrying that weight for so long, it had become part of him. Seeing it lifted was like watching someone stand straight after years of bending under a heavy load.
Tobias, who'd been peering over Oliver's shoulder, let out a dramatic groan. "So, I guess this means you're definitely quitting RAD? That sucks, man." He clutched his chest in mock despair. "The ladies of Seattle will weep. Their favorite rent-a-boyfriend, gone forever."
“I, for one, amnotcomplaining,” I said, and everyone chuckled. I was fine with Oliver working at Foxy’s, I trusted him, but I was more than happy to have him all to myself.
My father cleared his throat, drawing our attention. He handed Oliver another package, this one wrapped in simple green paper.
"This is from all of us," he said, gesturing to include me, my mother, Parisa, and Daryll.
Oliver unwrapped it carefully, revealing what looked like a photo album. When he opened it, his breath caught.
Inside were dozens of photos of his grandparents' house in Norman—not as it had been, neglected and decaying, but as it was becoming. The first photos showed workers clearing overgrown shrubs and repairing the roof. Then came images of freshly painted walls, new windows, restored hardwood floors.
But the centerpiece was a series of photos of the newly rebuilt greenhouse attached to the back of the house—his grandmother's favorite place, now restored to its former glory with gleaming glass panels and cedar framing.
"We've been working on it for months," I explained softly. "Starting with the greenhouse because you said that's where your grandmother was happiest."
"You're restoring it?" Oliver's voice was barely a whisper, his fingers tracing the photos.
"We saw how much it hurt you to see your grandparents’ house the way it was, so we decided to do something about it."
“Why?” Oliver asked, eyes still fixed on the images in front of him
"Because you’re part of this family, Oliver," my father said, placing a hand on Oliver’s shoulder.
Oliver stared at the photos, his jaw working as he struggled to control his emotions. Without a word, he stood and left the room, disappearing down the hallway toward our bedroom.
I found him sitting on the edge of our bed, the photo album open on his lap.
"You okay?" I asked softly, keeping my distance, giving him space to process.
